Back in 1975, Palm Springs wasn't all that large an oasis in the desert.
Mostly it was golf courses for celebrities, the rich, and the PGA tours.
Mostly, it was walled-in estates on curving roads in the foothills, so secretive that you could see nothing but stucco and red bougainvillea vines and massive, expensive palm trees.
There were small motels and small streets, a small mall, and spas for Hollywood over-weights to come for a week or a month to lose the fat and feel like a pampered queen while doing it.
Sambos Restaurant made the best eggs and coffee in town, so I went there a lot.
The first time I laid eyes on grits was at Sambos in the early morning just after dawn. A pile of white, with a dollop of melting sweet butter on the top of it, sat beside two eggs fried so gently that they melted in my mouth.
I didn't know what to do with the grits. They were bland-looking and definitely unappealing.
But the other patrons, I noticed, were eating theirs easily, as if they knew grits were a normal food in Palm Springs, maybe even good for you.
By the time my stay in Palm Springs was over, I ate the Sambos grits with great enthusiasm, even letting the gooey yolk of the eggs run all over the pile of white before I scooped it up on my fork.
I saw an interview later with a sitcom actress who went to a spa in Palm Springs to lose a few pounds, and she said she snuck out at night to head to Sambos to gorge herself on their tender fried eggs and grits. And I thought, yeah, I know what that's all about.
Mostly it was golf courses for celebrities, the rich, and the PGA tours.
Mostly, it was walled-in estates on curving roads in the foothills, so secretive that you could see nothing but stucco and red bougainvillea vines and massive, expensive palm trees.
There were small motels and small streets, a small mall, and spas for Hollywood over-weights to come for a week or a month to lose the fat and feel like a pampered queen while doing it.
Sambos Restaurant made the best eggs and coffee in town, so I went there a lot.
The first time I laid eyes on grits was at Sambos in the early morning just after dawn. A pile of white, with a dollop of melting sweet butter on the top of it, sat beside two eggs fried so gently that they melted in my mouth.
I didn't know what to do with the grits. They were bland-looking and definitely unappealing.
But the other patrons, I noticed, were eating theirs easily, as if they knew grits were a normal food in Palm Springs, maybe even good for you.
By the time my stay in Palm Springs was over, I ate the Sambos grits with great enthusiasm, even letting the gooey yolk of the eggs run all over the pile of white before I scooped it up on my fork.
I saw an interview later with a sitcom actress who went to a spa in Palm Springs to lose a few pounds, and she said she snuck out at night to head to Sambos to gorge herself on their tender fried eggs and grits. And I thought, yeah, I know what that's all about.
No comments:
Post a Comment