For those unfamiliar with my approach, I enjoy cooking, eating, drinking, playing music, video games, and meeting new people. Anything I write about (no matter how bad the spelling and grammar) will involve some mention of the above. I just noticed how much my second chin sweats when I tilt my head down in 90 degree weather. Yuck. Okay, onto today's post.
We woke to French pressed coffee and a charming basket of fresh pastries from the famous Bouchon Bakery. I'll speak more about this tomorrow when I can get a fresh pic or two, so this will have to tide you over in the meantime.
In my eyes, Napa is a notable benchmark for anyone who seriously thinks they value the art of oral indulgence and over-celebration. Truth be told, on first look it's hot, dry, and über snooty. Coping with the fact that I will sooner than later offend the locals, I set a few ground rules for my ever-destructive self.
1. No driving if I have more than 2 drinks.
2. Don't mix booze.
3. Drink at least 1 glass of water anywhere I go (except potty)
4. No food bill should exceed $500 (US)
We hit downtown Napa a mere 3 miles from our abode around 10:30. Kate was driving our silver Mustang Convertible while I tried out the new Canon T3 camera in vain whilst enjoying the retro sounds of Fitz and the Tantrums. Parking was a debacle, not due to lack of spaces though. I'm convinced that when god built my wife he spent a few too many points in the "beauty" pool, leaving the "driving" one a few coins short. This is as close as she's allowed to the drivers seat from here on out. 
Kate's accoutrements
Women's rights and struggles aside, we soon found ourselves in downtown Napa, walking around aimlessly and somewhat underwhelmed. Don't get me wrong, the air was crisp, sun was shining, and there wasn't a cloud to be found, but the sheer number of cement mixers and orange tape boggled my mind. Apparently they are "rebuilding" to accommodate tourists by adding Michael Kors and Gucci to the area... Fucking America. I could tell Kate felt similar, so I opted to pop into the John Anthony tasting room to ease up. There we met the chipper soon-to-be PE Teacher, Robbie. Nice kid, poured us some pretty sick reds including a 2010 Cabernet that I would have sold my socks for (the 2 Sav Blancs weren't bad either). We'll probably pop in there tomorrow evening for a bottle and a cheese plate. Excuse my lack of pictures on this one, but I didn't know I was going to pull out the defibrillator for the old blog until we hit...
DON PERICO!!!
(Insert iPhone pic of sign here)
I'll get better about the pics, I pinky swear with your sister.
Now I know what you're thinking...
"That sounds like my neighborhood Mexican joint where I saw a guy pee on the building once..."
And it totally was! So we had to go.
I know, I know... We flew across the country and spent a small fortune to go to wine Mecca and the first lunch I have is at a no-name Mexican restaurant?! Yup, sometimes you gotta set the bar low. After all, we have reservations at the legendary Bottega (Michael Chiarello's slice of heaven) on Sunday, so do not be alarmed, you will bury your dry eyes in much food porn in the near future. So why did we really go?
Fun Fact!: There are a gazillion Mexicans in Napa! This was a good bet, and it paid off big time.
We were seated next to the door at a booth that could be easily monitored by the host/manager. I guess they smelled trouble coming in, bad I don't blame them. Kate's smokin hot, and I look loud and unruly, so they kept us close. Kate orders a Tequila Ricky, essentially a Gin Ricky (club soda & lime) but with Mexican happy juice. Me? House Margarita... You can always tell the future with one of these. I've never had a good margarita and bad food (or vice versa) in the same establishment. Drinks arrive and are great, so I'm stoked about the meal. I take this pic of my wife:
God she's hot.
Okay, food orders are as follows. Kate spots a blackboard advertising $9.50 chicken Fajitas - done!
(Authors note: I just learned what diphthong means...)
I'm feeling heathy, so I decide on the Steak Chimichanga. In case you snort kale and masturbate into trader joe's weak-ass paper bags, allow me to explain how this food of the gods is built.
Step 1: Build a burrito large enough to fit Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow's baby inside of.
Step 2: Deep fry it.
Step 3: Add red sauce and cheese. Serve to Carl
Did I just tongue fuck an astronaut on Jupiter? Best red sauce I've ever had, and easily 18oz of steak. Tender, salted and perfectly fatty, I just melted over and over again until I hurt inside. Guac that came with it was stupid too. Flavorful, unlike the "Uncle Julio's" and comparable overpriced crapshacks in our area. Kate's meal was solid and had at least two whole grilled onions on the skillet, corn tortillas and all.
Carl's Chimichanga
Kate's skillet and decent teeth
Napa. Mexican. The cure for HPV... It's all the same when you're happy and watching the guys on the other side of the window pave the road. This calls for a celebration...
Shots!
Don Julio to be exact, and Tecate to wash it down.
So much for rule #2.
Kate stares in disbelief. The bar manager giggles as if you put his balls in cold salsa. Me? I'm just happy I didn't have to be on my 11:00 weekly directors call.
I shook it off, ate the pinto bean off the table (see full shot pic) and smiled. If not here, where? If not now, when? We so often speak of our wishes in vain...
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