Sunset at the beach: the staple of personal ads, romance novels, and Playmate turn-ons. Thee and me and we. The biggest of all California clichés. But trust me—as sunsets go, this is an epic, a masterpiece. As if van Gogh had decided to work in Cinerama.
We’re at Oso Flaco Lake, on California’s Central Coast. My wife, Becky, has never been to this spot, so I wanted to show her the lake and, beyond it, a beach with churning, restless surf.
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| David Zaitz |
| Santa Barbara’s shoreline. |
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We follow the boardwalk along the lake and then through the shifting dunes. The day has been overcast, but the sands begin to brighten to gold. By the time we reach the ocean, the setting sun has emerged beneath the layer of clouds along the horizon. Everything—ocean, dunes, underside of clouds—is suddenly on fire with spinning oranges and reds and purples.
Related story: A sip of Santa Ynez
Even though we’ve both lived in California for a while now, Becky remains a genuine Jersey girl at heart, and I’m still a Chicago guy. Neither of us has ever seen a sunset quite like this. But while we’re astounded, we’re not entirely surprised. Because when we began our 670-mile round-trip drive through the Central Coast’s wine regions and along its incomparable coastline, we were venturing into the California of our dreams.
2 Days, 30 Miles
Santa Barbara to Santa Ynez Valley
In my mind, Santa Barbara is California: Mediterranean architecture, palm trees, the beach, and islands veiled in mist. (Chicago winters will do that to you.) But it’s a city that has always remained just out of reach. I’ve lived an hour to the northwest and now live an hour to the east, but never in Santa Barbara itself.
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| David Zaitz |
| La Super-Rica. |
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We splurge with a night at the Four Seasons Resort. It’s Santa Barbara condensed, all ocean and gardens, archways and decorative tile, trailing bougainvillea and rambling Moreton Bay figs. The mood here is decidedly relaxed, especially compared to posh oceanfront spots in other beach cities that have an almost white-gloved fussiness about them. This too seems to be a reflection of Santa Barbara, where the surf vibe and sea breeze seem to chill out loftier pretensions. Santa Barbara is a city that reveres not just its Dons but its dudes too.
In that spirit, we eschew some of the fancier dinner spots in town for one of the best. La Super-Rica is really a glorified taco stand, with a zigzag roofline and a covered patio. But what it lacks in decor it makes up for in authenticity, from its handmade tortillas to fire-roasted pasilla peppers stuffed with cheese.
With its long lines, La Super-Rica demands some strategizing. The patrons in line ahead of us are weighing their choices with the solemnity of the condemned choosing a last meal. Becky, a much nicer person than I, senses my escalating impatience. She gives me a sweet but firm “Be nice” look as I feel the declamation “Holy pozole, just make a choice!” rising up from the molten core of my being. But it only takes one bite of my taco to make me a contented man.
2 days, 170 miles
Santa Ynez Valley to Pinnacles N.M.
Let the Sideways backlash begin!
I issue this fatwa not out of any dislike for last year’s best movie. But having watched the Santa Ynez Valley’s emergence from languid ranchland into a top wine region over the past few decades, it was a shock to suddenly see favorite haunts on the big screen. Think of it this way: You live in the Amazon rain forest and Angelina Jolie or Sting visits your village. You appreciate the attention but also know that things will never quite be the same again.
The joy of the Santa Ynez Valley and its fellow Central Coast wine regions has always been their blend of kick-back vibe and knockout wines. These are places to discover wines without being intimidated by adjective-spouting pedants. Terroir without terror.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but our favorite wines come from the least opulent and most un-faux-
finished spots. Near Los Olivos, Foxen Winery’s tasting room is little more than a tin shack, while Garretson Wine Company up in Paso Robles is located in a generic, hard-to-reach industrial center better suited to a plumbing-supply business. It’s symbolic of how the wine industry has become engrained in the life of the Central Coast. In Los Angeles, every young dreamer is an aspiring screenwriter. Here the dream is to create great wines, with waiters, store clerks, and winery employees all eager to talk about their vines.
With our tastings done, I cleanse my palate with a full-bodied and slightly assertive root beer from the 21st Street Drive-In in Paso Robles. Missouri may be the Show-Me State, but California is the What-If State. And as Becky and I drive past rows of vines exaggerating the contours of the rolling hills, we ponder the possibilities of a life in wine country.
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| David Zaitz |
| Pinnacles National Monument. |
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It’s the life that Jan and Jon Brosseau have been building with their own hands since they bought land here in 1978. They’re the owners of the Inn at the Pinnacles, a Monterey County bed-and-breakfast set in the middle of acres of Pinot Noir, Syrah, and Chardonnay grapes. During the week, Jon works in aerospace in the Bay Area, then the couple loads up their car with provisions and heads to the inn for the weekend. Their property sits adjacent to the historic Chalone Vineyard and a few miles from Pinnacles National Monument, the landmark volcanic outcrops that Becky and I are eager to explore.
Roughly 36 million people live in California, but we’re the only 2 at Pinnacles. And for good reason. Just as Becky steps out, the threatening skies stop their threatening and deliver the goods. The rock formations disappear behind a curtain of rain and fog. The rain goes all Ringo on the roof and we listen to the pounding while scanning the skies for the slightest hint of blue. Finally we give up and opt for—what else—a glass of Pinot by the fire. Both warm with nary a hint of smoke.
2 Days, 40 Miles
Pinnacles N.M. to Monterey Peninsula
Video: Central coast sampler (Quicktime 6 required)
“The hour of the pearl,” John Steinbeck called it: The early-morning fog hangs low over Monterey Bay and muffles the calls of seagulls and the barks of sea lions as we walk past the Victorians of Pacific Grove, bound for Cannery Row.
The mist obscures the crossovers, the bridges used to transport millions of sardines during the heyday of Monterey’s fishing industry. Fishing boats with upturned bows and low-slung sterns bob along the Monterey Harbor, with its corrugated-iron buildings and lines of heavy wheelbarrows for transporting fish. Otters swim close enough to hear them chew, and I prove my theory to Becky that every harbor has at least one boat named Sea Wolf.
Later in the day we head to Carmel, where people don’t name boats, they name cottages. My tastes run more toward the rusted and weathered, so I find today’s Carmel quotidianly quaint. We watch as husbands, hearing that most dreaded of spousal orders—“Honey, let’s go in here”—look on with envy at jovial foursomes of guys straight off the 18th hole at Pebble Beach. Fortunately, Becky is not a professional shopper, and soon we veer off into the side streets, where we’re able to get more of the feeling of the old arts colony that was home to some of the greatest artists that California ever produced: poet Robinson Jeffers and photographers Edward Weston and Ansel Adams.
Related story: Embracing the bay
The fog comes back just in time for our hike at Point Lobos State Reserve, south of Carmel. Harbor seals haul out in hidden coves, and the fog drifts through a grove of rare Monterey cypress, where lace lichen dangles from the branches and an orange algae crusts the trunks. Here nature is more perfect than art: wind-sculpted trees placed just so on granite rocks rhythmically washed by waves rising from a jade-colored sea.
Road food
Café Quackenbush. Gourmet sandwiches and art gallery just off U.S. 101. $; lunch Tue–
Sun, breakfast Sat–
Sun. 458 Bell St., Los Alamos; 805/
344-5181.
Fiala’s Gourmet Deli, Espresso Bar & Chocolatier. Italian deli with outstanding panini sandwiches in Edna Valley wine country. $; 8–5 daily. 1653 Old Price Canyon Rd., San Luis Obispo; 805/543-1313.
Taco Temple. A great spot for fish tacos, hidden on a State 1 frontage road. $; lunch and dinner Wed–Mon. 2680 Main St., Morro Bay; 805/772-4965.
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