Phoenix – Antidote To Winter

The good news: winter is half over. The bad news: winter is only half over. Just when we think we’ll make it, along comes March.

To smite the weather gods, let me offer you a plan: escape to Phoenix. Here, the Arizona sun warms a landscape lush with sand spiked with outcroppings of palms and cactus. A relentlessly blue sky forms the backdrop for mountains of blush-pink stone, like the landmark peak called Camelback.

It serves as my compass when wandering the streets of Phoenix’s twin town, upscale Scottsdale, where my resort/hotel, Senna, offers an outdoor pool and signature café, Mara, with a Mediterranean thrust. Grab a bike or hike to nearby Fifth Avenue, packed with elite shops selling sportswear, handmade jewelry (including dog collars), a sock shop to end all sock shops, huaraches in pastel colors, Native antiques and a criminal defense lawyer (you never know).

Scottsdale’s Old Town (“the West-est of the Old West”) overflows with art, starting with the Contemporary Art Gallery, starring a Poetic Dissonance exhibit saluting anti-establishment activists.

Check out Old Town’s old-time Little Red Schoolhouse, its petite Mission Church watched over by a dark-haired Virgin, or a Rodeo Museum as small and crowded as your average garage where you can score a photo op atop its “bucking bull.” (Tickets to the town’s actual rodeo, held every March, sell out fast.)

Old Town’s Western Spirit Museum sets the stage by showcasing a cache of saddles, a wall of ropes and an 1896 stagecoach (step right in). Its “What’s in a Saddlebag?” exhibit includes a pocket knife, bandana, tobacco and harmonica, while the second floor displays Native blankets, beadwork, tomahawk and arrows.

Amble onward to the don’t-miss Heard Museum, dedicated to Native art, both historic and contemporary: gorgeous blankets, baskets, belts, jewelry — plus the vital, if heartbreaking, story of the displacement of Native kids to boarding schools. Excellent gift shop, too.

Then turn your attention to Phoenix itself — the fifth-largest (and growing) city in the land. My hotel here, the FOUND: RE, is uber-hip and lots of fun. The tone for its prestige artwork throughout (for sale, natch) is set by a mural above the front desk featuring a lounging bare-nekkid Burt Reynolds in a curly blonde Britney wig. My eighth-floor suite showcased a concrete floor, double showers and a majestic balcony capturing the cityscape, where I lingered with my Old Fashioned from the bar-cum-café March, overlooking Portland Park and its parade of dog walkers.

It’s mere steps to Roosevelt Row, lined with hipster shops, bars, galleries and scores of forward murals: eye candy for your stroll. From here, it’s a short Uber to the Phoenix Art Museum — the largest in the Southwest, they say — with endless reasons to linger. Provocatively, it pairs diverse paintings, such as a Renaissance Italian Virgin next to a black-maned Virgin from Peru. Examples of bold-name painters exist (Picasso, Calder, Roethke, O’Keeffe), but even better: the bold names of tomorrow and their avant works.

The museum’s Fashion section salutes the gowns of icons Versace, YSL, Tom Ford, Marimekko, Halston and Karl Lagerfeld, while the Photography gallery salutes the high-society portraits of Richard Avedon. A fascinating Asian wing celebrates works, both old and new, by emerging subcontinent Indians and more.

Art of an earthier nature flourishes in the city’s Melrose District, a gayborhood along Seventh Avenue of retro and vintage wear (great boots, hats) found in retail hideouts like Modern Manor, Vamp Rodeo, Noiseland Merch and Retro Ranch. Look for the rainbow crosswalk, too.

Hang around to embark on the dining scene. But first, one more museum you’d be sorry to miss, and the most-visited of all: the Musical Instruments Museum, where a vast (I mean it!) collection of everything/anything strum-able, pound-able and blow-able is displayed, along with videos and audios, from virtually every country in the world.

Following a room saluting guitars of every breed, the space is divided by continent, then by country. Your headphone automatically starts playing as you wander up to each exhibit, augmented by instruments, costumes and artifacts. The United States space, for instance, moves from pow-wow drums to hip-hop and styles from Memphis to Philadelphia, L.A. and beyond. You’ll spot the piano of Thelonius Monk and the baritone of Gerry Mulligan and hear polka and bluegrass, zydeco and ragtime. Revel in the sounds of Scottish bagpipes, German oom-pah bands and mariachi music.

I promised you eats. Here they come! For breakfast, Scottsdale’s Prep & Pastry draws locals into its white, airy setting (sidewalk tables, too), where I sipped a foamy latte while devouring a Poblano Beni, starring carnitas, sweet peppers and poached eggs in goat cheese hollandaise over cheddar biscuits.

Another morning, another atmosphere. The back patio at super-casual Little O’s Arcadia provides maybe the best glimpse of Camelback Mountain to mesmerize you while digging into a combo of short ribs and eggs. Or choose a breakfast pizza, chicken and waffles, or avo toast, along with a complimentary Mimosa. Could be (bad) habit-forming.

Lunch choices careen from a must-stop at James Beard winner and woman-owned Fry Bread Café, a tiny, super-popular niche for its namesake puffed-bread tacos, plump with beans and cheese.

The Mission, back in Old Town, has long served as a shadowy, buzzy speakeasy, sought out by folks like me for its Peruvian clam stew and a snappy chipotle Caesar. Primo margaritas, too. To add to the fun, guac is prepared tableside.

The Gladly, however, is as crisp and cosmo as you can get, justly famous for its chopped salad, tossed tableside, and margaritas. Here’s where The Suits and Ladies Who Lunch convene.

For a romantic dinner, step back in time to softly atmospheric LON’s at the Hermosa Inn, whose tunnels and turrets did duty during Speakeasy days. These evenings, its romantic dining room offers a standout parsnip ravioli with elk shank ragout or pan-seared fois gras among the starters, followed by a pairing of a butter-basted scallop and prawns, abetted by chorizo and red curry-coconut milk broth. The bison NY strip, the Berkshire pork ribeye and the pan-roasted sablefish also boast dedicated fans.

Valentine, back in mellow Melrose, is as sweet as it sounds, luring foodies with a long, long list of tapas to big plates, including a sweet burrata and Parmesan salad, a white Sonoran wheat pretzel with guinea hen butter and honeycomb, and the standout pork ribs, moist and meaty. Plus the elote pasta. Plus the yuca and potato pave with a tomatillo pico.

A final dinner proved the most adventurous. At the Larder & The Delta, where the staff outnumbers the guests (reserve your table, for sure), a 12-plate set menu (mini portions, thank goodness) shows off what the talented kitchen crew is up to with their tweezers — treats ranging from tuna tartare to killed lettuces (yes, I had to ask; you can, too), from Tennessee country ham to hoppin’ john, from Hokkaido scallop to smothered oxtail and more, more, more — each more intricate and unusual than the last. Ringside seats allow guests to watch these food scientists at work.

Okay, Minnesota, I’ve had my escape from frostbite in ever-sunny Arizona, and I’m ready for whatever blows in next. To plan your own escape, check out www.visitphoenix.com and climb aboard a Delta nonstop.