It’s been a time of more than I can take. Either my tolerances have fallen or the world has gotten more, well, MORE.
It started with false summits (sort of, more like false corners) on a bike ride with my kid a few weeks ago. I’d ridden that ride before. I knew that the end consisted of a series of climbs and curves around mountains and that we still had a bit of work ahead. Nevertheless, I heard myself telling him that we were almost there … just around that next bend. Ha! It was more like 5, with lots of ups. I was done well before the end of that ride, but we got there. No worries. Power through. <grunt sounds>
So then my hubby and I headed for wine country with some dear friends, celebrating a big birthday on our side and a big anniversary on theirs. Woot-Woot! Day one we killed it. Two unique and personalized tastings and dinner at a fabulous restaurant. Perfect. Day two, more wine, more food, more awesomeness. Starting to feel a little rollie-pollie, but we’re hanging in. Day three, biking, more wine, more food. Starting to approach the red zone. Day four, more … wine … food … just can’t quite move … And there we went, toppling over. Uncle.
That day three dinner, though. It defined MORE. In three words: The French Laundry. Hubby made the reservations two months in advance. TWO MONTHS, because that’s how they roll. 5:30 seemed a little early, but hey, it’s The French Laundry. Men in jackets, slacks and close-toed shoes. In Napa? Okie dokie.
Throughout the week, we had gotten mixed reactions when we mentioned our pending dinner at TFL. One lifetime resident told us it was a rip-off. He had eaten there once and left hungry. ? Ok. We knew it was pricey. We sorta thought we’d get something special for the money. Next person says, “Oh, right. You’ll enjoy the experience.” Huh? We started to wonder if we had made a huge mistake. Would it live up to the hype? I mean, TFL is considered one of the best restaurants in the world. The world. And people are saying that we’ll enjoy the experience and maybe go home hungry? Seriously?
Well. We dressed ourselves appropriately and made our way down the street to the iconic little building. After being seated, we perused the wine list. The average bottle was in the $800 range. <ahem> Well. We found a couple bottles more in-range for our “palates” and we were off on the adventure. Each dish was unique, explosive in tastes and textures, and truly a pleasure to explore. The courses kept coming. By the steak, we were all pleasantly happy. This was definitely an experience and we were enjoying every minute of it. And then … desserts. Plural. The first was wonderful. The second, fabulous. The third, overwhelming. And there it was, we were careening over the top and down the other side. As they brought out the next bit of little cookies and cakes, we all audibly groaned. The server said, a little under his breath as he placed the plate in front of me, “Don’t worry. It’s almost over.” And I was so relieved. Terrifically, horrifically, wonderfully relieved that I wouldn’t be faced with another opportunity to taste something amazing because I just might explode all over one of the best restaurants in the world.
We’re back in our home state now, recovering. Last night we decided to take in The Book of Mormon musical as part of the healing process. <ahem> Way over the top. WAY. My laughing muscles still hurt quite inappropriately.