Up early and out to the airport once again. Met up with the gang in San Francisco, we picked up our pimpmobile (one of those giant Chrysler sedans), and got a little lost through the winding streets of Karl Malden and Michael Douglas before finding the highway and heading north. Will we make our lunch reservation at Mustards? Apparently not. Call to let them know and keep plugging up to the valley. Stacey giving Lee directions, mom and Betsy watching movies on their respective pads as we go.
Arrive at the spot and have to wait a bit for a table to clear. We sit outside in the sun and admire the fountain in the parking lot. Debate: is the bunch of grapes hanging at his crotch real or fake? Only one way to find out: I remove my shoes, roll up my pants, and wade in to cop a feel:
Finally sitting down to lunch about 2:20, and man, are we ready for it. As becomes the ritual, we discuss the menu, who’s thinking of what, and all of this after examining every plate within the immediate area – even asking other diners what they think of their selection.
Ooh, Lee, may I have a bite of that freshly-made doughnut?
Hunger sated, we hit the road again and head to check in to our hotel. We have time to unpack and take naps (some of us), then pile back into the car and head to Yountville for our farm-to-table dinner at Bottega. Small plates, large plates, full plates and dessert plates. We enjoy our meals (mom had the winner this time) and head back home to finally catch up on our sleep and digest for the next day’s adventures!