Ace Hotel: Back to the Future

Palm Springs, CA – It’s always a good luck sign for me when a Neil Young song plays in an unexpected place—kind of like finding a penny heads up on the ground. Alabama, the song Neil wrote that Lynyrd Skynard retaliated with the hugely popular Sweet Home Alabama, is apropos for the hip and edgy Ace Hotel community pool where I’m lounging in the 80-degree afternoon sun. I’m in Palm Springs to experience Modernism Week, a nine-day celebration of mid-century modern design, architecture and culture.

The 180-room Ace Hotel & Swim Club is on the grounds of a former Ho-Jo’s, part of the architectural trend that renovates mid-century modern motels and turns them into eclectic, one-of-a-kind retreats. “We wanted to create a community place where people could come together,” said front desk agent Joe Faron. Communal activities like Game night, mix cocktails and bingo—Craft night, held once a month, brings guests together by making paper plate face masks and friendship bracelets.

Rooms are shabby chic, invoking a cross between a college dorm room and a beach house complete with magazine clipping style art, a steamer trunk for storage, sheep skin rugs and the requisite full bar. The eight fireplaces sprinkled throughout the property bring the indoor/outdoor Palm Springs lifestyle alive, giving my neighbors a warm place to convene until the 2 a.m. curfew. Oh well, this not your grandpa’s Howard Johnson’s—more like your lively uncle who took you for your first drink at 21. Fun. Retro. Trendy. Welcome to the new Palm Springs.

California State Capitol: Gallantry Lives On

Sacramento, CA -- The camellias are budding, the oranges are ready for picking and Arnold is finally taking down his Christmas tree—just another day in the Golden State’s capitol building. While the mild 60 degree climate is inviting, the draw for me is inside the dome. After passing through the metal detector I am now standing in what could be the most romantic notion in government. It is the marble statue of Queen Isabella and Christopher Columbus—a testament to her belief in his mission.


He is kneeling by her side and she is draped in a form fitting gown, a crown atop her head. Etched in marble are these words, “I will assume the undertaking,” she said, “for my own crown of Castile, and am ready to pawn my jewels to defray the expenses of it, if the funds in the treasury shall be found inadequate.”

Is there a cause in your life that you believe in with all your heart, that you would pawn your jewels? 

Ride, Wine & Dine: Biking Napa’s Wine Country

Yountville, CA – In my mind, bike riding and wine tasting don’t really mix. Kind of like peanut butter and banana sandwiches, it’s an odd pairing. However, I’m always willing to try anything once. So here I am on a winter’s day, sitting on a touring bike with a wide, comfortable seat, riding past boutique vineyards in Napa Valley’s wine country. It’s a cool 45 degrees, my nose is running, my ears are freezing, and I am bitter with envy as my friend Koleen rides in comfort with her wool gloves and thermal head band. I mock her preparation skills—Ms. iPod, she’s probably wearing thermal underwear, too. Still, I get over myself long enough to marvel at the stark beauty of the dormant winter vines. I promise myself to come back here in early spring when the mustard blooms and the temperature is mild. Or maybe during fall harvest, when I can pluck a juicy grape off the vine as I whiz by on my bike, wearing nothing more than a flowing skirt, a skimpy t-shirt, and, of course, my trusty helmet.

Leading us on this survival challenge is Nick Wierzba of Napa Valley Bike Tours. Nick tells me his love of wine and passion for biking is a good fit. “The people I guide on bikes are on vacation, they are already happy, and it’s fun to show my backyard to everyone.” Nick’s “backyard” includes hidden wineries that a visitor might not otherwise discover. “Biking is a good way to see the Napa Valley,” says Nick. “If you’re in a limo or car, the vineyards look like corn rows.” I ask Nick what the policy is on drinking and biking. “We cycle an average of four miles between each wine tasting. It gives people time to burn off alcohol—we’ve had zero accidents related to people being drunk.”

I actually like the thought of being drunk on my bike—might take the edge off of our chilly winter’s afternoon cycling adventure, which thankfully is only two hours long. We stopped and imbibed at the hip and tony Cliff Lede (pronounced Cliff Lady), a 60-acre winery set in the Stags’ Leap District. This quintessential Napa Valley winery’s got it all: indoor art gallery, outdoor sculptures, state of the art gravity-flow conical tanks, and acres of hidden caves filled with single-layer barrel storage. Owner Cliff Lede, who acquired the property in 2002, put some serious coin into this bucolic slice of heaven. Repeat after me: swank-tastic. I recommend their 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon (15.2 percent alcohol content—yum!), which conjures exotic spices, old leather, and new money—a winning Napa Valley combination.


Alas, it is time to get back in the saddle, and continue this unique two-wheeled adventure. By the time we get back to our hotel, I discover that bike riding and wine tasting do mix after all. My suggestion is to wait until warmer weather prevails when it's enjoyable rather than just endurable. Next time I’ll tear a page out of Koleen’s Girl Scout book and be prepared—Sunscreen and Chardonnay anyone?

Bistro Jeanty: Enchanting French Cuisine

Yountville, CA – There is every reason to visit France, but if your cash-flow limits your real-world travel, treat yourself instead to a bona fide French meal at Napa Valley’s Bistro Jeanty. You’ll be enchanted by the authentic, old-world feel—you might even visualize yourself sporting a beret, black turtleneck, and colorful scarf; researching a recipe for cassoulet; and greeting visitors with the charming word for “pleased to meet you,” Enchanté.

“If you read old French books and see classic French recipes, they’re all on our menu,” says Chef de Cuisine, Joel Ehrlich. “People come here because, in my humble opinion, our restaurant is the most classic French bistro in America.” D’accord. Agreed. This classic French bistro decorated with vintage 19th century Parisian posters, hanging fryer copper pans, and a roaring hearth is more than just atmosphere—the food is first-rate.

I sample appetizers of escargot with garlic butter, foie gras pâté served with a port-poached pear, and Miyagi oysters—which, coming from nearby Pt. Reyes, don’t really seem like classic bistro fare until I dab a French-style mignonette potion of vinegar, chili, parsley, and onion on the freshly shucked oysters and voilá—another French star is born, California-style.

At the helm of Bistro Jeanty is owner and chef Phillipe Jeanty, who grew up in the Champagne region of France and opened his 100-seat restaurant in Yountville nearly 12 years ago, adding another coveted Michelin star to the epicurean capital of California—Yountville. “I wanted to recreate all my favorite childhood dishes and opening up a bistro was one way to do it,” says Jeanty. Bravo, Phillipe—bien fait; well done.

Domaine Chandon: Sparkling Wine Comes Alive

Yountville, CA – The French describe champagne like the laugh of a pretty girl. At 48-years-old, I’m past the pretty girl phase, but boy do I love me some champagne! Or should I correctly say sparkling wine—the elixir of life. At Napa Valley’s Domaine Chandon’s tasting salon, it’s always New Year’s Eve as bottles of their signature war horse Brut Classic are uncorked and poured to a thirsty, wine tasting crowd—me at the front of the line. Let the celebration begin.

Kristin Brott, our purveyor of the liquid nectar, has been with Chandon as a wine educator for three years. She moved to this fertile valley from Southern California on a whim. I ask her what it’s like working there, and she quickly tells me it’s the best job in the world. “Everyone’s in a good mood. I love to talk about food and wine.” This reminds me of the 30’s Gershwin song "…nice work if you can get it…"

My favorite tasting is the more exclusive 90 point etoile—French for star, Brut. It’s a lighter, more delicate sparkling wine with a bouquet of Fuji apple, Meyers lemon, and toasted almonds. The tiny bubbles give me an instant lift—as if I need it; I’m already filled to the brim with mirth and merry-making. Being at this first French-owned sparkling wine venture in the United States, established in 1973, makes me feel giddy—so much bouncy history. Plus, I’m right next to an advertisement that makes me giggle. It’s for Saavy Sippers, a gadget you place inside a champagne bottle that allows you to “drink out of the bottle in a classy way.” Kristin, our hookup, tells me “You never know when you need an emergency bit of bubbly, like at the movies.” I believe she’s on to something, so I buy one.

The coup de grâce of the tasting is a sensual cocktail called the Hibiscus Royale—a combination of Blanc de Noir sparkling wine, wild hibiscus flower in syrup, and rose water. The flower sits in the bottom of the champagne flute and slowly opens up over three to four minutes, creating a piece of art I can both admire and drink. Along for this adventure is my pleasure-seeking friend Charlene, a connoisseur of all things hedonistic, who just got back from her honeymoon in Bermuda and indulged in this almost immoral love potion and claimed it as “an aphrodisiac; you eat the flower and it’s got lots of Vitamin C.” Indeed. Decadent, divine and oh-so-Napa classy, just like our Domaine Chandon experience. Cheers!

Sierra Nevada Adventure: Miracle on the Mountain

Truckee, CA – Executing a 360-degree spinout in a snowstorm while entering Highway 80 seemed effortless with Rachel behind the wheel—like a trained ballerina twirling a pirouette—only we were doing it in four-wheel drive with snow chains on the front tires. My heart went into my throat. Rachel—fresh from celebrating her 40th birthday—quickly got us back on the road. “Okay, that was the first time I ever did a complete spinout,” she said. “Glad that’s over.” She pointed the white Acura SUV due west toward Sacramento. Like the Donner Party who made this crossing in the winter of 1846-47, on this same exact pass in the Sierra Nevada mountains, we were trying to make our way home. Pioneers! O Pioneers!

This was our second attempt at getting off the Sierra. The snowstorm came in earlier than expected the day before and Caltrans closed the highway, ending any wide-eyed hopes of watching 60 Minutes from the comfort of our own homes. The dream of a St. Bernard dog with a barrel of brandy around his neck coming to our Alpine rescue was just that—a fantasy, much like watching Carrie Bradshaw trying to marry Mr. Big in a lavish wedding in Sex and the City on the tiny television in Rachel’s car. Beth, the doe-eyed beauty of the group called a friend of a friend, of a friend, who owned a second home in Truckee and our base camp for the night was secured—we were ready to hunker down for the evening.

There are times in life when the kindness of newfound friends is so profound that the opportunity for repayment is not possible, and so it was with our hosts: Tanya and her mother and father in-law, Nonni and Nonna, affectionately known as the Italians. Their generosity embodied the biblical “water into wine, two fish into a feast” story. We drank ample bottles of Nonni’s homemade red wine. We watched in amazement as Nonna’s pasta dish grew from an original serving of five, to fill the bellies of ten. It was a glorious rigatoni concoction of spicy tomato sauce, diced chicken, and mozzarella cheese. A spinach and romaine lettuce salad with olive oil and vinegar dressing filled in the gaps along with two pizzas: one cheese, the other a meat and veggie combo. Where this freshly delivered pizza came from remained a mystery. File it under the “Marriage of Cana” miracle. For desert, we dined on Nonna’s pie made with homegrown apples from their Napa Valley trees.

Nonni told us stories of his hometown near Naples, Italy; and learned about the family restaurant that they owned for 40 years in Napa; and watched as their three grandchildren, all under the age of seven, showered them with affection by tearing up pieces of tissue paper and sprinkling their heads with it. Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.

In the morning, two feet of snow covered our cars and the driveway. The world looked like a freshly shaken snow globe. Highway 80, the main artery to our deliverance from this snow covered paradise was finally open and we were ready for adventure. Our hands and feet were frozen from shoveling snow and putting on tire chains, but our hearts were warm from the memory of our unexpected evening of international camaraderie including a rousing game of Scrabble, tossing the grandkids on the coach and the gift of newfound friendships.

Crab Season: Dining Santa Cruz Style

Santa Cruz, CA – There are some meals that taste better when eaten at home. Last night I feasted on the first-of the season Dungeness Crab with my good friends Bob and Laurie. Why the home-cooked meal? First of all, you have to consider where my generous friends live, in the mountains of Santa Cruz, in a little berg called Bonny Doon. Picture yourself surrounded by mist hanging on redwood trees, smelling the Earth after a rainstorm, and then reveling in that clean air. Their artisan’s home reflects 20 years of loving care. On their grounds is a hand made yurt that Bob built, a herb garden that Laurie tends, and a Japanese Maple in it’s full autumn glory – red and gold.

Once inside their home, I never wanted to leave. The wood burning stove warmed my bones. Books everywhere I looked. Their furniture is the color of liquid peace and tranquility; a Turkish rug framing the hardwood floors. And then the sweet aroma of Laurie’s Cinderella Pumpkin Soup brought me to the kitchen table. Earthenware style plates fired in a Finnish kiln were waiting to service our meal.

We cracked and ate fresh crab, caught that day off the Santa Cruz coast. Complimenting the star crustacean attraction was an aromatic Arugula green salad picked that evening from the garden, and corn muffins topped with Bob’s homegrown dark honey, thanks to his productive beehive. I shared the story of my first-ever crab-eating epiphany at the virginal age of 22 as a college student at Humboldt State University in Arcata. Laurie talked about her San Francisco roots including her family’s tradition of eating crab, complete with the now non-PC Campbell’s tomato soup with cheese melted at the bottom in a cup. Gentle conversation, warm feelings and a simple, Epicurean meal made this Santa Cruz evening a night to treasure. Thanks Bob and Laurie, for opening up your home and heart to this grateful soul.