i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 3

a.k.a. bouchon, 6534 washington street, yountville, ca

fog or no fog it's scary as hell to photograph the golden gate bridge whilst driving across it.

you know how i know going to napa must be like going to heaven? because it's 80 degrees and sunny as you get past the bridge. curious weather phenomenon of the bay and the valley, low pressure, warm air getting trapped, blah, blah, blah.

gracious me and speaking of fog, i feel one of those nasty delayed hangovers coming on. entering sonoma, viansa winery and marketplace captures my wandering eye. i can have a picnic here, signs indicate. in exchange for buying two bottles of wine per couple. [seriously. does everyone have to be a couple?]

right now i need a picnic like you read about. and a view with some vitamin d shining down, making girl brown. the property is breathtaking really. wandering aimlessly-yet-adorably through the market/wine tasting room i realize i can't stomach any wine. how very sad to be in wine country without my big girl panties on.

crap i can't focus. i settle for a baguette and brie. most importantly i got a requisite handle on some pellegrino. and, so the winecops didn't come after me, i sprung for a $45 sangiovese for 14.5. i hope he appreciates my thinking of him, especially since he better-dealed me. [and what, btw, could be better than this day?]. boys are silly.

for 45 minutes i bask in the rays, overlooking a valley of endless rows of grapevines. the grapes are small right now, barely recognizable babies. but the grapeleaves are full and lush, providing a stunning view for my picnic. i don't mind an iota that the cutest couple is having a picnic next to me. nor do i mind there's a family of 8 just over yonder livin it up. i stretch my legs out for some quiet peaceful sun [paying no mind to the flocking birds eyeballing my baguette. i can't even be bothered when i realize my table resembles a jackson pollock spattered with bird doo-doo]. ahhhhh. this is the life. i wonder what the poor people are doing today.

yountville: this is where i stay when i come to the napa valley. in fact, i have a room reserved for me here tonight, because my original plan was to spend the night in napa. 14.5 was invited, but plans for golf got in the way [see chapta 2]. his hardsell tactic to come back to sf and join him and another couple for dinner probably worked, evidenced by the fact that i have already secured my suite at the ritz for the night.

snuggling amongst thousands of acres of vineyards yountville is tiny and just a pleasantly sweet curb-free road of restaurants and shops and inns, including michael chiarello's bottega, napastyle and thomas keller's french laundry. it's my dream to eat at the french laundry. i called in a favor to get a reservation this trip but no joy. too last minute - you really have to get reservations two months out and even though i have some notable connections, i couldn't manage it.

next best, i pop in to thomas keller's bouchon bistro. charming inside and out. so welcoming. psych myself up i do, to go eat by myself for the first time ever.

did i mention, i spent 5 hours on the plane mapping out my wine tour plan? due to hangover and late start to my day, i have wholly abandoned it for bouchon the bistro. belly up to the bar.

the bartender, jeremy, is a sweetiepie. what's a cute girl like you.... geez, i can't think, jeremy, just make me a bloody mary please and then you can ask whatever you like.

his hangover theory is you have to start with what you ended with: white wine. no way, man. no can do. this is the kind of day where only a bloody mary can hook a sistah up.

so i'm at a thomas keller restaurant for the first time ever and not hungry. you think that's gonna stop me? i've read that you must order the bibb lettuce salad at bouchon. i do. please add crumbled roquefort. jeremy suggests i also get the salmon tartare, as does man at end of bar. ok. send them to me. my salad, it's superb. little sprigs of surprise tarragon tucked in between layers. it's perfectly dressed. like me.

jeremy gets annoyed with me when he finally finds out i'm a cook. and formerly for michel richard. he's kind of pissed at me "michel comes in here all the time, why didn't you say something?"

well i don't want to be a name dropper. how trite.

my salmon comes. it's a pretty dish. it needs salt. i think it has gelatin in it but jeremy denies this.

something is binding it together perfectly damnit, jeremy, what is it? for the love of young boys without direction or money living in group houses in napa, what's in the salmon tartare?

next thing i know the kitchen sends me the red wine poached egg with sweetbreads and wild mushrooms. it's about to be removed from the menu. so rich, i'm so full. so yummy.

for dessert they send me a tiny bouchon (chocolate brownie with melty gooey chocolate chips in it), normally it comes with three on the plate. i asked for a "tasting". oh my - i could've forgone everything for three of these. not really. no really.

"would you like a tour of the kitchen?" jeremy asks. hmm, let me think. does a one-legged frog hop in a circle? i'm wildly excited by this. i know that's odd to the readers; but to me it's like going back stage at a concert. he's off to arrange it when thomas keller himself walks in. the thought of meeting thomas keller sends shivers. i'm all palms sweaty nervous, heart pounding. i can't think of anyone i'd rather meet. well, matt damon would be slightly above thomas. especially if he was single.

i don't get to meet thomas because he's gone just as soon as he'd arrived. i do enjoy a mesmeric tour of the kitchen. which is brand new. and quiet. and clean. the walk-in houses same-sized containers labeled with green tape the contents and the date. all containers lined up just like the perfect rows of grapevines. 90 degree angles. not a sprig of thyme out of place. i should inform you that there are some hotttiesss workin in that kitchen. i'm drawn to guys with knives or guitars, which you already know.

a measly $28 tab and a considerable 4 hours later i'm on the way to my next stop. my day's not over. not by a long shot. i have to make a stop at my inspiration and the reason i'm a chef today. my muse.

sorry this one was so long-winded, friends. please bear with.