The view from the Vallejo ferry.

My besotted eyes dragged across the menu, another round of Double IPAs and Imperial this and Strong that were on the way to the table, but we needed more food to pair with our ales.

And then I saw it, deviled eggs.

For what pairs better with beer ice cream at close to 1 a.m. than deviled eggs?

Christine and I were with friends in San Francisco recently to be part of SF Beer Week and it also happened to be Strong Beer Month. So on our tour of a few of the city’s best beer establishments we imbibed and feasted in SF style.

Our first stop was the Rogue embassy on Union Street where we sampled a few special Dead Guy releases as well as the Rouge whiskey. The whiskey was surprisingly light but full of delicate malt notes and had a pleasant aroma. There’s a great beer garden in the back of Rouge and it was a perfect place to start our evening as we were able to enjoy the last of a beautiful day in the city. The food at Rogue, we had buffalo wings, bean dip and some waffle fries, was pedestrian bar food but it was only the start.

After Rogue, we took a cab down toward the Giants ballpark to find a place called the “Truck Stop” where some craft brewers were offering up their wares alongside food trucks like “The Rib Whip.” We found the site, a vacant lot, but alas the site only had portable toilets and the ladies in our group refused to stop there before finding some proper facilities.

Thankfully, the 21st Amendment Brewery was only a few blocks away so we hoofed it over there. The 21st Amendment, on 2nd Street, is my preferred pregame stop for Giants games and I always love visiting there. During our most recent visit we sampled through their special offerings that included a dark, roasted double IPA that was pretty inventive and an Imperial Amber that was really good. One disappointment was their Imperial Bitter that was a bit malty and bland. The 21st has great food and we noshed on a Margherita pizza to accompany our ales.

Perhaps we enjoyed the 21st a bit too long because when we returned to the Truck Stop the event had ended. The craft brewers had shut up their shop and The Rib Whip had rolled off onto the busy San Francisco streets to wherever mobile barbecue joints go for the night.

Undaunted we hopped another cab to Magnolia on the Haight for some sophisticated ales and gourmet pub foods. Sophisticated and the Haight didn’t seem to jive with me and, of course, when we stepped from our cab I was accosted by a tall, disheveled and bearded homeless man who said he needed money to help come down from his acid trip. The bar was packed and it was a two hour wait to get a table. We strolled up through the Haight to The Alembic, another hip beer joint like Magnolia, but again we were turned away by a packed house and two hour wait. Then on to a Cuban restaurant that was also packed and required a multi hour wait for a table. Finally our quest paid off when we settled on a Mexican joint where we had some awesome tacos and Negro Modelos.

After tacos, we ended up in a trendy cocktail bar where there wasn’t any special beer or food but we did find nourishment in the goodness of White Russians and Guinness.

Christine and I in our booth at Magnolia. Cheers to San Francisco and cheers to strong beer.

By then the crowds at Magnolia had thinned and we were able to grab a table. And it was then, that faced with a menu decision my stomach and common sense wrestled with desire. But why not? After buffalo wings, bean dip, fries, pizza and tacos, didn’t deviled eggs make sense.

Not really, but when you’re in SF drinking beer, and strong beer at that, order up those deviled eggs son.

And they were Okay, kinda greasy though. The beer ice cream was much better.

Then it was back to our friends’ apartment where there was a tasty of homebrews that resulted in blue ribbons for all.

The next day at the ferry terminal was a little rough, but a top-notch cappuccino from Blue Ribbon coffee softened the edges.

Their jagged peaks covered in snow, the mountains stretched straight into the sky like a wall. I had heard the desert would be beautiful, the mountains impressive, but I’ll admit a NorCal bias in that I just can never, ever, believe that Southern California is pretty. We hadn’t even made it to the desert yet and I had been stopped short by my first sight of the San Jacinto Mountains.

Soon afterward, we were cruising Highway 10 headed east. Our rental reservation had been for a subcompact but instead we lucked into a free upgrade for a black and chrome Chrysler 300. The surging engine, sleek hood and sun reflecting off the chrome as we barreled through the desert at 85 mph made for a more appropriate entrance into Palm Springs than putt-putting into town in a Yaris like a pair of schmucks.

Our resort the Rancho Las Palmas. This view is pretty much what we enjoyed from our balcony.

The hotel was gorgeous. We snagged a room at the Rancho Las Palmas resort in Rancho Mirage. So, technically we weren’t in Palm Springs but it’s all the same really. Our room had a balcony that had an expansive view of the resort, a pond and the mountains far in the distance piercing the blue sky. We also overlooked the fifth fairway on the main course. The first afternoon in our room I put on my shorts and sandals and kicked my feet up with a glass of Jamesons on the rocks to watch groups of old duffers navigate a par 3 with a tight fairway and impressive water hazard. I wasn’t that shocked to see some blatant cheating.

Christine was there to relax. I had promised that I too would relax. We would spend a day lounging by the adults’ pool with frosty beverages and simple thoughts in our heads like: “Do I have room for an order of nachos? Can I get nachos poolside?” Well of course you can get nachos by the pool, but I can’t ever relax like that on vacation.

When I’m in a new town I just have to do something. Sitting by the pool can make me feel a little antsy. What did I do? Find the best wine bar, perhaps a legendary cocktail lounge where Sinantra and Deano used to haunt? No, I went to the Palm Springs Air Museum to see the largest collection of fully operational WWII combat aircraft. To this history buff and nerd, the museum may have been the best part of the trip. I was able to stroll beneath the wings of the planes that had won the war in the Pacific and Europe. I may have missed out on lounging, but I’ll never forget being able to stare down the sight of a .50 cal machine gun in the waist of a B-17 Flying Fortress. Yes, I got to walk through one of those great lumbering four engine bombers.

For New Year’s we hung out at the hotel. The place had three bars and each was rocking and the hotel staff had set up another bar and a dance floor in the lobby. It was interesting to hang out and mix out with the rich LA folks, the country club locals and a few yahoos like ourselves from out of town. The Palm Springs area is a network of  walled-in, planned communities with security gates in the front that seem more appropriate for the Green Zone in Baghdad. I haven’t seen too many seniors cruising in Bentley’s to get their scrips at CVS. On the outlying edges of the cities are the sprawling, dense neighborhoods of track homes with air conditioners on the windows and bars on the doors. The homes of the gardeners and the guys who bring up the room service.

But enough of the social commentary. The area has spectacular scenery. From the mountains juxtaposed with the golf courses in the cities to the desert. On New Year’s Day, Christine and I drove out to Joshua Tree National Park. The stillness and stark beauty of the park, which is accentuated with bizarre cacti and stone formations was an appropriate close for our trip. After an oasis of wealth and excess, it was refreshing to walk through a desert bereft of distraction.

A tall frosty pint of Lost Coast Pale Ale, a welcome start to a North Coast brew tour.

If Portland, Ore. is the undisputed capital of America’s brew culture, than I have to say California’s North Coast is its sleepy, oft-ignored younger brother. The North Coast, which includes Humboldt County and its two largest cities Arcata and Eureka, may be best known as a pot grower’s paradise but the region is also home to some of the finest small breweries in the nation.

I recently got a chance to skip out of Napa for a quick weekend to savor the last bit of my summer freedom before the onslaught of harvest begins at the winery. My tour guide for the weekend was my good friend Brendan who has lived in the Arcata area for almost a decade. He’s a fellow Sonoman and was the best man at my wedding. He’s usually hunting on fall weekends, but decided to put down his bow and arrow to show me the brew scene in his neck of the woods.

I arrived late on Friday night, and after a night of reminiscing and talking about how country music lost its way, Brendan and I woke up early in the morning for a quick round of golf at the Eureka municipal course. Golf is a fickle pursuit. I try to play about every two weeks so I was feeling confident. Brendan plays about once or twice a year and he beat me by seven strokes. It was one of those days out on the links when about anything that could go bad did, and when something went good I was just making ground back from the last mistake.

Needless to say by the last hole I was ready to start the brew tour. Our first stop was Lost Coast brewery, probably the best known and most celebrated of the North Coast brews. This brewery is located in downtown Eureka and serves a wide selection of ales that includes their well-known Downtown Brown and Great White. The brown is a wonderful example of the classic Brown Ale variety that packs a subtle hop punch in the finish. The Great White is ostensibly a Belgian white but it has less aromatics and coriander spice taste with more German hoppiness. The Great White can fluctuate in quality but on the whole it generally is a crowd pleaser. I couldn’t believe the number of folks who joined us at the crowded Lost Coast bar and when deciding what to drink asked if the brewery had “anything light?” I don’t know why you would got to a brewery and inquire to drink something light. I guess they just wanted to try something new, but didn’t want to get to far out of their comfort zone. Most of them seemed to be making road trips on 101 and actually most of them seemed like they were from southern California. Probably Dodgers fans. And they probably prefer lite beer. Bastards.

Downtown Eureka is home to the Lost Coast brewery, one of the best and best known beermakers in the area.

Our next stop was Humboldt Brewing, but we quickly learned they no longer make their own beer, but do offer about 30 beers on tap. We had a quick pint and got to talking about the strangle hold pot growers have on the economy and society in Humboldt. It’s a shame that a small group of ponytailed oligarchs are holding the region back, but Prop. 215 may change all that.

The next stop was Mad River Brewing. This brewery is located in the small community of Blue Lake just outside of Arcata near the 101 intersection with 299. This turned out to be my favorite spot of the day. The brewery is located in a small industrial park situated near a pulp mill. It seemed truly emblematic of the North Coast to be sitting in a beer garden with a bunch of college kids almost in the shadow of a mill drinking craft beer. Mad River is a hop head’s type of brewery. They have a wonderful selection of IPA’s that all exhibit the full range of hop flavor from grit your teeth bitterness to wonderful notes of citrus. They have a limited distribution but if you can find a 22 ounce or six pack in your store give it a try.

Another great brewery in the area is Six Rivers. Brendan and I visited this joint during a hunting trip last year so it wasn’t on our itinerary this time around but on my most recent visit I was able to try their porter and found it to be delightful. Most porters can be just a little too much smoky malt and little hops. Six River’s porter had a wonderful balance and a really crisp finish.

The view from a hillside a few miles outside of Blue Lake in Humboldt County.

But a trip to Humboldt wouldn’t be complete without heading up into the mountains. Brendan is a field biologist for a resource company in the area and took me out to a remote area where he’s conducting a study on spotted owls. We had a box of mice in the back of the truck and I was all jazzed for some great photos of me feeding a wild, Humboldt spotted owl, but after about 20 minutes of hooting, screeching, whistling and whooping on Brendan’s part to call in the owls we had no luck.

After the brew tour, Brendan and I went to downtown Arcata for a great dinner at the Plaza Grill. I had a huge platter of ribs and he had the sensible, heart-healthy seared tuna served over wild rice. As we made our way around the plaza, I was able to talk him into a quick drink at Everett’s. Well, a “quick drink” is never really that quick and after I had started on the Jameson’s and bought him a shirt, I tried to get him to go for a visit to the Tip Top club, but it was to no avail. I guess that’s why they call me full throttle.

They've got big trees up there dude. No really, like totally huge bro.

The next day I woke up to find the fog breaking up early, at around 9 a.m. Usually the coastal towns can stay socked in until 3 p.m. I took the opportunity for a quick five mile run to savor the fresh air and ocean breeze. The pleasant and clear weather made for a wonderful drive back down through the Redwoods on 101.

I always love visiting the North Coast. It’s definitely not part of the Bay and it’s not really pure Northern California — like Redding, Chico or Red Bluff — and it’s also got a much different vibe than Southern Oregon. I’m not sure if I’d love it that much if I lived there year round, the politics and marijuana growers would get old, but it sure is nice to visit. A big part of making those visits pleasurable is the vibrant and creative brewing scene.

(Update, Sept. 21, 2010, correction that’s Prop 19, not Prop 215. I do recall voting from Prop. 215 back in the day, actually it may have been my first election. I also voted for Dennis Peron too.

Also, the Tip Top Club reference was a joke. The place has always been a joke every since I first started visiting the North Coast. Unfortunately, my wife didn’t get the joke. Evidenced by the fact that after she read this post she sent me a text that started with “Your a pig!!!” and didn’t get any nicer. Women just don’t get jokes sometimes.)

Don’t worry, I’ll ditch this fresh air and outdoorsy stuff soon for more boozy blogging. It’s just been too nice outside.

Sipping some Sauvignon Blanc in Suisun Valley. Cheers mate!

Just over the hill from Napa Valley is another wine country, but no, it’s not Sonoma Valley it’s the Suisun Valley wine country. This little known appellation has been producing quality grapes for decades although it quite literally has been in the shadow of Napa.

Located right off of Interstate 80 near Fairfield, the appellation offers a taste of rustic wine country that’s mere minutes from the high-profile indulgences of nearby Napa and Sonoma. Christine and I are friends with George and Gina Richmond who are part of the small winery Mangles Vineyards that runs its tasting room with three other wineries at the Suisun Valley Wine Cooperative. After a lunch of decent pub fare at the Rockville Inn bar and restaurant, we stopped by the co-op for our first taste of Suisun valley vintages.

Mangles’ Verdelho was quite impressive as well as their Petite Sirah. Granted, I’m friends with the winemaking team so I do have a bias but I thought all of Mangles‘ wines were solid and pleasant tasting. Their Petite Sirah was especially enjoyable. Petite can often be overloaded with tannins and dark fruit flavors but Mangles’ wine had a wonderful balance and paired great with a dinner of braised sausages. One impressive characteristic of Suisun Valley is the variety of grapes grown in the area. Many “up and coming” appellations have hinged their hopes on one particular type of grape, while Suisun Valley

The co-op tasting room in Suisun Valley

offers an abundance of good grapes. During our tasting trip we tried the standard varietals such as Cab, Pinot and Zinfandel but also enjoyed a mix of less common wines such as Torrantes, Veridigue and several tantalizing blends. I’ll be honest, some wines were terrible. There was a Zinfandel at the co-op that was undrinkable and at another winery later in the day Christine and I both tried a Viognier that left us shaking our heads and wondering, “What did they do to that poor wine?” But on the whole, we were impressed by the quality of winemaking.

The day of our visit was overcast and foggy. The roads and most of the tasting rooms we visited were quite as if most folks had decided to bundle up inside and watch the NFL playoffs, but as the 49ers weren’t in the playoffs this year (Next year for sure, right Alex Smith? Right?) Christine and I were excited about a day of wine tasting. Our next stop after the co-op was Wooden Valley winery and vineyards, the oldest winery in Suisun Valley. Run by the Lanza family for almost a century, this vintage winery has a rustic tasting room with an old world Italian feel. I found their Primitivo to be especially enjoyable. Primitivo is the Italian cousin of Zinfandel, so grown here in the United States it’s Zinfandel, but no matter what it was called — the wine had excelllent fruit characteristics that were followed by a smooth, dry finish.

Our next stop turned out to be my favorite, Ledgewood Creek Winery. This winery, owned by the Frisbie family, had the most complete and satisfying tasting lineup of our tasting tour. We loved the winery’s open and modern tasting room that afforded wonderful views of the estate vines that surround the winery. At one point during our visit, everyone in the tasting room stopped to marvel at flocks of thousands of small, black birds rise from the vines shrouded in mist and take to the air, like a living cloud.

Ledgewood does excellent Rhone style wines. Their Rhone blends, known as GSM for Grenache, Syrah and Mouvedre, are exceptional. But they also do other varietals, and Christine and I especially enjoyed a side-by-side tasting of their ’07 and ’08 “Three-Clone” Chardonnays that had excellent structure and wonderful aromas.

Ledgewood Creek Winery offers a great selection of well-made wines at affordable prices.

If you’re interested in visiting Suisun Valley, check out the Suisun Valley Vintners & Growers Association for some basics on the region and its wine. The great part about the area is that you can do a quick tour of some wineries along a loop route that will take off of Interstate 80 and back in about two hours of total driving time.

The other great part is that the wine at almost every winery we visited is quite affordable. Most bottles cost around $13 to $22 and the wineries offer case and club membership discounts. Suisun Valley may be in the shadow of Napa Valley, but it would be worth your time as a wine lover to try visiting the valley next door.

Inside the tasting room at Ledgewood Creek winery.

A small reservoir on a bend of Redwood Creek in Napa.

The mountains and vineyards of Napa Valley are some of the area’s best known scenic beauty, but if you know where to look you can find gems of more wild scenery.

One spot is tucked away in the far corner of a small valley carved through the mountains by Redwood Creek. A couple of buddies and me hiked to Devils Well, a small chain of waterfalls that make a dramatic fall down a ravine. The land is managed by the Land Trust of Napa County, which has maintained a good trail. The trek starts out in a redwood grove and after a steep, initial climb you amble through more redwoods and oaks until you reach the falls. When we made our trip the falls were just a small trickle, but it’s still an impressive sight. The “well” is a natural pool that has been created by a waterfall in a small cleft of rock. You stand in what is like a small natural amphitheatre surrounded by towering cliffs. The creek flows out of the well before plunging another 100 feet down to another pool.

The trail begins in a grove of redwoods.

My friend John grew up in the area and recalled jumping into Devils Well when he was a teenager and not being able to touch the bottom.

It being about 55 degrees when we were making our recent hike, my friends and weren’t about to jump into the water. While it was chilly, the sun was still shining bright and we would often pause in clearings to warm up in the sunshine. During one pause we noticed that the ground was covered with ladybugs. The trail to Devils Well may be a little short, but around every bend there was great things to see in the details. John had mentioned he thought it was the time of year when ladybugs would be hatching, and it was just amazing to see everything on the ground covered in the small, red insects.

A hatch of ladybugs.

Parts of the trail do require you to scramble over boulders and through tight crevices, so you need to be in moderate shape to make the walk. Thankfully all the work pays off with a great reward, being able to enjoy the beauty of the well.

On our return trip we stopped by a small reservoir on the creek and skipped stones. It was a fun end to a great day hike.

Access is through permission from the land trust. The trail is a little small, so if you do find yourself behind another group it’s best to pause and keep some distance.

Here are some more pictures from the hike:

A slug hangs off the side of a rock along the trail.

Approaching the cliffs that surround Devils Well.

More ladybugs!

Walking into the entrance to the well.

Bennie perched on a cliff above the ravine.

John and Ben standing near the well.

The view down the ravine.

Everyone had their cameras out all day.

Further downstream, one can also explore a small reservoir created near a bend of the creek beneath a huge boulder.

Ben said the boulder and the reservoir were quite a "Mayan sight." I'm not sure what he meant by that. (We did have a bottle of Markers Mark with us to keep warm.)

© Leonard Freed / Magnum Photos

There’s a great photo essay on Slate depicting German beer festivals, especially the Bavarian Oktoberfest in Munich. You may think Octoberfest takes place next month, but the traditional German celebration begins in September and runs into the first week of October. It began in Munich yesterday and I’m sure it was quite a party today as well.

If Bordeaux is the holy land of wine, then Munich is the holy land of beer.

I recall my time in Munich well. I stayed with two friends in a cheap hotel in a Turkish neighborhood that seemed to be home to an equal ratio of schawamer and kabob stands to strip clubs. We made forays into the city proper and discovered the wonderful Englischer Garten, which we toured after a visit to the museum of science and engineering. (Leave it to the Germans to have an exhilarating “forklift simulator” experience with real-life factory scenarios! There was also several interesting electricity and magnetism displays as well as an odd, scale model of the Jagermeister distillery.)

The Englischer Garten has four beer gardens as well as surfing on the river that runs through the park Surfers ride the swell created as the river is forced under several tight bridges. It also is famous for its nude sunbathing area, but as our visit coincided with a spring rain storm the weather did not inspire many locals to take full advantage of the park’s liberties.

Hang ten Herr Ofstermueller!

We weren’t in town for Oktoberfest, but there was still a small carnival set up near the old city center to give one a sense of the party that occurs every fall. A few locals told me that the event has become too popular, too wild and too filled with drunk Englishmen. I can see that from the photos and videos you can find online, but I also have heard that local residents disparage Oktoberfest because they would like it to just be their own private party rather than raucous international party it is now.

That is why I liked the photo essay on Slate. It has several photos from the Oktoberfests of the mid to late 60s in what, was then, West Germany. It shows a culture that is beginning to regain confidence in itself and an understanding of its new place in the world. If you can recall, large public gatherings of Germans in the ’30s and ’40s didn’t have the best of intentions. The beer festivals of the early ’60s were tentative and casual. Young Germans, like the one pictured above — at a festival in Dusseldorf in 1965 — were just beginning to once again wear traditional costumes and embrace their culture. But they did so in local and comfortable settings that stressed the values of community and friendship. They were reinvigorating the old traditions while dismissing Munich’s darker history like the Beer Hall Putsch in which a young Hitler made a presumptive move to gain control of the German government.

To visit Munich now, one can not ignore that history, but one can not also ignore that it is home to some of the finest breweries in the wold.

And yes, the Hofbrauhaus is an amazing good time.

A visit also gives one a glimpse into how a simple beverage can be a defining characteristic for a people and for a nation. Beer flows through German culture as well as its history.

After days of feasting and wine tasting, our souls needed replenishing. On our second day in Eugene, or Hippie City as I like to call it, we decided to head into the majestic Cascade Mountains east of Eugene to pristine Waldo Lake. I had read that this is one of the cleanest lakes in the world and when we arrived after the hour and a half road trip, the lake’s beauty was awe inspiring. The water, glistening in the sun, ranged in color from deep blue to sapphire and a light turquoise. Pine trees came to the edge of the lake and snow capped mountains could be seen far off in the horizon.

But as we approached the shore with our picnic, we soon realized that not all was well at Waldo Lake. Bloodsuckers. I slapped a mosquito off my neck when I first stepped out of our rental car, but as we came nearer to the water the one or two skeeters quickly turned into a swarm. Every second we could feel them probing at any exposed skin. We retreated from the shore back into the forest, but were followed by the mosquitoes. As we trudged along back to the car, I was thinking to myself, “I am not going to be sent home by a bunch of parasites.” Then in the distance, I spotted an RV and possible salvation. The camp was that of the park’s friendly camp host who had an extra can of bug spray for us. He said in the spring the mosquitoes can be so bad that he doesn’t even leave his RV. After what we had just been through, I couldn’t imagine much worse. I was just happy to have some relief from the bugs.

Treated with DEET, Christine and I returned to our picnic spot and enjoyed some sandwiches and a bottle of Cooper Mountain Pinot that we had picked up earlier in the trip. The bug spray made our food taste a little different and it gave the Pinot a bit of a chemical finish, but I was just glad I wasn’t been stung by skeeters any more. (Although it was a first for me when a dead mosquito landed in my wine after it tried to prick my chemical-laden skin.)

According to the informational signs at the park, Waldo Lake was carved out by glaciers and is the second largest lake in Oregon. Its incomparable clarity (at some spots you can see more than 100 feet below the surface) comes from the fact it is fed by snow melt and underwater springs. Little erosion on the shore means the lake doesn’t contain much sediment or nutrients that promote algae growth.

Once we were done with lunch, we decided to take a swim. Although it was a little cold, swimming was just wonderful. The lake’s water felt clean and fresher than any other lake or river I have ever known. A friendly guy out with his kids let us borrow a couple of face masks and we spent some time paddling around and checking out the view under water. It was amazing, reminding me of when we went snorkeling in Hawaii. We swam out to a raft and just lay in the sun, feeling total relaxation.

Later that day, we had dinner at a great restaurant in downtown Eugene at which we enjoyed a bottle of Lange Pinot. After dinner, we stopped at a new bar in Eugene called The Beer Stein. The place is a “bottle shop” and it was a new experience for me. Instead of selecting a beer  from a menu, patrons instead pick bottles from the hundreds that in the store’s refrigerator cases. Then you take your bottles up to the bar where they will pour your beer into an appropriate class. I was astounded by the selection. Rauchbiers from Germany, Belgian Krieks and a great selection of domestic microbrews. Summer in Eugene is pretty quiet, and I was a little disappointed that all my old haunts from my days at the University of Oregon were pretty much deserted. The Beer Stein, however, was hopping. And not just with brew snobs, but with young college kids as well. It was just another example that Oregon is wine and beer country.

The next morning we left in the morning for our return flight back to Sacramento.

Oregon Trip: The highlights

1. Waldo Lake, pristine and wonderful.

2. Wine tasting in the Oregon countryside, not a snob in sight.

3. Pizza, really good pizza.

4. Luxurious lodgings.

5. Excellent beer.

Ponzi Vineyards

On our second day in Portland we met up with some friends for lunch in the suburb of Hillsboro and reminisced about our days when all of us lived out on the coast in Astoria. Hillsboro is located near the northern edge of the Willamette Valley wine country so after lunch Christine and I decided to visit a few wineries, including Ponzi Vineyards. The walls of Ponzi’s modern looking tasting room are decorated with the menus from various state meals, including a few White House dinners from the last three administrations, during which Ponzi was served.

The weather being so pleasant Christine and I opted for buying a bottle of wine and heading outside to play bocce ball and sit in the shade. We decided to try Ponzi’s Arneis because neither of us had ever tried the varietal. That’s not surprising as Ponzi is the only Oregon winery and one of only three wineries in the U.S. that makes wine from the ancient Italian grape.

We purchased a bottle for $20 and headed out to the bocce courts that were framed by tall pines and vineyards. The wine displayed an interesting mix of fruit flavors and acidity and proved to be the perfect complement for a warm summer day. After some desultory rounds of bocce, Christine and I just decided to sit in the shade of our patio table’s umbrella and enjoy our bottle of wine.

After a pleasant drive through the countryside back to Portland, Christine and I checked into our second hotel in Portland. She was able to score an amazing bargain on a room at the new luxury hotel The Nines. The hotel was a stunner. Beautiful rooms, wonderful amenities and a gorgeous restaurant located in the hotel’s sunny atrium.

That night we decided on Henry’s 12th Street Tavern for dinner. The food was OK but the real attraction of the restaurant was its beer list with more than 100 choices. I was able to try a pint of the famous Dogfish IPA out of Delaware (that tasted a little odd, I’ll stay with my West Coast IPAs) and Christine tried a light wheat beer from Minnosota. The place is located in the historic Henry Weinhard’s brewery and we snapped a photo of the brewery’s old smokestack.

We spent the rest of the evening taking a roundabout walk back to our hotel and came upon a guy getting a grill started on the sidewalk in front of a jazz club. Intriqued, Christine and I ducked into the place and soon found ourselves listening to a wonderful jazz singer as wafts of barbecue drifted in off the street. I’ve lived in small towns almost my entire life and I’ve always loved the rural lifestyle. But as I sat in that jazz club listening to a soulful and passionate singer backed up by a wonderful band, I could see the benefits of a living in the big city. When the band took a break the singer and other musicians grabbed drinks and had some smokes with the audience outside as the club staff walked from table to table getting barbecue orders.

An interesting end to our last night in Portland. The next day we’d be heading south to Eugene.

Courtesy

The team was in Oregon for a couple of days as part of a quick trip through my old stomping grounds in the Beaver State. We had hoped to get a respite from the heat of a California summer but instead found ourselves in the midst of an Oregon heat wave.

After settling in at our room at the rather forgettable downtown Hilton, I took a long walk through the city’s core. When I attended the University of Oregon, my time in Portland was spent either going to the airport or attending a conference or a job interview. I hadn’t spent much time as a tourist and the goal of this trip was to try and get a better sense of the city itself. As I wandered along I found that Portland had been suffering through the economic downturn. Streets in the once trendy Pearl District were lined by vacant storefronts and towering condos — built in the frenzied boom years — now stood dark and empty.

There’s still a push by locals to “keep Portland weird” and retain their city’s eccentricities in the face of economic redevelopment and transplants from, gasp, California! The city is definitely weird, but it seems that local weirdness has been best protected by our protracted recession than the efforts of tattooed, homeless drug addicts.

Continuing my walk through Stumptown, (Portland’s unofficial nickname) I was getting a little bummed by what seemed to have befallen the city I remembered as being so vibrant. Noticing some activity a few blocks over I headed in that direction and soon found myself in the Skidmore neighborhood Saturday market. Here was the vibrancy I had been missing. Hippies, hipsters, hoods, young parents and old folks all mingling in a mix of open-air craft stalls and food vendors. I could feel the unique, funky beat of the music of Portland and I liked it.

The market led to the Burnside bridge and the riverfront walkway. I took a stroll along the river enjoying the sunshine and people watching. It was fun to see ski boats pulling wake boarders and tubes on the Willamette River through the heart of downtown Portland. (You wouldn’t want to do that on the Hudson.)

I met up with Christine back at the hotel and we decided to cross the river and head over to the Hawthorne neighborhood, which is home to Apizza Scholls. A trendy but legendary pizzeria that proved to have some awesome pizza. They only allow you to choose three toppings for your pie — to retain the true pizza taste — and Christine and I opted for Nicoise olives, onions and home made sausage. The crust was light with a crisp texture and it had plenty of substance to give the rich toppings a strong foundation.

The waiter challenged me to finish the last two pieces. He didn't need to challenge me my friends. Before we started our meal, I knew there'd be no leftovers.

We chose a simple but eloquent Italian Barbera to pair with our pizza. Christine fell in love with the place and quickly declared it to be the best she had ever tasted. I equivocated a bit saying, “well there was this little place I found in Florence,” but she quickly called me on my pretentiousness and we agreed it was the best pizza we’d ever tasted.

After pizza, we dropped by a cool looking night club that turned out to have some of the worst stand up comedy I’ve ever been subjected to and then crossed back over the river to downtown and our hotel.

(Coming up soon: wine tasting in the Oregon countryside, enjoying the luxe life in Portland, the best microbrews ever and a pristine mountain lake.)