Have I mentioned how much I LOVE living in Napa?
Jason and I had nothing planned this past weekend until last Wednesday, when I was over at Ellyn and Larry’s house. I had stolen Papa’s crossword puzzle to take a look at my column for the week (I don’t actually have a subscription to the Register), and I noticed an advertisement at the bottom of the page for a Beatles cover band playing at the Lincoln Theater. I booked two terrible tickets (it was almost sold out) and jumped on OpenTable, one of my favorite apps, to find a good “date night” restaurant to hit up before the show.
Here’s where Napa gets awesome–there were TONS of AMAZING restaurants available. Impressive Italian? Fabulous French? Tasty Thai? Done and done. I took a breath. What would it be? I decided to try something new–a place that I had never been, which Michael Bauer panned, and which “real” Napa people don’t eat. The ever elusive tourist trap known as Brix.
Sign number one: when we arrived, two women *fell* into the women’s room, drunk off their asses and laughing hysterically at something. I like to think they were laughing at something classy, but I’m pretty sure they were laughing at their newly acquired STDs. Just saying.
Sign number two: We sit, we wait. We find out what the specials are and I decide to get the special (which, incidentally, I rarely do). It was a steak. The steak came out waaaay late and about 15 full minutes later the sides came out.
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It was fine. That’s all. I enjoyed it with a 1998 (kind of a late vintage?) Frias Family Vineyards cab. The dessert was good. The table of drunk bachelorettes next to us? Less than awesome. And louder than a ShamWow commercial. I was sitting next to a faux french door and at some point one of them came up behind me and tried to open the door to go outside and have a cigarette. It was comical. She never got it open and walked off confused.
I learned something from the experience, other than I should never eat at Brix. I learned that there are certain places in Napa that only exist because Napa is a tourist destination. There are gems out here that only I get to know about it and it’s up to me to stick with those cream of the crop kind of places.
And speaking of elitism, we had Sunday brunch at the Fremont Diner. If you’ve seen my “bests” page, you know I love this place more than dogs love people food. I ordered the ricotta pancakes, Jason added a sausage biscuit and I was in heaven:
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After a lovely and delicious brunch we chatted about the upcoming wedding. I realized that I need to get used to being a Mrs. and figure out that whole new name thing. I doodled my new name on a napkin. Note Jason’s addition of “Mary Chiarello.”
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