After driving out from Los Angeles, we stopped off at L’Horizon Hotel and Spa, which houses a restaurant called SO.PA. We are in Palm Springs. The kitchen had almost closed as it was getting late—9pm (bedtime for this area!)—but they stayed open to accommodate us, which was much appreciated.
I don’t normally write about waiters and waitresses, but here I’m going to go against the grain. The young lady who served us tonight was absolutely fantastic—so awesome that I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a natural, fun level of service. Very sorry if you’re reading this; I didn’t catch your name!
The surroundings are easy‑going and unpretentious, with a touch of “holiday resort.” Greenery and palm trees bring life into the space, with my attention drawn to their random choice of lighting: retro‑style light bulbs in blown‑glass jars. Why not.
You never quite know what to expect when passing through a new area. The same question always consumes me: what is the food going to be like? I wake up every day thinking this and go to sleep doing the same, only for the pattern to repeat the next day. Food really does take over my life—but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m pleased to say the food was simple but effective. There was a level I understood, with skill behind it. Broad beans are a pain in the arse to prep, especially in large quantities, so when I found them on the plate with my duck, my immediate thought was, OK, effort was put in. A smooth celery root purée showed technique, paired with a rich, reduced sauce—shining—with cherries incorporated into it. The duck leg confit was tender and carefully cooked to the exact point it needed to be removed. Perfect.
I loved the corn on the dish, making a surprise appearance (you hardly see it these days), bringing extra crunch.
When you’re in America, you’ll never get through a meal without chips (fries) on the table. No matter how healthy I try to be, I just can’t discipline myself. Ordering them was already the first mistake (when I should have kept my mouth shut). The bowl arrives, and that’s when the real damage is done—picking and picking at them until they all disappear. Did I regret it? Nope.
The focaccia bread was satisfactory. The sweetness from the tomatoes intensified the flavour when eaten with a little bit of it. Rosemary poked out as standard, with a pinch of seasoning to lift.
I thought that was the end, but a sweet voice from afar whispered, “Would you like to see a dessert menu?” It was my charismatic server.
“How can I say no now?!” I cried.
She persuaded me so effortlessly it was impossible to decline—or resist the charm (and I really did want dessert anyway). Seeing cookies on a menu in America means everything will be OK.
“Would you like ice cream with them?” she asked, smiling.
“Oh yes. Cookies and a scoop of vanilla, and I am in heaven.”
