Napa Valley was booked solid this weekend, so we went to the coast at Mendocino where for just a little extra, we got our own little cottage on a clifftop, with a hot tub with an umatched view on the Pacific Ocean. We’d bought a bottle of our favourite Sauvignon Blanc the day before, and after a quick chill in the fridge, well, you see where this is going…

A little ahem later we walked over to a local restaurant institution for dinner just as the sun was setting. I took a glance at the menu and asked our waiter if she’d recommend the Cassoulet to a homesick Frenchman. Next thing I knew, Tony the owner/chef was at our side personally vouching for his beans, and I took his word for it.

An inspired choice, it was the best I’ve had outside of Southern France or my mom’s kitchen. I later asked him if I’d correctly identified some of the bits floating around as gizzard and he confirmed it was. I could have cried for joy. He asked if I’d gotten a little pigskin from the pig’s feet he includes for consistency (the jelly from the cartilage, you see), and well, by the time we were done, I’m sure none of the other patrons within earshot would ever eat Cassoulet again.

Oh, and Tony bakes his own bread, and it is delicious, with a light, airy but not dry crumb, a hard, thick crust and no excess bitterness. I wish I could bake bread like that.

I must admit, however, that my Tarte Tatin trumps his, hands down.

I love this area, with its steep hils rising from the flat valley like sugarloaf islands from the sea in Chinese ink paintings. The dark green banks of trees scatter across the ground with its golden hide like a lion-skin rug stretching to a horizon that is never far, but always wide open…

It is uplifiting and beautiful and restful to my eyes, and I would be happy living here, provided broadband could be had.

We rushed past this farm equipment on the way to a winery further up Alexander Valley (we didn’t make it in time), andI just had to come the next day and give it the full treatment it deserved, with its primary colors washed to pastel softness by the years in the sun, the black calf standing guard under its protective shadow, and those hills piling up in the background.

I’m still on the lookout for a good shot to show you what I mean about the hills sprouting from the flat earth here, and I do not despair of finding it before we have to leave on Wednesday.

Next up, tho, Mendocino and some redwood forests, for a real challenge to my photographic skills and the Princess’s patience.

35 years ago, two American wineries beat the best French wines in a blind tasting in Paris.

The rest, as they say, is history.

One of these wineries is Chateau Montelena, up in Calistoga, and their chardonnay is still world-class.

I will remember their pond, however, for magical light and pretty fowl and their cranky, bright red crayfish.

So… gastronomic somehow, except I just don’t know what to serve with the turtle soup…

A Pinot?

There is a Sushi place
Corner of Sutter street,
Not far from Union Square.

My Princess took me there
For a wee bit to eat,
And to slow down the pace.

She’d had her first Sushi
There, and still remembered
Well their sweet Unagi
And yummy salty curd.

Seven years later she
Took me to the spot of
Her unexpected love
Affair with good Sushi.

Cheaper, and better, than anything we’ve had on the East Coast.

Sanraku is worth the trip, and yes, Greg, the Sushiya was hot.

Cousin Clement is nineteen, younger than my daughter, and I distinctly remember a little tyke much younger version of him running around at family reunions. We used to call his older brother and him the Wolf Children. Let’s just say that they were not brought up in the same style Greg and I were.

Well, years later here we are, I’m an old fart on a working vacation to Napa Valley and he’s living on campus in the Bay Area for six months learning English and 80% of his class is female and cosmopolitan. Jealous, me? Nah…

He’s been here two weeks, has a snaazy little phone that also does WiFi, email, digital camera and he has just discovered Starbucks and sushi. A true MetroStoic living out of a digital barrel if I ever saw one. We talked about the city, the country, current events and his long term plans… which involved a lot of questions about Green Cards, oddly enough.

He’s got the legs to ride a rented bike from Fisherman’s Wharf to the other end of the Golden Gate and back in two and a half hours when a pretty Belgian asks him to. His current plan involves making some 25+ year-old friends to rent a car and drive to Yosemite.

His parents have got nothing to worry about, six months from now, he’s going to be fluent in both the language and the culture, and, much to my surprise, he’s already growing up to be a fine young man.