If there was one thing that Jessica and I wanted our wedding to have when we had it last month, it was class. Weddings often start out with treacly yet empty words, devolve into an interminable set of forced monologues and meaningless rites, and end up like a well-dressed frat party. We thought we would try for something a bit more upscale.
First, the ceremony: we wrote it. The County of Riverside has a wonderful policy that anyone can perform the ceremony once duly deputized, and that any ceremony will do, so long as there is a ceremony. These were fulfilled, and I will post the text when my new site is ready. Suffice it to say that the Bible was not quoted, Bertrand Russell was, and the whole thing was blessedly short. My understanding is that it ruffled some feathers: "Well, that wasn't very traditional." Ever supportive, my father parried: "They mean what they say, and say what they mean." He has the knack for coming up with the right line at the right time.
The music: there was no Chicken Dance, Hokey Pokey, Conga Line, Macarena, or Mambo #5. I provided the DJ with every second of music, from the pre-ceremony to the last dance. Jazz standards by the greats---Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Mel Torme, Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, and the like---captured, I think, the aesthetic of class we were looking for. As Bennett says, these are America's classical music. As for us, we danced our first dance to an instrumental of "When I Fall in Love", the great Young and Heyman standard, played by Keith Jarrett. Jessica and her dad danced to Kern's "The Way You Look Tonight", which we found a good rendition of by the Lucky Strikes. They're an Austin-based swing band, and I had never heard of them, but it was perfect.
We did the stuff that was strictly necessary, I suppose. We cut the cake and thanked everyone. The Best Man and Maid of Honor did their thing, and we made sure the DJ kept the mic away from everyone else. I've been to weddings where they pass the mic around---it isn't pretty. No garter, no bouquet football, and no god damned money dance (how tacky is that?).
With only one considerably drunk family member, a splendid buffet, and all the most important people in our life there, I thought the whole thing came off rather well. The fact that it was the 1 year anniversary of my mother's death was a source of some sadness, but her sisters assured me (rightly, I think) that she would have approved.
One day of rest later, on Monday, Jessica and I loaded the car up for a trip to Napa. January is way out of season for Napa---it tends to rain a lot, the grapes are long since harvested, and some restaurants close---which is what made it affordable for us. The room at the Harvest Inn was exquisite; I hesitate to even ask what it costs per night during spring. Fireplace, big bathroom, plasma screen, and a huge amount of space.
The first night we got a reservation at Martini's, which I highly recommend. Their prix fixe included a nice flat iron steak in a broth with mirepoix, and an astounding salad with goat cheese and caramelized pecans. Strange-sounding, I know, but it all worked.
Our first proper day we took a tour of Jarvis, a winery which is obviously a vanity project for a hugely wealthy Silicon Valley chip maker---not that I think that's such a bad thing. I'll come right out with it: I don't get wine. Yes, I agree that people can tell the difference between grape species ("varietals") and that $2 buys you something that is less tasty than $20. But when the tour leader presented a table of 10 people with two glasses of the same wine type made one year apart, and everyone (save me) claimed they could tell between them, it was almost too much to contain myself.
In fact, I didn't. When our gracious host brought up Sideways and said that it had tarnished merlot in the minds of people, I was forced to inquire: "If people can really discern between wine, and develop their own tastes, what possible impact could a fictional character have on the industry?" The host demurred, which was a sensible course.
(One woman at the tasting claimed she tasted "horse". Yes, horse.)
On the other hand, the Jarvis estate was rather stunning. Outside the facility, which sits high above sea-level, was a lush landscape of running water and wild trees. The facility itself was carved into the rock in one continuous path by a burrowing machine, forming a long circular pathway lined with french oak barrels. Of course, the host pointed out that they never reuse the barrels. What a waste.
Second day's dinner was Cole's Chop House. The fare was rather banal, not reaching even the level of a Ruth's Chris. Not recommended.
The following day we went to Schramsberg, one of the first wineries in Napa, and I believe the first to make sparkling wine (which we are never ever allowed to call Champagne, evidently---I suppose we shouldn't call them Hamburgers, either?). This facility had a much more down-to-earth tour leader, a lovely lady who clearly likes her work and admits that for most people the Emperor has no clothes when it comes to wine. Scientifically speaking, I was extremely interested in the process of making sparkling wine; 120 psi of CO2 dissolved in a slightly fermented liquid, stored inside a glass bottle to ferment further. She says the bottles burst if the glass has imperfections. No kidding!
That night we headed over to Davis to meet my friend who lives in Nor Cal for dinner. The conversation was wonderful. The paella was decent. Parking, well, it was a nightmare.
Thursday was our final day, and we did very little until dinner, aside from a brief trip out to a local Croatian winery to pick up a gift for our friend. Jessica did the requisite tasting, and approved. That night, we went to Tra Vigne, which I highly recommend. The mozzarella was rolled right before it came to the table, and the braised short ribs were some of the best I've had.
All in all, Napa is probably not a great place to live, but it's a great place to visit. The amazing fact that it didn't rain even one day while we were up there was fortuitous, and I don't necessarily recommend people go in January (not, especially, if one can easily afford to go in May).
Now the whole thing is done. Back to work, I suppose.
