blue, cloudless sky

So we met on a winding country road in Carneros.

And we ran.

And the only sounds -- besides our breathing and the slap of our shoes striking the road -- were the bleating of sheep, the croaking of frogs and the whir of the tires from the occasional cyclists riding past.

brain melt

I spent most of the day in meetings. This made my head hurt and my muscles twitch. And I found it difficult to keep track of time (and my sanity) while sitting for hours in a tiny, windowless conference room with law journals lining the walls and furniture that was probably designed around the time my parents got married (mid-70s). Those chairs were uncomfortable.

Thankfully, there were bright points: Exciting ideas, good brainstorming. And a lunch break that involved the discovery of an $8.99 Indian buffet with fresh naan brought to your table.

I should've taken a picture. But I didn't. So instead, here is Meep, up close and personal. He does not have any law journals. And he appreciates natural light.

hooray for vouvray

Saturday was Open That Bottle Night, the night when you're supposed to open the bottle of wine you've been saving for a "special occasion," but of course, the right occasion never happens so you might as well make up an occasion, hence Open That Bottle Night. (By the way, this special evening is the brainchild of Wall Street Journal wine writers Dorothy Gaiter and John Brecher, smart people who believe in enjoying wine, not hoarding it.)

We opened the Champalou 2006 Vouvray La Cuvée de Fondraux, an off-dry Chenin Blanc from the Loire region of France (one of my favorite wine regions -- I heart Cab Franc and I heart Chenin and I heart the pricepoints of Loire wines). This particular bottle was a 30th birthday gift from a fellow wine pubber; she told me it was one of her favorites.

She has good taste.

We're talking aromas of stone fruit -- peaches, apricots -- and a hint of honey and some white flowers. The peach appears again on the palate and then is followed by a wonderful minerally finish -- like wet stone. (Yes, I know -- it sounds lame. As if anyone would go out and lick a wet stone. But just pretend you are going to do this -- for those of you in Northern California, where the rain has no end, this will not be hard to imagine. The resulting taste -- that flintiness -- is what the finish of this wine is like.)

On Saturday, we drank it with carrot cupcakes from Sift. But we didn't finish the bottle -- it had been a long day of eating and drinking, which wore us out.

So we finished the rest of the Vouvray tonight. And it was still lovely and delicious. And it tasted just fine with bangers and mash.

the shoe, part 2

As we return to our saga, we find our heroine contemplating yet two more pairs of slippers.

Neither of which is magic.

Unless you are (A) going to the prom (in which case, select the shoe on the right, wear something in electric blue and get your hair done in a French twist) or (B) looking for something that looks like a pressed flower or a dead butterfly and for some reason seems to remind you of a butt (and not the cigarette kind).

weekends are never long enough

It began with a send-off on Friday for my co-worker. I found myself at the Wine Center, slurping down oysters and Sauvignon Blanc, and then eating and drinking through both the food-and-wine pairing and the dessert pairing. (And I love the dessert pairing so much that I actually ate a colleague's half-eaten desserts right off of his plate.)

A mere hour after that gastronomical feat, I met an old friend from high school at Chickenland's new Himalayan place, a spot which has rapidly become one of my very favorite restaurants. We shared lentil soup, saag paneer and lamb kabobs and talked about the trials and tribulations of mommy-and-me playgroups (of which I know nothing about but quickly became educated on that evening).

On Saturday, it was off to Napa to pick out tablecloths, silverware and plates for the wedding -- an activity that turned out to be much less painful than we thought it was going to be. Naturally, our productivity deserved a reward, so we had lunch at Ubuntu, yet another one of my favorite spots. We shared the chickpea fries; beet, avocado and grapefruit salad (which was much more creative than it sounds); sauerkraut pizza (unbelievably yummy -- it was also topped with a fried egg and Emmenthaler cheese) and the "cheesecake in a jar."

And of course, one meal is not enough. A few hours after that, we were sitting on barstools with Laura at Bounty Hunter, sipping flights of Pinot and chicken dumpling soup. And then we walked over to Sift's new outpost and bought a couple of carrot cupcakes.

Today brought a grand finale what I can only describe as the Tower of Power: A bowl full of biscuits, gravy, scrambled eggs and potatoes, crowned with a big pile of bacon. I declared it completely worth the arterial blockages that loom in my future. Ah, Humble Pie! Is there ever a Sunday where I can't be found sitting at one of your tables, licking muffin crumbs off my fingers and asking for extra butter? The server actually even recognizes us now.