The Walking Dead

Last Friday we hopped a plane and side-tripped our way to Barcelona. It was quite surreal, but I think that might have been the exhaustion we were suffering from.

Don’t tell my dad, but the reason we had such a substantial side trip (east coast Italy to northeast Spain) was because we got dates wrong. We were a month off kilter.

C'est la vie, I say. We had a brilliant time. The trip was in honour of one of my Dad’s old friends, Jim Rodford (The Kinks, Argent), who now plays bass for The Zombies. The band was formed in the mid-1960s and their album Odessey and Oracle (1967) seems to be gaining more popularity as the decades roll on. Jim very kindly added our names to the guest list, met us for a drink before the gig and though I had heard them all before, took the time to tell us tales from the good old days.

My Dad's mum Peggy, had worked with Jim's mother in St Alban's, England, when the two boys were but babes-in-arms. Dad returned to the motherland (the family had emigrated to Australia when he was four) years later after a stint in the army, met up with Jim, now playing for the Mike Cotton Sound, joined them on tour as a roadie and the rest, as they say, is history.

Mick gracefully played amateur photographer for Jim's fans as we stood at the bar, prior to the gig. Requests for signatures and photographs though alien to us, must be familiar and comforting to a band that will celebrate it's 50th year in 2011.

The gig itself was incredible, having grown up on their tunes, I was in awe from the first strike on the organ. I didn't even let the stoned blond girl thrashing her lustrous locks into my face, time and time again, ruin my night.

So, now we are back in France, in the Côtes du Rhône region, to be precise. After getting back from Barcelona we spent a few days near Turin, drinking Barbera d'Asti, Dolcetto d"Alba and the more famous Barolo. We visited the newly opened Barolo museum, perhaps I used the word surreal too early in this blog. We learnt nothing about the wine, but rather got an insight into some madman's view of the world.

Chin chin!

Pinch me!

Allo!

Picture this, one happy camper on a two seater, chilled Lillet Blanc in hand, Gillian Welch singing The Revelator in the background and quiche Lorraine warming in the oven.

“Pinch me?” I said to Michael as he stoked the wood heater in our cottage in Mairy sur Marne.

Argh. I got a head of myself. I haven’t even spoken to you about Paris yet.

Paris was... superb. We stayed in the 18^th, close to the Cimetiere Montmatre where Edgar Degas is buried. We didn’t visit, but I sent them my regards through the ether. We did the usual traipsing of the city. The Louvre, Jardin du Luxembourg, Champs Elysee, Le Marais (felafel is still to die for (TDF)) and Musee d’Orsay. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say Ingres and his friends are all safe and well.

For me, Paris is a city I will keep coming back to. It’s not for everyone, but I find the mix of culture, history and joie de vivre, bracing and mesmerizing.

One story I will share with you took place at our local bar, La Fourmi. On our second visit to this tremendously trendy bar we found ourselves a table for two on a crowded Friday evening. As it turns out, our quiet couple of beers coincided with a local celebration. Bloc Party were had a gig locally that night and somehow this resulted in free Bingo at all of the coolest venues across town.

Our neighbour introduced himself and his companion to us. In French at first then practically flawless English (he had spent a year in Sydney) “My name is Jerry and this Sara”, she corrected him “MAGGIE!!” Laughter and bonding ensued.

Jerry and Maggie guided us throughout the evening, translating the Jason Schwartzman (in his I Heart Huckabees days) lookalike host and his Barbie-esque assistant as they animatedly called the bingo numbers and side competitions throughout the evening. It felt like we were foreigners who had stumbled backstage at a Eurovision song contest. Totally surreal.

Ok. Back to currents events.

We left Paris this morning and drove ourselves (in the most luxurious Citroen you’ve ever seen, two tier upgrade!) towards Reims. Our village is on the outskirts of Chalon en Champagne. At this point we don’t even know where we are located in the greater “Champagne” scheme of things (not a vine in sight) but that is not dampening our mood.

We are bunking for the week in a caretakers cottage come gite at Domaine du Chateau de Mairy. A bee-ute-ti-full Chateau complete with orchard, lake and chickens etc. It looks like it was quite run down before the current owners moved in, which only adds to its charm. It’s the kind of place that one can only dream of. White washed walls, vintage glass chandeliers, quasi-vintage eclectic furniture (my favourite) and a claw foot tub.

I just did some maths; I was a little concerned that we were splurging with this place. We’re not. It works out at AU$86, which is expensive as far as gites go in this area but compared to what we were paying in London and Paris (approx AU$115 for a miniscule hovel), a steal.

We don’t have many plans past this evening’s meal. Tomorrow morning we will visit the Chateau after breakfast in the gardens and use the internet to plan our week.

Missing you.

I need a Napa.

We started this morning with a vague plan. To try some wine and enjoy ourselves. Not being at all familiar with the local viticultural regions we took a punt and picked a route around Sonoma, Glen Ellen, Napa and Petaluma (our base). This plan was rapidly turfed when we started battling Labor Day Holiday traffic both on and off (tasting tables!) the road.

Side Note: In the states they have access to an amazing thing called satellite radio. Mick assures me that it's accessible in Oz but we just haven't got on the band wagon (in cars. Teehee). We should. It's terrific. There is a whole station completely devoted to Elvis, live from Graceland. Curious about how an Elvis station would work, we googled. He recorded 553 songs in his career! Uh-may-zing! Come on Justin Bieber, keep up!

Sorry 'bout that. Back to business. Our first stop was Domaine Carneros in Napa. Owned by the Taittinger Champagne House, certified organic and just a little bit fancy! We tried four of their wines for an affordable $25 (a person! Ouch!). The stand out was Le Reve Blanc de Blanc; light golden in colour, lemons and apples on the nose and peaches and shortbread on the palate. The finish was smooth and dry.

Continuing our theme (does two stops classify as a theme?) we headed north west through the mountains to Glen Ellen. Up-hill from the town proper we arrived at Benzinger Estate. A family run Demeter Bio-dynamic certified winery and vineyard. We took a tour of their facilities, including the fascinating insectary where they grow plants to lure "friendly" bugs to the site. I could have wandered the plantings for hours.

As part of the tour our guide discussed the use of different oaks and corks in their product. He adamantly informed the group that no wine worth it's salt should be sealed under screw-cap. Like it was common law or something. Outrageous.

The Benzinger 2006 Oonapais Sonoma Mountain (Bordeaux blend) had an earthy nose, rich with plum and coffee. Well balanced tannins and excellent length supported complex flavours of blackcurrant and cocoa.

We finished our day with a surprising meal in downtown Napa. Not wanting to find ourselves at one of the many tourists traps, I found a link to a New York Times article reviewing West Coast restaurants. This led us to a table at Ubuntu, a community based vegetarian restaurant and yoga centre. We were blown away by the variety and inventiveness in the menu. It should be included in study texts for Melbourne chefs caught in the unstoppable mushroom-pumpkin risotto cycle.

Every dish made us stop and rethink what we were eating. Potatoes roasted in cucumber ash? Yes, it really worked.

They grow many of the ingredients bio-dynamically in the kitchen garden and source the others locally. Can I get a plate of harmony and connectedness on the side please?

Yosemite tomorrow. Sleep now.

xo

Taken' it easy.

Today we picked up the car. Mike braved the streets on his own, while I packed up our lives. Somehow our two packs and one backpack have multiplied into an assortment of bag-"rooms". A bag for kitchen accoutrement, a sack of laundry and an assembly of un-catergorisable "stuff" that was jammed into every other available gap.

Mick picked up the car and successfully made it back to the hotel to get me. A significant feat for his first state-side (left hand drive) driving experience. Working out where we were in the space of the universe was suddenly a challenge. Everything was front to back and we weren't helped by a road map that unfolded to the size of a bed sheet.

I can't speak for Mick but the fantastic feeling I felt of finally "arriving" when we hit the post "Golden Gate Bridge" HWY was overwhelming. This was what we had been looking forward to. The wind blowing through the windows, American pop-rock on the radio, the sun streaming down on us and views of eagles riding drafts of air high above the valleys.

We liked the romantic notion of taking the coastal road but we weren't quite prepared for the consequent journey time. The planned three hours dragged on and on as the road hugged the coastline.

We stopped early in the trip at Muir Beach. A small coastal community centered around the beach and it's adjoining creek system. Not perturbed by the signs warning of bobcats, coyotes or the occasional mountain lion we stretched our legs and gathered our bearings.

Upon returning to the car I promptly passed out. I suspect it was a side effect of my anti-nausea medication. Our tale continues much further down the road. *zzzz*

Be sure to wear flowers in your hair.

Jet-lag sucks. We accidentally lost half the day today by sleeping through our alarm until 12:30pm.

A frightening aspect (for a sheltered Melbournite) of San Francisco is the number of homeless people and beggars on the streets. Despite our best efforts, we must still look "tourist" and thus get approached on every street corner with a shake of a soda cup. It's saddening to see the plight of so many people in what is considered such a bountiful and prosperous country.

Don't worry, I'll have toughened up by the time we hit India.

We axed our morning plans and headed downtown on the bus. Through the notorious Tenderloin and on to Haight Ashbury (Hashbury). Which is famed as the Californian centre of the Hippy Revolution. We wandered westward down the strip enjoying the old Victorian houses, known as "Painted Ladies". The street seemed less Summer of Love and more "Brunswick St Tourist Trap" to me. Kind of sad. I wonder whether Joplin or the boys of the Grateful Dead would recognise it anymore.

Our main destination was the Magnolia Pub & Brewery, cnr of Haight and Masonic. Located in the original restaurant of Magnolia Thunderpussy (complete with original fixtures!). They brew 10 different beers on site and serve inexpensive gastro-pub grub.

Mick had the Kalifornia Kolsch, a German style white beer, served extra cold. It was crisp and refreshing with light florals and a slight metallic tang. I had a pint of the Proving Ground IPA, it was bold, hoppy with honey flavours and a bitter finish. Mike decided his whistle was not quite wet enough and ordered a post burger cider. The Two River's Granny Smith Hard Cider was not to our taste at all. We couldn't quite identify the flavour we didn't like in it. Something between Morning Fresh washing detergent and Pert 2 in 1 shampoo.

We both had burgers for the meal. I immediately regretted my order, wishing that I had ordered the Tomato Tartine (heirloom tomatoes, genovese basil pesto and smoked ricotta salata) or one of the house sausages (seafood boudin, andouille or pastrami crepinette). The burgers were good but not mind blowing. Food envy is the worst.

I forgot to mention- yesterday we saw Grant Imahara of Mythbusters fame in Union Square. I was keen to run over and befriend him but neither Mick or the traffic lights were working in my favour.

Frank Family Vineyards Zinfandel (Napa Valley) in hotel room plastic cups with Californian peaches for dinner tonight.

xo.

Live a little.

Day Two. We awoke at ten this morning (after dropping dead at 8pm). I wonder if our jet-lag is still with us.

We made it SOMA (south of Market) for "breakfast" at 1pm. A little Googling led us to Blue Bottle Coffee, a hidden un-signposted, St Ali-esque coffee nirvana/cafe. Mike enjoyed thick cut toast with the MOST delicious strawberry jam I have ever tasted, while I greened it up with a Little Gem (trans. Cos lettuce), poached egg and heirloom tomato salad. The coffee was moreish, but being late in the day already, we had to stop at one. The line of drooling customers that threatened to creep around the block also put us off another round.

After we realised we didn't actually have plans for our four days in San Fran we hot-tailed it to Borders and, like any good food lover sussed out the foodies section. We bought a book called The Tablehopper's Guide to Dining and Drinking in San Francisco a cheekily written guide with smart section titles like "Shituations" or "Ladies who Lunch like Dudes". The only thing it's missing is maps showing where everything is. We pawed the pages for an hour trying to find the locations on our dog-eared tourist map. Not tourist friendly, I guess not everything is meant to be. *sigh*

We indulged with a film in the afternoon. I wouldn't mention the title... but must- only as a warning. Eat Pray Love was cloying to say the least. Roberts owes a lot to her childhood orthodontist. Please! No! No more teeth!

Back in China Town we had a late dinner at the very-un-chinese-sounding Broadway Cafe, aptly named on Broadway Blvd. It was CHEAP, fast and authentic (Cantonese I think?!). By CHEAP I mean really. US$4.75 for a bowl of wonton noodle soup, packed with seafood, fresh baby bok choy and aromatic broth. We had a suprising stand-out dish of XO green beans, I could have finished the plate myself and I probably would have had Mick let me. Oh! I almost forgot, I had a glass of the freshest of fresh watermelon juice (US$1.75). Practically life changing. Have you seen the exchange rate lately? I don't know how they do it.

With J.W and M.J.H in the back of my mind I convinced Mick we needed to live a little. We headed for a local dive, Li Po Bar on Grant St. A small Chinese cocktail bar up top, with a legit underground soul/Rhythm & Blues/breakdancing club downstairs. We had a couple of beers upstairs before sampling their famous Mai Tai (with "secret" ingredient- Chinese Whiskey) and and heading downstairs. Think First Floor crossed with Cherry Bar with the added attraction of free-pouring bar staff and fewer lights.

As we left the harmonies of a capella beat-boxing and rapping trailed behind us.

xo.