Don't Drink the Spit Bucket; or, Training (even the Liver) is Important

Hello, tired and still not accurately numbered readers.  Yes, today was Sideways.

Sort of.

You see, as Karen texted our daughter at 10 o'clock, "I expected to be in my first winery by now."  The Miles of the group.

Our first winery of the day was Schramburg.  They have caves (less on that later) and they make sparkling wine (remember! don't call it champagne...no no no!)

The tour was good, with a Pennsylvanian guiding us.  We wondered through miles of caves, lined with bottles, and were warned that it was explosion season, so not to be alarmed if we hear an explosion.  If wandering through a cave doesn't make you feel comfortable, yeah, a little glass explosion will.

Schramburg's sampling is quite good, working from their standard "blankity blank" to their upscale, we have hung onto it awhile blanc et noir.  As in Pinot Noir.

Michael, it turns out, likes sparkling wine.  Michael, in case you haven't heard, isn't big on breakfast.

One piece of this was Ilya, our guide, was from near Michael's boyhood home in suburban Philly.  He might have flirted; she might have flirted back.  His excuse is that he had sparkling wine (not champagne! on an empty stomach).  We are still pondering hers. :)

After the fourth healthy "taste," Michael started talking about how good the spit bucket was beginning to look to him -- how could you let such good stuff go to waste?  Ilya said she'd seen people drink from the spit bucket.  Michael now admitted he understood.

We got Michael lunch before he did more damage.  He rapped at lunch.  At least he called it rap.  It rhymed and he moved and made fake farting noises.  Three of us got the special of the day at the Goose & Gander, our favorite for lunch in St. Helena, which was prime rib sandwich.  See if it looks okay:

From there we went to Beringer, which isn't far from the restaurant, or Schramsburg, outside St. Helena.  Amazingly, Beringer, who sells a lot comparatively in PA, charges $20 for a taste of 3 wines, while a bottle of some of what they give to taste is only $8.  You figure it out.  Barb bought two bottles of white something that was high on the sugar content scale (3?) & we rushed to Sullivan.

Sullivan is a boutique spot -- small enough they can legally ship to PA -- and they sell this lovely looking stuff called Pink Ink:

Obviously it's a rose -- pinot and Cab Sav.  Karen is a fan; Barb enjoyed it; Michael rejected it.  Then Barb fell asleep on the sofa.

And the day was all but done.  We stopped at Robertt Mondavi -- not to taste, but for the view -- and got this shot.

There was a lot of gentle snoring on the way back to the hotel -- I was accused of putting on Miles Davis to mellow them all out.

Dinner was in Yountville, again, this time at Hurley's.  Hurley's is one of those places that says they do "American (New)" cuisine.  Barb had the special -- black sea bass over risotto (you see the veggies) with a lobster sauce.

Michael had shrimp and scallops on black spaghetti; Karen had bison ribs and I had vegetable risotto.  All were good.  See link for other pictures.

Given that Michael humored us all with first some silliness in the caves (he actually sang a few bars of what he called Phantom of the Opera (see pic)), then rapping at lunch, so Barb took a backseat.  She was busy drinking, then napping, then...well, somehow we consumed a bottle plus at dinner, too. :)

Tomorrow, the slow way to San Fran.