Naked Southwest

After a leisurely stroll around the old historic center, wandering in and out of galleries, feeling and breathing the desert air made fecund by the globs of rain that had fallen fast and hard while we were in the museum, we headed back to the Water Street Inn Bed & Breakfast. Then off to dinner at Ristra. Although this Southwestern-Mediterranean fusion restaurant is only a few blocks away, we decided to drive because the monsoon clouds still hung low and heavy, and we expected a decision to flaunt their ominous show of force would certainly incite a downpour.

Dinner was superb. Well, almost. The space is pleasant, an old Victorian, stripped to the bare essential, uncluttered, whitewashed walls interrupted only by an occasional piece rich enough to attract but not distract your attention from the food which is what Ristra is all about. I enjoyed my main course immensely, a venison steak that was moist and plump, cooked to perfection, glazed in a sublime brown sauce with hints of tropical fruit. Mingled nicely with the Ridge red. My companion, seated beneath a handsome black, white and red chief’s blanket that hung on the wall, was feeling the effects of the altitude, and was less gastronomically inclined than usual. Add to this a smattering of raisins, not mentioned on the menu, added to her main course, and she was less than 100% pleased, though I enjoyed finishing both of her dishes.

Then back to the inn so that she could sleep. With another fine piñon and juniper fire ablaze in the kiva fireplace, we found sleep quickly and easily.

Morning arrived, but the clouds still hung heavy over Santa Fe. We had breakfast in our suite and packed for our trip north. Felt like a premature departure, so we drove up Canyon Road after checking out and decided to wander through several galleries. Plenty that appealed to us, and even a couple of pieces that my now-less-altitude-affected companion took notes on and is considering as additions to her Manhattan apartment. And then, since we were still in Santa Fe and since the weather had begun to moisten us again, we made the easy decision to eat lunch at el Farol. El Farol is one of my (and everyone else’s if history is any indication) favorite old school Santa Fe restaurants, and our lunch of tapas and posole was no disappointment. But the inevitable was upon us, so we trudged back to the car through the rain, and departed Santa Fe to make our way to Ojo Caliente.

Once again past the opera, through Española, and then north on 285 toward Ojo Caliente. Just before arriving in the town, we passed the entrance to Rancho de San Juan, a Relais & Chateaux that MHD had considered five or six years ago while writing a screenplay. Instead she decided to work in Carmel Valley, at the Carmel Valley Ranch, but we decided to swing by for a quick look and to request an information packet should inspiration strike again in the future. Tucked into the rugged hills beneath an imposing butte, the modern adobe-style buildings are discrete and agreeable to the eye. We didn’t linger long enough to visit rooms, but we heard on several occasions while in Ojo Caliente that the restaurant was world class. Perhaps some day we’ll be able to test out the claims.

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