I have a friend who owns a winery. Seriously, she really does. Now that you’re suitably impressed with me and my posh friends, I’ll tell you a secret: She doesn’t want it anymore.
See, she’s just a really unpretentious person, and this conflicts with the very premise of wine culture, which is wrapped up in pretentions and snobbery. If you’ve ever been to Napa Valley, you know what I’m talking about.
When you’re chatting about wine with certain people, if there are no French words that they can fit into the conversation, they’ll just make one up — assuming, correctly, that you’ll have no idea what they’re talking about and will be too embarrassed to ask.
My friend doesn’t live in Napa. She lives next door in Sonoma County, which is also the heart of the California wine country (well maybe the left ventricle) but a tad less full of itself. Like, there are very few restaurants in Sonoma that charge $500 per plate to dine there and make you beg for the privilege, because it’s so incredibly hard to get a reservation. There are even blog posts that explain how to try to get one.
And it’s not like anyone’s ever invited me there to find out.
I’m talking about the French Laundry, which is a restaurant in Yountville, Napa Valley. (Here’s a tip: In the world of upscale restaurants, the more working-class the name, the more pretentious the restaurant. And it goes without saying that any establishment with the word “French” in it is not going to serve hot dogs on a stick.)
If you’re a dedicated foodie, by now you’re rolling your eyes and thinking about what an uncultured philistine I am to be throwing shade at this legendary establishment, which I’m clearly just too uncouth to appreciate. Or maybe I’m just bitter because I can’t afford to eat there, nor do I have the massive investment of time necessary to try to get a reservation. And who knows? Maybe you’re right. Feel free to take me there and I’ll let you know afterward.
But just to make a reservation at this place, you have to plunk down at least $425 per person. In advance. Not kidding. And if you want one of their black truffle and caviar dinners, that’ll set you back $1,200. Each. Check it out on Tock. exploretock.com/tfl/
It’s not that I don’t like to eat fancy food. One of the main reasons I fly down to Oaxaca in Southern Mexico is because that city is known for its fine cuisine at a fraction of the price you’d pay here. Prices have gone up, annoyingly, since magazines like Vogue and Travel + Leisure started writing about it, but it’s still relatively cheap. There are also bargains to be had in fine dining in the Baja wine country, which is only a 3-hour drive from my house, but you’re crazy if you think I’m going to write about them here.
I’m a cattle rancher’s daughter. My cowboy father used to look pained and spit on the ground whenever anyone even drank bottled water around him. Part of his ethos still lives deep inside of me.
So I will never accept the concept of spending $600 or more to eat a single meal, unless it was on a flight to Paris. Did I mention that doesn’t even include the cost of the wine? Which obviously you need to drink, because otherwise why would you even be in wine country?
Traveling around the world, I’ve noticed what I call “the wine effect,” which is that any time you go to a place where they make wine, the prices go up sharply. Wine aficionados (notice I did not say snobs) have money, and they don’t mind spending it.
I once planned a budget trip to Argentina, and everywhere I wanted to go was relatively cheap except Mendoza, because they make wine there. Let’s think about this for a moment. They grow grapes. This is called a farm. I’m familiar with farms. My family lives on them. But when you add facilities to ferment these little bursts of flavor, it’s no longer a farm. Now it’s a winery. And people will pay you money just to come and taste your products.
Wine tastings used to be free, but then the proprietors realized visitors would pay money for the privilege, so no more. Which is OK with me, because now I no longer feel obliged to buy a bottle. According to Forbes magazine, the average cost of a premium reserve wine tasting in Napa these days is $108. Eeek. I’m trying to think of something clever to say, but I’m speechless. I guess I am a philistine.
I’m not knocking wine, nor wine tastings. Any day spent guzzling booze is a good day in my book.
I’d just rather do it in Temecula or Santa Barbara or Paso Robles or San Diego County, where the prices are lower, the vintners are friendly and they don’t think they’re God’s gift to the thirsty and sober. Maybe I’ll see you there.