Here and There

Not spectacular, but worth taking another look at the travelblogue.

Tara and I drove up to Mendocino County a few weeks ago for some wine tasting and camping. Got winery recommendations from Brad at In Bottles, someone to whom I owe just about all the little I know about wine. How’s that for a complicated grammatical expression?

After the slightly-longer-than-two-hour drive up from San Francisco, we meandered down the windy state Route 128 off U.S. 101 toward Anderson Valley. Goldeneye was our first stop. This quaint estate is unorthodox as far as its tastings go, in that upon entering, you are greeted by a host who goes over the selection that day, then you’re told you can sit inside or out (depending, I’m sure, upon the weather), and your pours are brought to you on a tray along with berries, nuts, and cheese. You get your pours all at the same time. We tasted the Migration pinot rosé, the Migration pinot noir (2005), and Goldeneye pinot noir (2004). The Migration was perhaps the best-smelling wine ever, but something was lost on the taste. Not a bad wine, just smelled better than it tasted. The Migration Pinot rosé was our favorite, and we left the winery with a bottle of it.

From there it was on down 128 to Scharffenberger, makers of fine sparkling wines. I finally learned why Scharffen Berger chocolates uses two words in its name, despite the fact that John Scharffenberger’s name is, ahem, Scharffenberger. He used to own the winery, but sold it to make his now-famous chocolates. Because the wine’s label was trademarked, or what have you, he simply split the name for the chocolate into two word. Yep.

Scharffenberger’s sparkling wines are amazing, and that’s coming from someone who’s not crazy about sparkling wines. We left with a 2004 syrah, and a bottle of extra dry sparkling to save until New Year’s Eve.

Then we headed over to Handley Cellars. a quietish estate between Philo and Navarro. It was late in the day, and I’m relying entirely on my notes now. A “fair” viognier from Dry Creek in Sonoma County seems to have started things off, followed by a “good” Anderson Valley pinot noir. Zinfandel grapes grown above the fogline on Mendocino Ridge go into a bold wine that I appreciated. Never had “fogline” wine before, to my knowledge. My notes for the zin say “good, but …” The chardonnay was “2/3 oaked, and you can tell. I no likes.” From your sophisticated wine reviewer.

It sounds worse than it was. We left with a bottle of the Mendocino Ridge zin (2005) and the Anderson Valley pinot gris (2006), which I don’t remember tasting, nor do I have notes for (who snuck that into my box?).

We drove from there down a sleepy 128 to 1 and up north to spend the night in a tent at MacKerricher State Park. A nice little park, with beach access.

Next morning, we stopped for breakfast at Eggheads in Fort Bragg, complete with its Wizard of Oz theme. When asked to be pointed the bathroom there, I was told, of course, to “follow the yellow brick road.”

We started Saturday off at Husch, whose surrounding vineyards were beautiful.

Husch was offering 12 wines for tasting that day, so we meandered our way down the list, getting alternating pours of every wine. From the notes:

2006 Sauvignon blanc: fruit. One bottle taken with us.
2005 Renegade SB: earthy.
2005 Special Reserve Chardonnay: medicine.
2006 Gewürtzraminer: juice.
2006 Vin gris of pinot noir: eh
2005 AV (Anderson Valley) pinot noir: metal, but good, sharp.
2005 Reserve AV pinot: flat, better than previous pinot. tastes more like the grape itself.
2004 Cabernet sauvignon: bold, clove.
2003 Grand Oz (an odd coincidence, considering our breakfast?): best red, tastes like good wine (but costs a prohibitive $55 per bottle.
2006 Chenin blanc: subtle, delicious. One bottle taken with us.
2006 Muscat Canelli: round, sweet but not too.
2005 Postre late harvest sauvignon blanc*: yum. One bottle taken with us.

* It was with this wine that I learned what botrytis is. Namely, it is a so-called noble rot that sucks moisture out of the grape, leaving behind a more sugary taste.

We left Husch with our three bottles and headed down the road to Navarro, perhaps the best winery I have ever been to.

We ended up leaving with six bottles, including (in no certain order) a white Riesling, 2005 pinot noir, 2006 pinot grigio, 2005 muscat blanc, a 2005 late harvest riesling, and 2005 late harvest muscat blanc. I’m sorry, I don’t have notes and it’s been too long. I just remember being blown away by all the wines we bought, and fairly impressed by those we tasted but didn’t buy. There had to be a limit to what we left with, after all.

The grounds surrounding the winery were the most lush and gorgeous I’ve seen.

We finished the trip off at Roederer Estate, a place very proud to have had its wines served at several White House events during the Clinton years. We tasted several of Roederer’s sparkling wines, including a magnum, and I was happy, but not blown away. I did think their pinot noir was the best I had tasted in the valley, and I told our pourer as much. At this, he instructed us to visit Esterlina Winery, off the beaten path, and appointment only. He claims Esterline’s pinot is the best in the valley. We never made it to Esterlina (we’ll save that for the next trip), but we did leave Roederer with a bottle of their 2005 pinot noir.

My overall thoughts on AV wines: Though the valley is known for its pinot noirs, I was less-than-impressed. The Oregon coast remains my preferred pinot region, and Central Coast of California would be second preference. Between Scharffenberger and Roederer, I do like sparkling wines from this region. And based on the quantity of bottles we left with, Navarro still holds the distinction of most well-liked winery I’ve ever been to.

The scenery is also breathtaking in Anderson Valley. The people are down-to-earth and most tastings are free of charge, always a bonus.

And, at a mere two hours from San Francisco, I can see myself going back time and again.

* I’m having trouble sizing photos right now, but I hope to have some up to accompany this point in the near future.

Or, a weekend adventure in Central Coast California.

(Warning: This is a long travelblogue post)

We left the Bay Area sometime shortly after midnight Thursday (technically Friday, but I’ve never been one to relent to the nextdayness of post-midnight hours). We drove straight through down U.S. Highway 101 from San Francisco to Paso Robles, a distance of 204 miles. We took the first exit in PR and meandered some back roads, eventually heading back toward 101 to a motel parking lot, where we parked and did our best to sleep.

Next morning (now, admittedly, Friday) we had breakfast at Denny’s. We got mistaken there for a couple who had come to the “restaurant” months ago and left upon feeling altogether ignored by the Denny’s staff. Nope, not us.

After our “meal” (read: pancakes with piles of “strawberry” goo), we headed down state Highway 46 eastdound to Firestone winery, a modernish estate with few visitors at 10:30 a.m.

A very friendly worker treated us (and they allowed Gida to come inside) to a nice, $5 tasting of five-plus wines. We left with a bottle of Cabernet Franc Rosé and Riesling.

After a short pause to sober up completely, it was time to head west on 46 to Eagle Castle.

The woman pouring our wine here was less than enthusiastic, yawning and just barely looking us in the eye. Maybe it had something to do with her glittery “Wine Princess” shirt. The wines were mediocre, but they did offer a nice late harvest Viognier that we picked up. And, I mean, it’s a castle. WIth a moat.

Hunt Cellars was our anamoly winery. The only reason we stopped off here was the namesake factor. Unlike most other area wineries, Hunt had shade trees, and it was hot, so we cooled off a bit before tasting.

Oddly, the tasting room’s decor smacked of my parents’ house in Texas:

More mediocre wines, but I felt compelled to buy some member of my family a bottle, so I left with their “Moonlight Sonata” Chardonnay. Interestingly, Hunt’s winemaker, David Hunt, is blind. That doesn’t stop him from being photographed for multiple chamber of commerce-type photos, sans protective shades.

It was here that the first celebrity mistaken-identity incident took place. “You look like, ah god, who is it?” “Andy Dick,” I replied, without hesitation. “That’s it!” he said. “And she looks like someone, too.” “Angelina?” “Yes!!! What’s up, Brad?”

From Hunt Cellars, we drove farther west on 46 to what was billed as “punk rock wine,” Four Vines. I wasn’t disappointed. First of all, they let Gida in and gave her treats. Nice. Secondly, upon entering the tiny tasting room, a very loud winery worker launched into how much I looked like Andy Dick. Wow, I thought, is my hair that curly today? “I hope I’m just not half as annoying as that guy,” I said, spending my stock response all at once.

Four Vines was great. Very down-to-earth, both in wine and people. We ended up buying a bottle of their “Loco” Tempranillo blend, but tasting “Naked” chardonnay, “Maverick” zinfindel, and, honestly, I forget what else. And we were graced with Four Vines tattoos.

Then we continued down a beautiful stretch of road to Cayucos, a non-sleepy coastal town. To change into beach clothes, we stopped into the Cayucos Saloon, whose motto is “Liquor in the front, poker in the rear.” I know, original, eh? I’m bummed I forgot to get a T-shirt or hoodie from that place.

Wine tasting finished for the day, we plopped over to the beach and did a little relaxing and a little wading. Well, not wading exactly. The water was still so cold, I only allowed my ankles such a privilege.

We finished the trek to San Luis Obispo, driving past Morro Rock, which had just begun to be enveloped in fog, and some lovely smoke stacks.

Down the road from our motel was the famous Madonna Inn. I’ll let photo tell the story.

We ended up having decent-enough Mexican food at Vallarta in SLO.

Next morning, we presciently choose IHOP over Applebee’s for breakfast, then made our way to Tolosa winery. Tolosa had great wines and a very modern design. Here, we did a spot of vineyard frolicking, then took off with our Chardonnays and bottles of Pinot Gris in tow.

On to Edna Valley vineyard, with its crowds and excellent views.

In the parking lot at Edna Valley, we saw a stretch-limo version of the ZZ Top car.

It was basically a newly made, old-timey car, and tiny as hell inside. But what eye candy.

Our last winery, Talley, was the best. It came recommended by a friend, and though the tasting room itself was nothing to write home about, the wines were superb. We left with a 2005 Riesling and a 2005 late harvest Riesling. From the Bishop’s Peak Vineyard, with whom Talley partners, we got a Paso Robles rosé, a 2004 petite sirah [sic], and 2005 “Stone Cold” Chardonnay, easily the best late harvest Chardonnay I’ve ever had.

After a quick stop for lunch in Arroyo Grande, which ended up being a failed attempt to find paninis, we ended the trip with a stop at Avila Beach. Avila had been billed as having the warmest waters in the region, and what sage advice that was. It was a nice, long beach, and surprisingly, the hundreds of people out enjoying the warm weather didn’t bother me. What did was the fact that Avila doesn’t allow dogs on its beach before 5 p.m. What???

The water is warm there because its mostly protected from the current by a jut of land out into the ocean. Nice work, earth. We got in up to our waists, a rarity in the Pacific.

On the three-hour trip back home, we decided all the warm weather and beach dwelling inspired a seafood dinner, and so we went to PJ’s Oyster Bed in San Francisco.

All in all, it was a highly recommended easy weekend getaway from San Francisco or Los Angeles. And, as with every trip I’ve taken since I moved to SF seven years ago, I was happy to be home, even if it was cold and foggy.

Where I come from, soda is called Coke. Doesn’t matter if it’s Dr Pepper (all good copy editors know there’s no period after Dr), 7UP, Pepsi (god forbid), or whatever. If it fizzes, chances are you can refer to it generically as Coke.

Some call it pop. Some soda, some soft drinks.

More to the point of the post. I got into a discussion the other day with a friend about our respective favored delivery form/method for soda. I suggested that, given that the carbonation-to-syrup ratio was right, fountain is the best. She immediately interrupted to say, “But, how often is the mix perfect? You ask too much.” Touché. She went on to posit her preferences, and then it was my turn. In descending order:

1) fountain
2) can
3) glass bottle

We all have our preferences. Feel free to share yours or comment on mine.

* The lack of mention of plastic is intentional. That abomination lies in the same cess pool of consumer products as tropical Sweet Tarts and rainbow Nerds.

I’ve never quite understood why the good people at Ritual don’t leave a thing (yes, that popular measurement/container size known as “a thing”) of soy milk out on the counter with the half-and-half and milk.

I guess I could go ask them, but that would be too easy. I’d rather bitch about it.

I’m at the morning cafe. Just got here, really. On a new, so far successful program of waking with most of the rest of the world, meaning before 9 a.m.

I sit next to two older women, both wearing Golden Gate National Park fleece vests. They seem nice enough. A few minutes into sitting here, one of them leans over and says, “Excuse me. I’m just curious. Do you have a job? Or do you go to school?”

This was no presumption, no condescending inquiry on her part. It’s a legitimate question I’ve wondered since this place opened. Where do all these patrons come from? What do they do to earn their rent? And do they really have so much time to pile up dishes and scatter muffin crumbs on the table?

This place isn’t alone. In most popular cafes around town (and, I’m sure, in others towns as well), there are dozens, scores maybe, of people, typically in their twenties and thirties (okay, sometimes older too), spending all day in front of novels, laptops, spreadsheets, blogs, news sites, Photoshop or InDesign documents, dissertations, book reports, games of Scrabble … I don’t know. But they’re there.

I kindly told these ladies I work at a newspaper, so I go in when the sun goes down. Not entirely true (it’s still light out at 2 p.m.), but an easy enough explanation. Maybe everyone has an easy explanation.