Napa: Come for the Wine, Stay for the People
To my left is a table of food that holds a plate of chopped up blood sausage that is to die, but also a four-inch high moose (as in the big antlers) pie that I’ve arranged to get the recipe for.
Across the table is a gentleman with a semi-vintage soviet carnival hat on his head who also happens to make some of the best wines I’ve tasted in a while.
Behind me is a table with more live and dead bottles of Semillon from around the globe than I’ve ever seen in one place.
Across the way I spot a tall and lanky former philosophy professor discussing the meaning of “oily” in wine. And she’s excited.
That one is talking to a cherubic, “natural” wine maker whose wine I could drink all year long.
Meanwhile, I’m in a vinious haze because I can’t decide between the Chateau Climens, the 15 year-old Aussi Semillon that blew my mind, the “natural” wine that keeps tugging on my palate, and a brand new Semillon that has a homemade label on it and might be the best of the bunch.
Up on the porch is a bearded attorney with a spatula in his hand and a slightly fiendish look on his face in charge not only of all the meat being grilled up but also of this gathering that is called, “Semaggedon”.
And the little event even has its own official tee shirts!
Also, it’s early May, we are in short sleeves, and there’s not a Cabernet in sight!
Now tell me that Napa Valley isn’t just about the best place on earth.