Waking up and going to work this morning was tough. Especially since we had a rough time going to sleep, I tossed and turned, and the dreams ran rampant. And damn the alarm.
So where did I leave off... we did make it to the Rogue Public House, where we enjoyed really good Wagyu beef burgers for dinner. I had a Mocha Porter with dinner, and then we bellied up to the bar for another -- this time a Chocolate Stout. Unfortunately, the bartender this time around wasn't nearly as cool as the guy that was working there four years ago, so we didn't stick around long. And the other disappointment? No more Mason jars. So we had one of their Growwwlers filled with HazleNut Brown Nectar and took it back to The Whaler. After off-and-on drizzle and light rain most of the day, it cleared off and we had a nice view of the ocean with the big dipper hanging overhead. It was cool and breezy, but still quite lovely. A perfect place to enjoy my favorite beer.
We woke up the next morning, had a continental breakfast far superior to the Travelodge (poor Travelodge... I keep on and keep on tarnishing its reputation... it really wasn't that bad) and then took a stroll on the beach under blue skies and sunshine. Poor Jarrett couldn't quite grasp the point of going to a beach where it is fairly undesirable to swim in the ocean because of the cold temperatures, but he still agrees that the Pacific Coast is beautiful beyond compare.
We checked out and headed on up Highway 101, heading east after passing through Lincoln City to make our way back to the Willamette Valley (wine, country, here we come again). We stopped off along the way a couple of times to take in ocean views, and during one stop we saw some whales spouting water -- we couldn't really see their bodies, but it was still cool. We stopped for a quick lunch in McMinnville and then continued on to our last two wineries -- Willakenzie and Sokol Blosser. Poor Jarrett's cold finally got the best of him and he could no longer really fully taste or smell the wine, but I still enjoyed it -- and, besides, it was my birthday after all.
After shipping yet another case of wine back home, we made our way to Abbey Road Farm to check in for our last night in the Great Northwest. The views from the farm were breathtaking, and the farm itself was like a little refuge from the craziness of life. There were herb gardens, manicured gardens, alpacas, goats, chickens, a donkey, and just acres and acres of fields (the farm is 82 acres, to be exact). I wish we would have had more time to spend there -- I would have milked a goat or something -- but since we had decided to end our trip with a nice bed and breakfast, so it was that one night was it. I had been intrigued by the farm since I first learned that the rooms were in renovated silos -- too cool, in my opinion. And the rooms were very nice, complete with radiant floor heating (yeah, you drool over that you fellow editors in engineering... not that we needed it, so I didn't actually experience it), towel warmers, and jacuzzi bathtubs. Oh and real life-sized towels... amazing.
Jarrett is not a huge fan of mushrooms, so it was quite the sacrifice for him to take me to a birthday dinner at a restaurant (The Joel Palmer House) run by a man who actually hunts wild mushrooms and uses them in the majority of his dishes. It sounded like heaven to me... Jarrett had to carefully plan his escape from hell. Actually, he ended up having a fillet mignon that was one of the best he'd ever had, and I had a wild mushroom tart and scallops (again with wild mushrooms) that were fabulous. The food was excellent. The service, not so much. I won't get into details, but basically the "wine attendant" that evening (the restaurant tried to imitate European service [ha!] so many people waited on us throughout the evening and the gratuity was incorporated into the check) blew major chunks. Ask us later for details if you really want to hear the story. They made the mistake of leaving me a comment card to fill out at the end of the meal. They don't know me very well. Queen of comment cards, I am.
After a night of sleep (with dreams involving our favorite wine tasting host, an elderly French man with squinty eyes, pulling Jujitsu moves on the previous night's wine attendant) and a delicious breakfast (including the above-pictured fruit monkey, that funky monkey) at the farm, we sadly made the drive to the Portland airport. [Sad music plays... tears fill the eyes... everything fades to black.]
It's over, but it was a wonderful trip. We did a lot, we saw many friends and relatives, and we're coming home with some really great wine. Cheers, salud, and all that good stuff.
So where did I leave off... we did make it to the Rogue Public House, where we enjoyed really good Wagyu beef burgers for dinner. I had a Mocha Porter with dinner, and then we bellied up to the bar for another -- this time a Chocolate Stout. Unfortunately, the bartender this time around wasn't nearly as cool as the guy that was working there four years ago, so we didn't stick around long. And the other disappointment? No more Mason jars. So we had one of their Growwwlers filled with HazleNut Brown Nectar and took it back to The Whaler. After off-and-on drizzle and light rain most of the day, it cleared off and we had a nice view of the ocean with the big dipper hanging overhead. It was cool and breezy, but still quite lovely. A perfect place to enjoy my favorite beer.
We woke up the next morning, had a continental breakfast far superior to the Travelodge (poor Travelodge... I keep on and keep on tarnishing its reputation... it really wasn't that bad) and then took a stroll on the beach under blue skies and sunshine. Poor Jarrett couldn't quite grasp the point of going to a beach where it is fairly undesirable to swim in the ocean because of the cold temperatures, but he still agrees that the Pacific Coast is beautiful beyond compare.
We checked out and headed on up Highway 101, heading east after passing through Lincoln City to make our way back to the Willamette Valley (wine, country, here we come again). We stopped off along the way a couple of times to take in ocean views, and during one stop we saw some whales spouting water -- we couldn't really see their bodies, but it was still cool. We stopped for a quick lunch in McMinnville and then continued on to our last two wineries -- Willakenzie and Sokol Blosser. Poor Jarrett's cold finally got the best of him and he could no longer really fully taste or smell the wine, but I still enjoyed it -- and, besides, it was my birthday after all.
After shipping yet another case of wine back home, we made our way to Abbey Road Farm to check in for our last night in the Great Northwest. The views from the farm were breathtaking, and the farm itself was like a little refuge from the craziness of life. There were herb gardens, manicured gardens, alpacas, goats, chickens, a donkey, and just acres and acres of fields (the farm is 82 acres, to be exact). I wish we would have had more time to spend there -- I would have milked a goat or something -- but since we had decided to end our trip with a nice bed and breakfast, so it was that one night was it. I had been intrigued by the farm since I first learned that the rooms were in renovated silos -- too cool, in my opinion. And the rooms were very nice, complete with radiant floor heating (yeah, you drool over that you fellow editors in engineering... not that we needed it, so I didn't actually experience it), towel warmers, and jacuzzi bathtubs. Oh and real life-sized towels... amazing.
Jarrett is not a huge fan of mushrooms, so it was quite the sacrifice for him to take me to a birthday dinner at a restaurant (The Joel Palmer House) run by a man who actually hunts wild mushrooms and uses them in the majority of his dishes. It sounded like heaven to me... Jarrett had to carefully plan his escape from hell. Actually, he ended up having a fillet mignon that was one of the best he'd ever had, and I had a wild mushroom tart and scallops (again with wild mushrooms) that were fabulous. The food was excellent. The service, not so much. I won't get into details, but basically the "wine attendant" that evening (the restaurant tried to imitate European service [ha!] so many people waited on us throughout the evening and the gratuity was incorporated into the check) blew major chunks. Ask us later for details if you really want to hear the story. They made the mistake of leaving me a comment card to fill out at the end of the meal. They don't know me very well. Queen of comment cards, I am.
After a night of sleep (with dreams involving our favorite wine tasting host, an elderly French man with squinty eyes, pulling Jujitsu moves on the previous night's wine attendant) and a delicious breakfast (including the above-pictured fruit monkey, that funky monkey) at the farm, we sadly made the drive to the Portland airport. [Sad music plays... tears fill the eyes... everything fades to black.]
It's over, but it was a wonderful trip. We did a lot, we saw many friends and relatives, and we're coming home with some really great wine. Cheers, salud, and all that good stuff.
2 comments:
Christi,
I think you should have milked a goat... and then consumed the raw milk.
:)
Yeah... you're SO right.
Post a Comment