alcotourism
Day 3 in Wine Country: Napa Valley
After an heroic day on Saturday, when we tasted at 12 wineries in the Alexander and Russian River Valleys, we decided to play it cool in Napa. After all, the tasting fees can be as much as $30 each, and the wine increases in price on the same curve. We also already had a case of wine at the hotel from our Friday and Saturday excursions, and the car was literally running out of room.
We began the day at the Hoffman House Café, which was conveniently adjacent to our hotel in Geyserville. The Alcotouristess had croissant french toast stuffed with cream cheese and berries. What a hedonist. I fortified with some Huevos Rancheros and we both had their rich, wonderful coffee.
Then we drove over the hill and toodled for a while in St. Helena, where the Alcotouristess indulged in her passion for all things olive by visiting Olivier, where they have four or five large copper casks full of olive oil. You can choose a 500ml bottle and fill it straight from the tap with the olive oil that tickles your fancy. The Alcotouristess got the Macke Estate Blend. We also checked out their olivewood wares, which were pretty cool, and moved on.
We then paid a short visit to Woodhouse Chocolate where I saw (and tasted!) some of the most creative cocoa expressions I've ever seen—and I've lived in Switzerland, mind you. We picked up a box for the folks at the office, and a couple of singles for ourselves. Mmmm!
Then we toodled further at the Culinary Institute of America to let the Alcotouristess take in the air at her version of Valhalla. Now don't get the wrong idea. After hearing about stuffed croissant french toast, olive oil, exotic chocolates, and CIA worship, you might think the Alcotouristess is a little on the doughy side. Well, some people are just lucky, I guess, so keep that hate mail coming.
Finally, we dispensed with the toodling, and visited the Beringer estate. We ponied up for the reserve tasting, and were not disappointed. The gentleman at the counter had no compunction about challenging our notions about wine, and even though I ordered the Reserve Cab tasting ($12) and the Alcotouristess ordered the Aromatic Reds, or "No Cabs," tasting ($9), we tasted just about everything on the shelf. We did horizontal (i.e. tasting different wines of the same vintage) and then our host lined up a vertical tasting (same wine, different vintages) of one of their reserve Cabs. The 2000 was ready to drink, but the 2001 had legs. There was no question we could ask that he couldn't answer, and to sum up, we had a blast. We tasted wines costing from $30 all the way up to $100, and walked away happy. You may notice, however, that we didn't buy anything. It's not that the wine wasn't good—it was excellent—but the ones we liked were $60-$100, and at that price point, the law of diminishing returns goes into effect. We had one more day of vacation, and if we needed to, we could always swoop back and pick up a bottle if it turned out that one was particularly memorable.
Next we went to the Stag's Leap district to sample the excellent wines of Silverado Vineyards. They had a fun Sangiovese, and some excellent Cabs. We shared a $10 tasting, which we found was actually more than frugal—it helped us maintain our sobriety. Wine country is a road trip—there's simply no other good way to get around unless you want to join a chintzy tour—and I think a lot of the police simply look the other way unless you're really obvious. But for safety's sake, and for the safety of the hordes of cyclists you will invariably see on the road, it's good to keep your head on straight. We enjoyed the last big Cab from the vantage of Silverado's excellent patio (though, it must be noted, they don't allow picnics). This may have been the best view of the trip, and that says a lot. Again, we said thank you, and neglected to purchase a bottle. Nothing against Silverado, but at the price it's a serious investment that merits some mulling over.
On the recommendation of a friend, we then attempted to go to V. Sattui for a tasting and lunch at their famous deli, but the lot was bursting at the seams, and we didn't even bother to try to find a space. No parkey-no tastey. End of story.
So we had a quick sandwich at Bouchon Bakery, and we indulged in one of their fabulous sandwich cookies. Then it was time for another afternoon champagne break, which we took at Chandon, which despite parking availability was too crowded for our taste. In fact, we didn't taste at all. We walked through the cavernous building, which to Chandon's credit, does allow visitors to purchase appetizers in the tasting room. They have a little champagne museum, a fancy restaurant, and they even offer still wines, but neither of us felt particularly like tasting anything there. I don't know what it was—something about the ambiance—it felt like a tourist trap. We moved on.
It was then with much anticipation that we arrived at Cakebread Cellars, where we'd heard the wine was some of the best in the region. Unfortunately, Cakebread, which is centrally located on Highway 29, suffers from the same crowd problems that V. Sattui does. We parked in a dirt overflow lot and went in to find that they only do tastings by reservation, but that we could book one in about twenty minutes. We decided to wait. They charged us $10 a piece, and gave us a taste of Sauvignon Blanc while we waited. I found myself wondering if they did reserve tastings at Cakebread, and more out of curiosity than anything, I asked the reservation man not 30 seconds before we were to have our tasting. He raised an eyebrow, asked for $20 more, and sent us to the reserve tasting room, where a pour was just starting. We cordially tasted, then poured, their excellent specimen of a reserve Chardonnay. Very good, just not our thing. Then we tasted three $95 Cabs in a row, which were the best wines we'd had so far. The 2001 Benchland Cabernet was the best-balanced of the group, and eminently drinkable now. The 2001 Three Sisters Cabernet was my favorite. Bold, with balls-out tannins—something I'd cellar for 5 years minimum. The Alcotouristess preferred the huge fruit of the 2001 Vine Hill Ranch Cabernet, which had layer after layer of dark chocolate and licorice spice, and a monster finish. Again, since we dropped $40 on two tastings, we didn't immediately rush to the counter for a case. We figured we could think it over, and anyway, the Alcotouristess was jonesing for some cheese.
We checked to see if the Rutherford Grill had a cheese plate, but it was all rotisserie, so we didn't stay. Then, on a whim, we walked into the BV reserve tasting room, which shares a parking lot with the Grill. There was a jolly (it's the only word to describe her) host at the counter, who seemed glad to see us. I think it was because we looked like the only normal people in the joint. There were all of these 40-something couples there—balding men with their plastic-surgery-riddled trophy wives. We saw quite a few Ferraris on the 29 that day, and I wondered if we'd arrived at BV at the same time the Ferrari club of Marin County did. We tasted most of their red reserves, including the famous Georges LaTour Private Reserve, but after Cakebread, we were somewhat nonplussed. I did like the BV Tapestry, a Bordeaux-style blend, and my darling Alcotouristess purchased a bottle for me. Then we slipped out without asking why they didn't bother to charge us the $25 reserve tasting fee. Woohoo!
Next was the revelation of the trip. We slipped across the 29 to Pinot Blanc, part of the famous Patina Group, headed by star chef Joachim Splichal. I was somewhat reluctant to go to a restaurant that was a chain, and for that matter a chain that we could go to in Los Angeles any time, but I'm glad I put my recalcitrant attitude aside. We walked in, and nobody was there. It was roughly 4 in the afternoon, and the Alcotouristess had read that the bar was open between lunch and dinner for drinks, though the staff seemed surprised to see us. We each ordered a glass of wine from their extensive list, and then ogled at their incredible cheese menu. We ordered:
We returned to our hotel in Geyserville, replete and in need of a little shut-eye. We woke suddenly at about 8:30p.m. to gnawing stomachs, and remembered Ed Seghesio's admonition to try Santi, which he characterized as "the best Italian food in Sonoma," and said to try the tripe (not likely). Fortunately for us, Santi was within walking distance of the Geyserville Inn. We were set in a cozy little table and ordered two glasses of wine. The Alcotouristess ordered Gnocchi, which she felt was too soft, but I ordered the Rigatoni with pecorino cheese and roasted bell peppers in tomato sauce with a touch of cream. I quickly finished my glass of 2001 Marchese Di Gresy Dolcetto D'Alba Piemonte (I know, Italian wine in Napa, but it looked good), and asked for a glass of 1999 Nalle Zinfandel, which, I had a hunch, would compliment my pasta perfectly. It was better than perfect. It was my all-time favorite pairing ever.
We stumbled back to the hotel, in a state of gastronomic euphoria. Could this trip get any better? Stay tuned. :-D
We began the day at the Hoffman House Café, which was conveniently adjacent to our hotel in Geyserville. The Alcotouristess had croissant french toast stuffed with cream cheese and berries. What a hedonist. I fortified with some Huevos Rancheros and we both had their rich, wonderful coffee.
Then we drove over the hill and toodled for a while in St. Helena, where the Alcotouristess indulged in her passion for all things olive by visiting Olivier, where they have four or five large copper casks full of olive oil. You can choose a 500ml bottle and fill it straight from the tap with the olive oil that tickles your fancy. The Alcotouristess got the Macke Estate Blend. We also checked out their olivewood wares, which were pretty cool, and moved on.
We then paid a short visit to Woodhouse Chocolate where I saw (and tasted!) some of the most creative cocoa expressions I've ever seen—and I've lived in Switzerland, mind you. We picked up a box for the folks at the office, and a couple of singles for ourselves. Mmmm!
Then we toodled further at the Culinary Institute of America to let the Alcotouristess take in the air at her version of Valhalla. Now don't get the wrong idea. After hearing about stuffed croissant french toast, olive oil, exotic chocolates, and CIA worship, you might think the Alcotouristess is a little on the doughy side. Well, some people are just lucky, I guess, so keep that hate mail coming.
Finally, we dispensed with the toodling, and visited the Beringer estate. We ponied up for the reserve tasting, and were not disappointed. The gentleman at the counter had no compunction about challenging our notions about wine, and even though I ordered the Reserve Cab tasting ($12) and the Alcotouristess ordered the Aromatic Reds, or "No Cabs," tasting ($9), we tasted just about everything on the shelf. We did horizontal (i.e. tasting different wines of the same vintage) and then our host lined up a vertical tasting (same wine, different vintages) of one of their reserve Cabs. The 2000 was ready to drink, but the 2001 had legs. There was no question we could ask that he couldn't answer, and to sum up, we had a blast. We tasted wines costing from $30 all the way up to $100, and walked away happy. You may notice, however, that we didn't buy anything. It's not that the wine wasn't good—it was excellent—but the ones we liked were $60-$100, and at that price point, the law of diminishing returns goes into effect. We had one more day of vacation, and if we needed to, we could always swoop back and pick up a bottle if it turned out that one was particularly memorable.
Next we went to the Stag's Leap district to sample the excellent wines of Silverado Vineyards. They had a fun Sangiovese, and some excellent Cabs. We shared a $10 tasting, which we found was actually more than frugal—it helped us maintain our sobriety. Wine country is a road trip—there's simply no other good way to get around unless you want to join a chintzy tour—and I think a lot of the police simply look the other way unless you're really obvious. But for safety's sake, and for the safety of the hordes of cyclists you will invariably see on the road, it's good to keep your head on straight. We enjoyed the last big Cab from the vantage of Silverado's excellent patio (though, it must be noted, they don't allow picnics). This may have been the best view of the trip, and that says a lot. Again, we said thank you, and neglected to purchase a bottle. Nothing against Silverado, but at the price it's a serious investment that merits some mulling over.
On the recommendation of a friend, we then attempted to go to V. Sattui for a tasting and lunch at their famous deli, but the lot was bursting at the seams, and we didn't even bother to try to find a space. No parkey-no tastey. End of story.
So we had a quick sandwich at Bouchon Bakery, and we indulged in one of their fabulous sandwich cookies. Then it was time for another afternoon champagne break, which we took at Chandon, which despite parking availability was too crowded for our taste. In fact, we didn't taste at all. We walked through the cavernous building, which to Chandon's credit, does allow visitors to purchase appetizers in the tasting room. They have a little champagne museum, a fancy restaurant, and they even offer still wines, but neither of us felt particularly like tasting anything there. I don't know what it was—something about the ambiance—it felt like a tourist trap. We moved on.
It was then with much anticipation that we arrived at Cakebread Cellars, where we'd heard the wine was some of the best in the region. Unfortunately, Cakebread, which is centrally located on Highway 29, suffers from the same crowd problems that V. Sattui does. We parked in a dirt overflow lot and went in to find that they only do tastings by reservation, but that we could book one in about twenty minutes. We decided to wait. They charged us $10 a piece, and gave us a taste of Sauvignon Blanc while we waited. I found myself wondering if they did reserve tastings at Cakebread, and more out of curiosity than anything, I asked the reservation man not 30 seconds before we were to have our tasting. He raised an eyebrow, asked for $20 more, and sent us to the reserve tasting room, where a pour was just starting. We cordially tasted, then poured, their excellent specimen of a reserve Chardonnay. Very good, just not our thing. Then we tasted three $95 Cabs in a row, which were the best wines we'd had so far. The 2001 Benchland Cabernet was the best-balanced of the group, and eminently drinkable now. The 2001 Three Sisters Cabernet was my favorite. Bold, with balls-out tannins—something I'd cellar for 5 years minimum. The Alcotouristess preferred the huge fruit of the 2001 Vine Hill Ranch Cabernet, which had layer after layer of dark chocolate and licorice spice, and a monster finish. Again, since we dropped $40 on two tastings, we didn't immediately rush to the counter for a case. We figured we could think it over, and anyway, the Alcotouristess was jonesing for some cheese.
We checked to see if the Rutherford Grill had a cheese plate, but it was all rotisserie, so we didn't stay. Then, on a whim, we walked into the BV reserve tasting room, which shares a parking lot with the Grill. There was a jolly (it's the only word to describe her) host at the counter, who seemed glad to see us. I think it was because we looked like the only normal people in the joint. There were all of these 40-something couples there—balding men with their plastic-surgery-riddled trophy wives. We saw quite a few Ferraris on the 29 that day, and I wondered if we'd arrived at BV at the same time the Ferrari club of Marin County did. We tasted most of their red reserves, including the famous Georges LaTour Private Reserve, but after Cakebread, we were somewhat nonplussed. I did like the BV Tapestry, a Bordeaux-style blend, and my darling Alcotouristess purchased a bottle for me. Then we slipped out without asking why they didn't bother to charge us the $25 reserve tasting fee. Woohoo!
Next was the revelation of the trip. We slipped across the 29 to Pinot Blanc, part of the famous Patina Group, headed by star chef Joachim Splichal. I was somewhat reluctant to go to a restaurant that was a chain, and for that matter a chain that we could go to in Los Angeles any time, but I'm glad I put my recalcitrant attitude aside. We walked in, and nobody was there. It was roughly 4 in the afternoon, and the Alcotouristess had read that the bar was open between lunch and dinner for drinks, though the staff seemed surprised to see us. We each ordered a glass of wine from their extensive list, and then ogled at their incredible cheese menu. We ordered:
We also had their Panzella, an Italian bread salad. There was nobody there but us, and it was glorious to relax and taste and sip and talk. What a great way to spend our last afternoon in wine country. Just when we thought it couldn't get any better, our server put a bottle in front of us and said, "I want you to try this." She poured us complimentary glasses of their two Cabernet Sauvignons on the menu, one of which was Frank Family Vineyards' 2001 Napa Cabernet Sauvignon, a wine that I declared could go toe-to-toe with almost any $100 bottle we'd tasted that day. I inquired after the bottle price, and our server said they sold it for $44 at the restaurant. She called the winery and got the cellar price: $37.50. We had to go to this vineyard, and vowed to do exactly that on our way out of town the next morning. We didn't quite know yet that this would be the revelation of the trip, since the Frank Family Cab we'd tried was not a reserve wine, and there were still more incredible revelations awaiting us the next morning.
- Idiazabal, "Lightly smoked hard sheep’s milk from the Spanish Pyrenees,"
- Tete De Moine, "An intense and flavorful cow's milk cheese from Switzerland, it has a strong fruity and nutty taste with a pungent aroma," and:
- Petit Basque, "A full-flavored, semi-hard cheese made from the rich milk of the sheep that roam this region of Spain."
We returned to our hotel in Geyserville, replete and in need of a little shut-eye. We woke suddenly at about 8:30p.m. to gnawing stomachs, and remembered Ed Seghesio's admonition to try Santi, which he characterized as "the best Italian food in Sonoma," and said to try the tripe (not likely). Fortunately for us, Santi was within walking distance of the Geyserville Inn. We were set in a cozy little table and ordered two glasses of wine. The Alcotouristess ordered Gnocchi, which she felt was too soft, but I ordered the Rigatoni with pecorino cheese and roasted bell peppers in tomato sauce with a touch of cream. I quickly finished my glass of 2001 Marchese Di Gresy Dolcetto D'Alba Piemonte (I know, Italian wine in Napa, but it looked good), and asked for a glass of 1999 Nalle Zinfandel, which, I had a hunch, would compliment my pasta perfectly. It was better than perfect. It was my all-time favorite pairing ever.
We stumbled back to the hotel, in a state of gastronomic euphoria. Could this trip get any better? Stay tuned. :-D
posted by Alcotourist | 5:11 PM
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