As I drove over the rainbow bridge, curving right up 29 and easing past the turnoff to Sonoma, the embrace of the vine-laden hills filled me with the requisite joy of being in wine country. I’d like to be able to say that I held on to that joy—that it unequivocally and indelibly infiltrated my system and colored a rapturous stay. It didn’t.
To my chagrin, I was in the midst of a months-long snit about Napa. Fundamentally, I loved the place, but I had recently come to resent Napa proper for being overcrowded and the entire region for being over-commercialized. Of late, I had endured the southern end of 29 only because it took me through to Calistoga. Quite honestly, if I hadn’t received an enthusiastic personal recommendation to check out the Oak Knoll Inn, I would not have been headed to Napa at all.
The recommendation came from Dianne Jacob, food writer extraordinaire and former coach to proprietor Barbara Passino, who she’d assisted in bringing “Chocolate for Breakfast” to fruition. Not one to grant casual praise, Dianne’s account of the inn’s opulence and what she vowed would be an unparalleled two-course breakfast were intriguing. I shot Barbara an e-mail and asked when I could come for a visit.
By the time I got half a mile down Oak Knoll Road, my hostility was abating. I’ve always been a sucker for tree-lined avenues with branches that arch over the road in leafy canopies—that effect, combined with vineyards planted on both sides of the lane resurrected some of my joy. The light but discernable fragrance of jasmine as I walked up the steps of the stone-faced inn provoked another wave. And the first journey into my room, which featured a 13-foot palladium window looking out at orange flowers right below and Stag’s Leap mountain in the distance, prevented me from denying an encroaching truth: I didn’t really hate Napa, I loved it.
