PS - I Love You

"The room is booked.  We leave first thing Saturday," read the text Chef Jodi sent me last Monday morning. "We'll come back Sunday whenever."

It was time for a girls' getaway.  

Palm Springs is a two-hour drive (sans traffic) from Los Angeles, and a world away.  Wrapped in 1950s architecture and sherbet hues, there is a certain chic PS offers, if you can take the heat.

It's off-season there, with temperatures well over 100.  However, in L.A., it's been unseasonably cool.  The heat and sun, unobstructed by the marine layer, were a welcomed call.  And, also, I could use a little help with my tan.  So, off to The Parker we went.

Any excuse to wheel out my red suitcase thrills me.  Bikinis, sarong, skirt and halter for Saturday night dinner, sundress for Sunday and the drive home.  Jodi and I had no desire to leave the hotel.  Except shortly after we arrived when I realized, to my utter mortification, that I had forgotten the bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilling in my refrigerator.  Quick dash to the store for an auxiliary bottle, then off to the pool.

It's important to bring along the right accessories.  For me, that begins with SPF 30, a spray bottle of water, hat, a hand fan, and a stylish tote to carry it all.  While I'd brought my iPod, conversation had a better ring to it.  While I had the last Dominick Dunne novel, Too Much Money, there was too much sunscreen on my hands to risk sullying the pages.  Sometimes, all you need is a friend and the sun.  But, I will say, that fan and spray bottle came in pretty handy.

Five hours poolside, and we were ready for dinner.  Or at least the champagne.  So, up to our room we went to enjoy the AC.   It's amazing how cool 74 degrees actually feels when you come in from 120+ temperatures.  The Veuve was uncorked in true Miller fashion...the cork was launched, safely, in the loo. (I have impeccable aim...that came from oodles of practice.)

Upon arrival, I noticed this amazing paparazzi snap of Jackie O in our bathroom.  "Oh, my," I exclaimed with glee to Jodi, "Jackie Onassis is in our bathroom.  We have a true ladies' room."

While the architecture had distinct late-1950s/early 60s vibe, the photography that hung in our room harkened Studio 54's heyday (including one of a young Matthew Broderick that very well was taken at the infamous disco).  The "estate", as it is referred to by staff, feels just that.  However, one would never know, without an extensive Google search, that The Parker began as California's first Holiday Inn in 1959 (which now makes sense...the hallways rather gave a shout to that).  After that, it was Gene Autry's, known first as the Melody Ranch, then the Gene Autry Hotel.  I remembered it as the Merv Griffin Resort and Givenchy Spa (so very 1990s).  However, when Jack Parker bought the property in the mid-2000s, he commissioned Jonathan Adler to spruce up the decor.  And did he.  My sun hat matched everything, from the chair in our room to my cocktail of choice, The Squeeze.

While we loved the hotel, there was a certain "vibe" brought mainly by the clientele.  Jodi described it as, "Alice in Wonderland meets The Shining."  We later added a Twilight Zone feel as well as something akin to an endless 70s key party.  Please, don't let that put you off going...just soak in the characters you will find.  And, believe me, you will.  The property feels incredibly expansive, yet, the faces become quite familiar quite quickly.

Jodi and I made friends with our poolside lounge-mates, a lovely married couple from San Jose.  Commenting on rascally children does tend to bond the likeminded.  We met up with "Jack and Marilyn" for cocktails that led to dinner, that kept us in stitches.  But, after the early morning drive, the sun, the fun and the heat, not to mention the lively beverages we imbibed, we were ready to hit the hay at a respectable hour.  (Don't tell anyone, but we were both asleep by eleven.)

With our beauty rest in, we were up early to enjoy breakfast...and the egg-frying heat.  To quell our hunger, we went to Norma's to dine.  Jodi has a weakness for quesadillas, and the one that included bacon and eggs won her over.  Me?  I don't usually crave bagels, but if you tell me it will be piled with lots of lox and caviar...I won't be able to refuse.

After brekky, Jodi headed to the gym for a quick workout (she raved about the facilities), while I went straight to the pool to add a few more golden tones to my writer's pallor.  After a couple of hours, and with news of the large pool's maintenance shut down looming, we opted to take advantage of the indoor saline pool in the hotel's spa, the Palm Springs Yacht Club, or PSYC.  A dip in the cool water, a soak in the hot tub and we were ready for a nap.  Instead, we ordered lunch in the peace and quiet of the spa.  I read my book while Jodi doodled on the table-side iPod touch.  There's something about dining while wearing a white robe.  Dare I say it's civilized?

Wanting to beat the traffic, we freshened up in the white-tiled ladies' lounge and headed West, on the road by three.  We had only be away for 32 hours, but it felt more like a week.  "I feel like I got a massage, I'm so relaxed," I said with a stretch as we took the Gene Autry Trail to the 10.  We found ourselves in a lucky pocket, missing traffic and getting home in two hours.

Sometimes, it just takes one night away from home to make you feel as if you had a retreat.  And that's exactly how our brief escape to the desert made us feel.  We'll leave you with the manifesto we found in the PSYC's pool room:

MANIFESTO

We believe in the American Country Club Experience:  mixed doubles, a long steam and a stiff cocktail.

We believe in inner beauty.  But do what you can on the outside.

We believe in old world etiquette and new age simplicity.

We believe you can swim right after you eat.

We believe we should trust those seeking enlightenment and doubt those claiming to have found it.

We believe the Earth is three-quarters water and your body is three-quarters water and...this is purely coincidence.

We believe in good sport and fitness:  Pétanque and Pastis, Pimms Cup and Croquet, Snooker and single malt whiskey.

We believe you are only young once...but you can be immature forever.

We couldn't agree more.  Palm Springs, we love you.  And we can't wait to go back.  xo

Summer Madness

In the States, we typically claim summer arrives on Memorial Day and make the most of that long weekend.  We herald its peak on July 4th with barbecues, parades and fireworks.  And yet, is it really summer without Mad Men?  I would say not. 

Sunday marks the show's swanky, smoky, swoon-worthy return.  A marriage ends.  A company begins.  We will discover who's in, who's out, and what trouble is coming.  Will you be watching?  Or will you be celebrating in proper 60s fashion?

Everywhere you look, it seems the world (or at least the Internet) has gone Mad Men mad. There is plenty of advice for hosting the perfect viewing party, be it a cocktail fete or dinner for eight.  If you aren't sure what to wear, there are tips for that as well.  Having a crisis of character?  Find out who you are here.  (For the record, I came out as Betty Draper. The only upside to that is her closet and husband...is it too late to stop the divorce?)

I can't wait to see what unfolds.  Of course, I'm only hoping I'll be home in time.  Off to Palm Springs with Chef Jodi for a mini-retreat.  Taking the weekend to soak in the sun and the retro architecture of Mr. Sinatra's playground.  It promises to be a swell weekend all around.  xo

Le Creuset

You may not know this about me, but I love to cook. Just not for myself. I prefer to make meals for others. Somehow, that just makes it more fun. Bake up a batch of goodies for friends to share. Mix up lively beverages that go so well with conversation. Entertaining at home is one of my favorite things. Though, over the years, I've kind of let that slip from my calendar. It sort of coincided with my office area bursting out of its quaint corner and taking over most of my living room. There came a point where I realized I no longer worked from home but resided in my office. At that point, I rather preferred to go out. But now that I have an exterior office, the desire to have a dinner party has resurfaced.

While I'm not quite the calibre of our beloved Chef Jodi, I've been known to impress myself and, more importantly, my guests. I always start with a recipe that I end up tweaking, or recall a dish from a favorite restaurant and attempt it at home. I find it to be fun and, surprisingly, relaxing. However, my oven doesn't always cooperate. It sort of has a mind of its own. There are a few dishes I trust with it, but baking cakes and cookies is a futile effort. Unless you enjoy burnt edges. That leaves the stovetop, where I make the most of my tight kitchen.

I don't believe in non-stick coated cookware. I don't think they offer truly healthy cooking. I make meals on my copper-bottomed Revere Ware, a gift for my first apartment in college. While I adore the durability and ease of cooking and cleaning these pots and pans (and, please remember, I operate sans dishwasher), I long for a set of Le Creuset.

There's something to be said for cooking on cast iron. Yes, it does require a certain level of care, but the returns are worth it. And the beauty of the enameled cookware makes me swoon. How could one not want to cook with a collection of Le Creuset waiting? So, why don't I have one? Well, just two little problems: First, I've barely any room in my kitchen for storage, already hanging many pots and pans on a rack above my stove. Second, there is the financial investment.

Yes, my beloved cookware is a tad pricey. However, the grand aspect of Le Creuset is that (unlike the popular Calphalon) you don't have to worry about scratching through any non-stick coating. Once that happens, you are supposed to bin your pan. It's no longer safe for use...and it cost how much? Exactly.

I look forward to starting my set of red Le Creuset in the very near future. Until then, I'm off to Target for a simple cast iron pan to accompany my copper-bottomed repertoire. I believe I feel a frittata coming on.