Before I lead in with a “sorry this is so late”, I feel the need for a slight disclaimer. When Ryan and I decided to head out to St. Helena on Saturday after the 4th of July it seemed as if the forces of the universe were acting against us. On top of feeling a little less than stellar from our 48 straight hours of Independence Day festivities, it was a muggy 97 degrees in the shade complete with smoke filled air from a raging forest fire jut miles away. As if that wasn’t enough to discourage us, after finally finding a spot to park and unloading the camera gear, Ryan discovered that our oh-so-necessary memory card had been left at home, rendering the camera useless. We found ourselves at the crossroads of get back in the car and go home or suck it up and make the most out of whatever part of the day we had left. Suck it up we did.
Now, a week and some odd days later, thanks to one of the busiest Julys we have had in a while, it only seems fit that after all the road blocks presented to us that fine summer day this post be a little tardy to the party. After all, consistency is key.
St. Helena sits just 17 miles east of us, quaintly embedded in the Napa Valley. Heading over, while we passed by geysers and forest covered hillsides, the closet woodsman in me immediately felt guilty, guilty that we hadn’t selected a more nature appreciative activity for the day. Lord knows sweating out some salt rimmed, margarita filled demons could have done us some good. Forests were soon replaced by vineyards and our fifty some odd minute drive came to an end in downtown St. Helena. Skipping passed the forgotten memory card moment, we left the car to go enjoy the day we had planned. Besides, should the moment present itself, we always have our trusty camera phones to fall back on. Truthfully, I had given up on the idea of turning our afternoon into anything LA-normal related but it wasn’t too long before I realized the day had it’s own agenda in store, an agenda too good not to share.
Main St. downtown St. Helena is typical “wine country classic”. Specialty food stores, home decor shops offering glazed ceramic geese and shabby chic end tables, an occasional clothing boutique with pashmina scarves and lamb skin slippers, all inter mingled amongst one of a kind restaurants with featured wine selections of the day. Personally, I have found that the primary difference between St. Helena and places like Healdsburg or Sonoma is the absent aura of snootiness. Unlike it’s neighboring counter parts, St. Helena is full of warm shop owners and happy faces that actually greet you when you enter their establishments with sincerity. Not once did we feel unwanted or ignored, nor did we feel smothered or stalked as if we are going to pocket some sterling silver napkin rings in a back corner. It was easy, comfortable and refreshing.
First stop was a pop into Olivier, one of my favorite stores Ryan has ever introduced me to, for some olive oil and mustard tasting. After making an unavoidable purchase of Rosemary Olive Oil our natural next stop was into The Model Bakery for a warm, fresh out of the oven companion loaf to our new bottle of goodness. Window shopping our way down the street, we stopped at the St. Helena Bistro for some much needed nourishment, and wine of course.
Feeling heavy from the nights before, we decided to split a few light appetizers. Tomato Bruschetta topped with garlic, capers, basil and olive oil, Salmon Tacos dipped in chipotle sauce and some of the best Onion Rings we have ever found (Babes a bit of an onion ring connoisseur if you will) all paired with a glass of Rutherford Ranch Sauvignon Blanc. Suddenly, the struggles of the day all seemed worth it. With it’s charming, simple interior, limited seating and umbrella covered patio, we felt as if we had discovered some secret gem. A gem that is now at the top of our reoccurring location list, especially the next time we find ourselves exhausted and borderline over heated on the friendly streets of St. Helena.
To close out our stroll, we “ooohd” and “ahhhhd” or way through Ottoman Art, (I’m a sucker for bright colored, mosaic glass lanterns) and made our final purchase at my favorite chocolate shop in Napa and Sonoma Counties combined, Woodhouse Chocolate. Standing in what feels like a grand entry of a colonial plantation, adorned with crystal chandeliers and all tied up with blue and silver ribbons, Ryan and I carefully picked out our desserts for the evening ahead. I, with my chocolate dipped salted caramels and he with his dark chocolate english toffee, had felt the sense of afternoon completion and we called it a day.
Carrying our indulgences back to the car, we took our time to soak in the pink floral lined neighborhood. Straight out of a travel guide magazine, each house has its own element of uniqueness. You can’t help but want to post up on a white picket fence and even just for a moment feel like you belong there. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to capture my hot pink, geometric summer dress (thank you Marshalls clearance rack) paired with my old trusty black patent Jessica Simpson sandals. What better place to merge the old with the new than in a town that has found the perfect balance of maintaining its historical sense of originality with current, trendy merchants.
Noodle Note:
On the way home Babe decided to spontaneously swing into the Veteran’s Home of Yountville in hopes of finding a weekend ball game. Just as he had done for so many years as an All-Star pitcher, there, on tour nation’s most patriotic weekend, was America’s favorite past time. Smack dab in the middle of veteran filled bleachers, listening to a muffled announcer, with the faint smell of hotdogs bbqing in the parking lot, we sat. We sat and we watched. We didn’t know a single player, we didn’t know a single fellow spectator and we didn’t need to. We were all there for the same reason, for the love of the game.
