The Obligatory

Saturday morning, I set my alarm for 5:30 for a date with my kidnappers.

Those kidnappers, of course, being my roommates.

For about a week before, they had threatened to blindfold and drive me to an undisclosed location to celebrate my observed birthday. I'd been told to bring items as disparate as rain coats, hiking boots, and sea-sickness medication, and thus had no idea where I was going.

We piled into Meryl's car around 6:45 and headed north.

Past Ventura ... no Channel Islands. Past Santa Barbara ... no urban exploration ... into the wild, mostly-tamed lands of central California.

We stopped off in Buellton, a town whose billboards proclaimed it the "home of Split Pea soup," and continued on the main drag past orchards, farms, and ostrich ranches. Was I going to an ostrich ranch? That'd be pretty cool.

Nope. We kept driving, and out of the fields came a dense, compact little European-style village - with Danish flags everywhere. Solvang. An interesting Danish-revival village smack in the middle of Spanish California.

That town's got moxie.

Apparently, there was a group of Danish teachers and craftsmen who founded the town to flee Midwestern weather, and managed to keep much of their culture intact. So much so that they even got a visit from the King and Queen of Denmark.

We were more interested in breakfast, though. So we stopped at a bakery / cafe in the center of town and got to work. Coffee, eggs, toast, homemade raspberry jam and aebleskivers - small pancake balls that were like hot, freshly-baked, heartier donut holes.



We downed our coffees and set out back on the road for a local winery tour. A winery tour! Fantastic!

I hadn't been to any vineyards hitting up some coastal Connecticut vineyards with my family back in December. Before that, I can't even remember the last time I took advantage of my Californian location for some wine-stained goodness. Probably 2004, now that I think of it. Something I really enjoy yet hadn't done in a really long time. In other words, the perfect gift.

We started out at Sunstone Winery, which had a great mission-style patio and some really excellent organic wines, to boot. They also had this handy 'essence table,' just to get your nose working.



We sprung the extra cash for the reserve cellar tastings, and I was impressed enough to buy two bottles for later. They had a really awesome syrah rose that came dangerously close to a fruit wine, but still kept enough dryness to keep me from being embarassed about liking it.

Next up was Buttonwood, which definitely had the most hip of all the decors. Unfortunately, the staff was fairly uninformative when it came to the tastings, and the wines were ok, but nothing particularly worth writing home about.



They did have a very nice flower garden, though.

Next up was Blackjack Ranch, which had a beautiful tasting room, a great wooden bar, extensive selection, generous tasting list, and friendly and knowledgable staff. Even though they carded Rachel and she had to miss out on the wines 'cause she left her license at home.



I ended up walking out of that place with a nice pricey bottle of pinot noir. Were I less broke or more drunk, I would have left with many more.

Next up was Beckman Vineyards, a biodynamic farm slightly-off the beaten California State Routes that run from Los Olivos to Santa Barbara. As much as I'm a sucker for organic wines, I'm an even bigger sucker for fully biodynamic vineyards. Why? 'Cause there's science involved!

Also, it's got good ecological karma. The first such vineyard I'd visited was Benzinger up in Sonoma, way, way back when I was first out in California for college. Damn, 2002? That was a long time ago.

Anyway, I was not only impressed that such a fully natural system of large-scale commercial agriculture existed, but that it also produced some kick-ass wines. Beckman was no exception, and their free (!) tastings got me to buy my last bottle of the day.

After that, I was more than happy to collapse in the fields outside, my fingers and toes buried comfortably in the grass while the wind carried the smell of the vineyard across a small lake.



FYI, the facial expression here is 35% drunkenness, 55% earnest contentedness, and 10% amusement at Rachel's detailed recounting of the plot of "Rashomon."

After that, we had a sobering lunch in Los Olivos and decided to call it a day. A kick-ass day, and an excellent birthday (observed), too.

One of the things I like most about going to wineries is the way the wine you buy acts as a sort of memory battery. I don't know if other people have this sort of reaction, but I definitely do. I kept a few bottles from my 2002 Sonoma trip for a year or more. Each time I opened a bottle and inhaled the first sniff from the glass, I was instantly transported back. I remembered the wine bottle, the vintner who poured it, the way the vineyard looked and smelled, the bright sun peaking through mountain clouds, the leaves changing colors on the trees - vast amounts of minute details that had been dormant for a year, all brought back by one little smell of fermented grape juice.



Then again, I could be perfectly happy sitting with a glass of wine and doing nothing more than smelling it for an hour. That's just how I roll.

So, for a birthday (observed) gift that will last for many months and years to come, many, many thanks to Meryl, Rachel, and Aimee.



For more pictures, check out the ol' Flickr pool. They're all taken by the roommies. I was far too full of wine.