Friday
Good friends have arranged a private tour and tasting for us at Robert Sinskey Vineyards. Founded in 1982, the vineyard was meant to be a retiring physician's hobby. As it seems with all things wine and food, the line between pastime and obsession is breached and today the vineyard includes 200 acres and a vineyard estate in the Stags Leap District. From two rooms where giant steel tanks dominate, we are led through the cellar caves, a rabbit warren lined with French oak barrels, hoses and pumps. In the cave's library, the walls are lined with shelves and bottles, all tied down with copper to prevent them from falling in event of an earthquake. While we admire the rows of wine, I murmur to Kellie: "I need a library like this one." One of the cellar crew -- I think his name is John -- comes running up to our guide with a pitcher of wine which he proceeds to pour in our glasses.
"Try this. This is the 2005 Vandal Vineyard." It's one of their noted pinot noirs, and this one is not due to be bottled until later this year. He had simply drawn some from a barrel to taste and wanted to share the experience with those of us wandering in the cellar. It's a very fruit forward taste, very pungent.
"Son of a..." Kellie murmurs quietly, taking another sip. Kellie can cuss like a sailor. When she's rendered speechless, it generally means she's impressed.
Later when we try the 2001 Vandal Vineyard pinot noir in the tasting room, I'm made vividly aware of the differences. The vintage we tasted in the cellar is coltish and explosive; the 2001 is softer, refined. We love both.
Jennifer, whose card reads, "Token Southerner," is warm and friendly, sharing with us her love and passion for wine. She leads us through a flight of the vineyard's releases. Kellie and I are both red wine lovers; but it's hot today and the Vin Gris is so lovely, so clear and sweet on our tongues. Jennifer's from Atlanta by way of Charlotte; and a year ago, came out to Napa, and never left. (Obsession.) Who doesn't envy her? She is so enthusiastic about the wines that we, too, fall in love with them; to the tune of two and a half cases.
Within the tasting room at Sinskey is the demonstration kitchen where Maria Helm Sinskey, the vineyard culinary director, teaches and cooks. She was one of Food and Wine's Best New Chefs in 1996 and an acclaimed chef at Blue Light Café, Sherman House, and Plumpjack Café. Her cookbook, The Vineyard Kitchen: Menus Inspired by the Season, was published in 2003; my copy is dog-eared and worn from countless readings. She is teaching a class while Kellie and I taste wine; at one point, she steps from behind the curtain to grab a bottle of wine. She sees us and says hello with a friendly smile. I can't help myself. 
"I love your book," I tell her. "I forgot to bring it for your autograph."
"Come back!" she says cheerily heading back to her kitchen.
Kellie snorts. "You were ready to pee yourself."
I've said it before: take your movie stars, athletes, and musicians; they do not interest me. But let me stand before a chef - and one I admire - and I become a blithering idiot.
We leave Sinskey far later than we anticipated; due to meet friends for winetasting at other vineyards in forty-five minutes, I hustle Kellie off to lunch at Tra Vigne. Luckily for us, one of the cross roads connecting the Silverado Trail to Route 29, the other main vein of Napa Valley, is right around the corner from Sinskey.
At Tra Vigne, we are seated outside; the weather is utterly glorious. Everyone has been telling us that it has rained nonstop in California -- we see sunny skies and feel a crisp 73 degrees. Tra Vigne is one of my favorite stopping places in Napa Valley. Kellie orders the lattuga e mozzarella (limestone lettuce, buffalo mozzarella, olives, oven dried tomatoes), and I order a bowl of the spring pea soup to start. Then we follow with, respectively, the pizza, and the maltagliatti con battuto alla toscano, wide pasta ribbons with a meat sauce. What I love about Tra Vigne is how well they make comfort food. My favorite dishes there involve meat (usually rabbit or duck) and pasta. Once, on a visit with Peggy, I was so bowled over by my pasta that I ceased speaking to her for the duration of lunch just so I could enjoy the sauce, the rabbit, the ragu. Unbelievable.
I notice Kellie staring behind me and smiling from time to time; so I take a peek. Seated at the table behind us are three nattily attired and insanely cute old men. Septuagenarians at least, we discover that they are old friends who met every Friday for lunch at the restaurant; they live part time in San Francisco and Napa; and one of them is familiar with our corner of the world, having been sent to Ft. Benning in 1943. Once there from the Royal Highland Regiment, in kilt, he found to his shock that American officers did not have their own personal batman (valet). Jeff and Chris call to let us they've arrived, so we murmur our quick good-byes.
We head back to the Silverado Trail.
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