The Waterline

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Gawd I love this state. I honestly believe that it’s an uninformed decision to live anywhere besides California. Most recently, I took a lovely little jaunt to Santa Barbara, which although only two hours away, feels like a whole other planet. Or no, not really, more like a less stodgy Hamptons. Driving through the countryside of Santa Ynez Valley, on the way to the wineries, though, is kinda how I expect Tuscany to be for those on a tighter budget.

And even if I am usually hard pressed to discern between a bottle of two buck chuck and a 1982 Lafite-Roshschild Bordeaux, once you have a taste of the real stuff, the contrast is harshly apparent. And the pairing, now that’s a real luxury. The only problem is, when you leave the realm of fine dining, you expect everything to be paired for you. When stopping at a roadside diner on the way home, for example, I was a little more than disappointed when the 16-year-old cash register attendant did not know if I should have lemonade or soda with my tuna melt.