It's amazing how traveling just a few degrees of longitude away from the coast can change the climate so dramatically. In a span of an hour or so, we left the cool, mild Pacific breeze and gargantuan conifers of the Pacific Northwest and entered the hilly, hot, dry, Mediterranean conditions of the Napa Valley. It's a stark yet beautiful contrast. Here's the view from our campsite site at the Bothe-Napa Valley State Park, where we stayed last night:
Man, there sure are a lot of grapes growing around here! On our way in, Sarah and I asked the park receptionist if she had any recommendations for nearby wine or eats. She seemed about as clueless as a human could be and still manage to function in civilization. She did, however, inform us that "well... there's a town a ways that way" [pointing right] "and another town that way" [pointing left]. So with that much cleared up, we decided we'd better go see the valley for ourselves.
After some thoughtful deliberation on the wine tour front, we reluctantly concluded that maybe a road trip (read: lots and lots and lots of driving) would not be the best setting to visit a vineyard to sample 20 different kinds of wine. Instead, we opted for dinner. After some earlier research (plus our insider tip from the park lady about the two "towns" mysteriously located in opposite directions) Sarah had established that Mr. Napa Style himself, Michael Chiarello, has a relatively new restaurant, called Bottega, right in the area. So, managing to secure a dinner reservation for two at 9:45, we figured we might as well go for it.
The restaurant itself was constructed (within the last two years, I believe) around the skeleton of one of the oldest wineries in the area. It is, of course, gorgeous. And the restrooms, I might add, are immaculate and delightfully inviting (this obviously being the mark of a truly great restaurant, among other things).
Quite a wonderful meal: Sarah had a traditional appetizer of crisped focaccia dough, dusted with Parmigiano Reggiano and wrapped in prosciutto, with a cold melon soup dipping sauce. This was followed by the main course of spaghetti with head-on prawns, out of which she gladly sucked the brains. I had an appetizer of grilled octopus (my second time this trip - I'm a sucker for cephalopods), followed by a medium-rare rack of lamb over polenta, topped with sliced fresh cherries. Delicious food and the service was impeccable.
Backtracking just a bit to before our food even arrived, rather to our surprise, Sarah spotted someone in a man in a white chef’s jacket speaking and gesticulating jovially (and in a quite Italian fashion) with some guests at the bar. From our angle, we couldn’t make out his face, but the trio of rich and slightly intoxicated female fifty-somethings seated directly next to our table evidently could. “Oh, he’s so handsome,” squealed one of them predictably, and sure enough, Michael Chiarello was turning away from the bar to make the rounds with the other diners. He made his way towards the three ladies, smiling widely, thanking them for coming in and wishing them a wonderful dinner as they blabbed and fawned over him for a minute or so. Then he turned to Sarah and me for the same star treatment. He shook each of our hands very politely yet slightly awkwardly when we didn’t immediately bow down and worship at his feet.
Don’t get me wrong; I like Chiarello. He seems like a nice guy and his show was entertaining. He is obviously very cultured and has fantastic taste in cuisine. But he did tread on one of my pet peeves: he didn’t introduce himself. Maybe I’m dissecting our encounter too much, but I feel like no matter how famous you are, you should operate under the assumption (or at least pretend) that people don’t know you. I haven’t met many famous people in my life, and maybe my standards are a little high, but I feel like if I met Ringo Starr, I would hope to hear him say the words, “Hullo, I’m Ringo.” Now Michael Chiarello is no Ringo, so I would have thought a simple introduction would have been appropriate. But I suppose business is business. He knew he already had our money. The encounter lasted all of 20 seconds and he was off to grace another dining party with his illustrious presence.
Either way, we had a great time, and despite my critique, we were very impressed with Bottega. To their credit, the executive chef actually came out to hand-deliver our entrées. And, did I mention the bathrooms?
After a good night’s sleep in our tent, under the clear skies and bright stars, we took off once more for our next destination, San Francisco. On our way out of Napa, we passed by about a million wineries. Here’s one we thought looked especially enticing. Frank, if you’re out there, this one’s for you man!
As for San Fran, the drive was relatively short, but we could sense the damp, misty, breezy air creeping back around our car as we got closer to the coast again. We hung out at Fisherman’s Wharf for an hour or so when we got into town and grabbed coffee at one of the gazillion Starbucks (Sarah actually got a vanilla Rooibos tea latte, which I think might be a new “thing” for her). We walked around for a while and happened across a group of nice, young gentlemen:
They seemed respectable enough, and we thought briefly about donating a dollar to their cause, when we realized that they, in fact, were already toking a dank bowl of the stuff right there on the street. Needless to say, we felt lied to and violated by their deceitful stoner ways, but we got over it.
On our way through a park downtown, we spotted another interesting gathering. Neither of us could figure out what kind of group had organized the event, but the extent of it seemed to be the following: play kickball in the middle of the park while holding a Solo cup full of beer in one hand at all times (and often a lit cigarette in the other).
For the few minutes we observed their game, that was about all we could tell, but when we saw that they were all drinking cans of Keystone Light, we almost yelled with Pennsylvania pride! We somehow managed to hold it together. The whole event seemed like a pretty great idea until someone hit a foul pop fly into the road, causing each outfielder to spill half his or her beer, and almost triggering a multiple car pile-up on the street. We decided to move on.
Around this time, we heard from Guzzi, who (out of sheer random luck) happened to be staying in San Fran with his wife’s sister. The time was just right, and we were able to snag another floor to sleep on for the night. Thanks so much to the Guzzi fam, and to Lindsay especially for hookin it up! You all rock!
As for today’s musical selection, here’s San Francisco natives, Delta Spirit, performing “Trashcan” on a cable car in their hometown [correction: Delta Spirit are actually from San Diego, although this Take Away performance was, in fact, shot in San Fran]:
Tonight, in addition, I’ve selected some random tunes we’ve been cruising to over the last couple days as we continue to zig-zag down the coast of California. Happy 4th! Enjoy:
The Jimi Hendrix Experience - One Rainy Wish
Love You Moon - Why Pop Stars Sell Silicone
Devendra Banhart - Goin' Back
Norah Jones - Tell Yer Mama
Robert Plant & Alison Kraus - Gone Gone Gone
Supergrass - Tales of Endurance
Sad Dracula - 4th of July
Tomorrow, on to Yosemite!
-Josh
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