It's so hot that a garden-party-throwing friend in the Inland Empire and her intrepid guests (including me, dressed stupidly in silk) should probably be praised for derring-do. We sat unshaded from the late afternoon sun, tens of miles from even the possibility of an offshore breeze, sweating as much from the weather as from the spicy Indian menu. Homemade mango lassis came close to curdling, and salads wilted the moment they were brought forth from the air-conditioned interior, which couldn't comfortably hold the 60-odd attendees. At least, we told our hostess, it was good preparation for going to New Delhi, where she is soon to have her wedding. The weather there was 10 degrees cooler.