Central (Coast) Standard Time: Our Trip to Wine Country

Does it feel like this blog is a constant stream of travelogues and meal reviews? That’s what it feels like to me writing it! I’m still not sure what The People Want here. The photos (maybe)? The witticisms (probably not; I just can’t stop myself from punning)? Perhaps people I know are scanning entries for allusions to themselves or to people they know, and to that end I will try to throw in more juicy Ds. Then there are the total random inquisitors – bless them – who land on the page due to their varied and unexpected queries. I’ve written about those before, of course. The greatest traffic drivers of that category are definitely celebrity gossip and wedding planning advice. Happy to help!

Food pics + travelogue combined! Here we are at Los Agaves, a fabulously reviewed Mexican restaurant in Santa Barbara.

This was not our first time to Los Agaves, though. Look at us from these vintage photos 3 years ago, almost to the day. Soak in this youthful eagerness!

Now my chance to be eager! Look at our “first blush of being together” friendly faces.

Also from around Santa Barbara, years ago – posing in front of stoplights and palms, hoping perhaps to grab a shot of Oprah strolling the town square with Stedman in the back.

Gazing out over the water, hoping to spot our relationship 3 years down the road

Barreling on with the aforesaid major blog categories (travelogues and food pics! Not Beyonce/wedding, at least that I know of). This past weekend, Deepak and I went back to the Central Coast. This time, we drove a little further north, to Paso Robles.

Mission accomplished. (We are standing in front of a mission in Santa Barbara.)

I never knew much about the Central Coast until I moved to California. Then, once I got here, I understood it to be merely a mishmash of sere cities that one drives through (or flies over) on the way between L.A. – S.F. Shamefully dismissive attitude.

Zooming over the bridges, ignoring signs for “vista point” (we’d stopped by them when driving to Santa Ynez Valley just the week prior; found them to be overgrown)

Now that I am older, I have learned a great reason not to disregard California’s lovely Central Coast: It contains a very well-developed wine region.

This sign was in the home we were staying in. ♫I only came for the canines and the drinks♪

Gorgeous Chihuly-esque glass lamp in the foyer, featuring these sinuous jellyfish

And on

I know that I am merely at the cusp of being ready for the sophistication (and cost!) of the adult-sounding activity of “wine tasting,” because I still can’t help but laugh every time I hear the very phrase. To me, the word “tasting” denotes the process by which a relatively disposable person tests whether the king’s food has been poisoned. Either that or I expect the word to figure into the title of an unjustifiably expensive restaurant with experimental preparations and microscopic portions!

Deck view

Wine “tasting”? But I already know what wine tastes like! Wine = A glass of Welch’s + a bit of acrid sweetness + a presage of chattiness and rueful reflectiveness. I don’t get the dreaded “Asian flush” very consistently, but when I do I note that it’s often brought on by grape-based drinks – wine, sparkling wine, grappa (I never drink this), etc. So “wine” also brings with it presentiments of hot face for me.

With this new activity of wine tasting came a whole host of new terms. Here we are shown at a “wine pick-up party.” Such gatherings are an excuse for the well-heeled winos of the area to retrieve their monthly shipments from the vineyard while tasting (need to ensure quality, of course) all the latest vintages. Also a wonderful time to rub elbows with fellow purple-tongues.

I think these people were overserved.

Nevertheless, our generous friend Jack was housesitting this past weekend and he kindly invited Deepak and me to share in the task. I must admit we didn’t really shoulder any of the housesitting duties, but we sure did enjoy the perks.

Jack and Deepak at Calcareous winery pick-up party