XL Food & Drink

The Oasis is back, with a perfect perch for sunset

By Dale Rice
AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Sunday, May 04, 2008

The light breeze barely rustles the leaves on nearby trees, but far below it sends sparkling ripples from a near-blinding, wide swath of sunlight that stretches across Lake Travis.

From this vantage point, 450 feet above the water, the sun shines brightly at 7 p.m. on the panoramic view that stretches from Mansfield Dam on the far left to hillside mansions on the far right and encompasses the ribbon of lake that twists and turns until it disappears in the distance.

One year ago today, this cliffside perch went up in flames as a middle-of-the-night fire caused by lightning engulfed the multilevel decks that reached out from the Oasis to offer the best sunset seating in the Austin area.

But the spirit of this longtime restaurant couldn't be incinerated. New decks have replaced the old, and although few tables sit exactly where tables did a year ago, one again has emerged as the best dining spot with a view in Central Texas.

This top table — No. 665 — juts out from the deck on a rounded wooden promontory that is just above the treetops and is at the front of what the Oasis staff calls "the chapel." Here, at No. 665, it almost feels like a private balcony, without a soul to get in your way.

A peaked, beamed, high wooden roof covers this three-tiered area of the deck, which is surrounded by a green metal railing of intersecting Gothic arches that hint at church windows. The chapel also might be the quietest spot at this lively Mexican restaurant, which offers a pricey lineup of enchiladas and fajitas, as well as a few "American" dishes such as hot and crunchy tilapia with mashed potatoes and sautéed yellow squash.

While the sun is still high, two large, open umbrellas shade the table from the direct rays. Five or six diners can sit at this table, but it is perfect for two; both can sit with a full, unobstructed view of the sunset while they sip "Perfect" margaritas made with top-shelf tequila, Grand Marnier, lime juice and a splash of orange juice.

Despite the glorious weather, there is little boat traffic on this part of Lake Travis an hour before the sun goes down. But, judging by their clothes and their sunburns, many of the customers who are now filling the sprawling decks of the Oasis spent part or all of the day on the water.

With the sun partly blocked by thin clouds, the umbrellas come down at 7:30 and the breeze picks up a bit. As the umbrellas are folded, cameras come out. Diners pose against the railing, sun in the background, for a memorable souvenir.

The visitors who return to other parts of the country or the world can pull out their photo albums and bust the stereotypes of a dry, flat Texas for those who haven't traveled here. Diners who are going to remain behind can revel in this inspiring show that Mother Nature puts on nightly.

In what could be a worrisome development, though, cloud banks on the horizon hide the sun for the last 45 minutes of its descent. But the tenor of the evening doesn't change on the decks; perhaps the diners have faith in nature, perhaps the margaritas are stronger.

Then a few rays break through the clouds and the area just above the horizon begins to glow in soft pinks tinged with orange. As the green hills fade to gray, rays break through the clouds and a brilliant beam streaks across the water, pointing straight toward the chapel.

Finally, the sun slips out of the clouds, like some bright gold coin dropping slowly from a celestial slot, and a pink glow spreads across the horizon.

As the sun edges closer to the distant hills, the luminescent beam on the lake disappears and the pink radiance pulls back toward the burning orb as it slowly sinks behind the horizon. At 8:25, the last sliver of sun disappears. The crowd applauds. A bell rings.

Another day, another sunset. It's both ordinary and extraordinary. New decks and new tables at the Oasis stand as affirmation that life moves on after crises, while Mother Nature reminds us there is great beauty in routine acts that we often don't take time to appreciate.

drice@statesman.com; 445-3859