Wednesday, May 28, 2003
EASY LIKE SUNDAY MORNING Sunday
EASY LIKE SUNDAY MORNING
Sunday morning, up the hill north-west of Philo. Impressions so far: we were wise not to try getting here at night. Just taking 128 off the 101 was a bit of a challenge in daylight. Then, to get to the cabin, we turn off of 128 several miles past a mountain valley hamlet called Philo (population around 500) right next to a longtime favorite winery, and go up a little dirt road for a few miles. The road is barely more than a fire trail, but it’s lined with rail fences and utility poles and refurbished old barns that are now family homes on 20 acres each. Or anyway, that’s what the road looks like till you get near the end, where it’s diving into and out of thick brush and forest and the houses are few and very far between, hidden in dingles deep in the woods. Eventually we hit a T intersection, hang a rickie, and go even deeper into the coastal mountains, into deeper woods, and there, improbably, is another intersection - and at the intersection is a small wooden sign bearing the address of the cabin at the foot of a steep set of tire ruts leading up the hillside. The car complies with our demands, performing flawlessly on our first real road trip and off-road experience since we got it. The gate, when we reach it, is rustic, falling apart - Kel has to hold it open so it doesn’t swing shut on us as we drive through.
We continue under a canopy of oak and laurel up the 1/3-mile-long driveway. The cabin is brown, wood, with a loft, a porch - wrap-around, wisteria lattices, stained glass - in sum, very cozy and nice. The dog has been exceptionally good on this long trip; now he’s making himself dizzy sniffing everything, even us. Inside, the cabin is adorable. Mismatched furniture, all extremely comfortable; local lore and muckraking newspapers; cool music we aren’t familiar with; big open kitchen; big bed with adjustable mattress firmness for either side. The deck overlooks both hills and vales, fading off into a not-perceptibly-habitated distance of vineyards and forests and hazy fog… a small pond sits below the dutch door leading from the back of the kitchen, wild turkeys gobble back and forth in the woods....
Okay, we aren’t getting much water pressure from the big tank up the hill but all else is awesome and now it’s Sunday morning, we’re listening to Zen House (which we brought) and waiting for the pump guy to show up. (Sounds like a porno setup. Coals to Newcastle.) Last night, we went down the hill to the winery on 128 and had a few paired tastings, which revealed some interesting differences in our palates, and admired the folk art, 4th century chinese sculpture, and aboriginal carvings with which the place was, in part, decorated. Afterwards, we went on to Mendocino town, which was even more lush and gorgeous than I’d remembered - I don’t think we’d ever been there in the spring before, and the wildflowers were on hyperdrive. Little alleys were choked with bowers and wild lupine and nasturtium, old wood was livid with moss, old hinges on old doors offered studies in color and texture, the Pacific insistently pounding the driftwood-littered shore 70 feet below at the foot of the cliffs - through which the sea has torn a long transverse bore, over which the earth eventually collapsed, through which gaping cave in the headlands we watched waves surge through the cliff bore, while across the street the saltbox romanticism of the town’s main drag glowed in the late afternoon....
We walked Ukiah, Main and Albion Streets - the three streets that constitute the part of town that merits walking; we peered in on galleries and browsed some boutiques but it was after 5 and shops were closing, so we made our way back to Beaujolais and ate supper. (Non-foodies: skip to next paragraph.) Kel started with seared scallops, local morrels and asparagus on a bed of asparagus puree, which was decent; I had a smoked chicken salad with local granny smiths and local pecorino-style cheese, which also didn’t suck. While ordering we shared a cassis and soda - quite the gustatory stimulant - and Kel had a sparkling wine with her scallops; I had a glass of 2000 Lolonis Sauv Blanc with my salad and another glass of it with my roast sturgeon in truffle reduction with house made tagiatelle (sp?), beets and garden veggies; Kel got a glass of the same wine with her roast chicken in truffle glaze, mashed potatoes and veggies. Both entrees were palatable. For dessert, Kel had fresh banana cake with malted chocolate ice cream and candied bananas; I had a chocolate brioche bread pudding with creme anglaise. Again, not bad, and the place is as comfortable and homey and well-staffed as I ever remembered.
After, we strolled the cafe’s lovely gardens, picked up some pastries for (today’s) breakfast [remember I wrote this on Sunday] at the local juice bar during their weekly open mike session, and then cruised back inland and up the hill listening to John Mayall’s “Wicked Grin.” I woke up at 6 this morning and went out to take photos on the property even though it was pretty foggy and grey. (Good texture and depth of color, though.) At noon we’re scheduled to be back in Mendo at Sweetwater for an hour in a sauna/hot tub suite, in the nicest hot tub ever to cradle my moist naked self. Maybe I’ll do some yoga and prepare myself for a deeper level of relaxation. My time is limited, after all, and my residual tension level is dangerously high.
UPDATE: of course, this was all days ago. But in a sense it endures. Monday was bright and sunny and we had a great breakfast in Booneville and hit four wineries on the way back to the cabin - three of which are truly world class. By coincidence, we brought home three bottles. Now it’s wednesday morning and I need to think about work again. But somewhere in the back of those thoughts, my butt is still soaking in that sublime hot tub under the Mendocino sun. Some things are too enjoyable to be left behind when they’re over.