‘Tis the Season–for Baking

I promised a loaf of pumpkin bread for Halloween, but Halloween came and went and still I had not cut the pumpkins. So finally the day came. I had to slice and dice those pumpkins because the bottom of one of them was starting to look a little squeamish. Now it’s been a long time since I have baked from scratch. There was a period in my life when I gave serious consideration to becoming a pastry chef. Baking was fun. The only bad part was I ate my endeavors and after escalating in weight, I thought better of this career choice and went on to become a photographer and writer. I wouldn’t have ventured back into this realm now except for the fact that two lovely sugar pumpkins came into my hands and I just couldn’t bring myself to use them for decorations. Thus begins my saga of creating pumpkin bread.

WHY YOU SHOULD PAY ATTENTION IN 5TH GRADE MATH CLASS

First of all, find a recipe that works for you. Do not contact your niece in Florida for the recipe she wrote about on Facebook because it may tax your mathematical abilities. That was my first mistake because, while the recipe in itself is just fine, it calls for ingredients to make three loaves of pumpkin bread. I only wanted to make one loaf. I actually was fairly sure that I would not have enough pumpkin for more than one loaf. I was wrong on that point but more about that later.

I surveyed the recipe and tried to figure out how to do the math that would result in ingredient amounts for one loaf. HA! It called for expertise in fractions and maybe even Algebra. Now I flunked fractions in the 5th grade. That was year that Dad died and I had to change schools three times. No matter how many pies my mother cut up trying to teach me fractions, it was to no avail. And as to Algebra, well, heck., come on, I didn’t even pass fractions! And to this day I am not much of a pie lover.

So my decision was final. I would make three loaves.

ABSOLUTELY HOW NOT TO CUT A PUMPKIN

I guess the pumpkin gods wanted to make sure their progeny had long lives because they certainly supplied them with thick skin. I approached my pumpkins with my finest large knife. I pressed the point down on the top of the pumpkin near the stem. Don’t do this. Especially if you suffer at all from a bad back as the instant jarring from the fact that the knife goes nowhere is not good for thoracic levels 6 and 7, not to mention Lumbar 4 and 5. You will not want to explain to your orthopedic doctor when he asks, “How did you injure your back?”

“Ah, trying to cut open a pumpkin.”

My next approach was to grasp the knife as if I were intending to kill someone and stab at the pumpkin midway down from the stem. This was somewhat more successful. The knife did go into the pumpkin. But that was all. I could not make it cut down at all. I couldn’t move it at all. And it was impossible to get it out of the pumpkin. What should you do in this case? Get a hammer.

Firmly grasping the pumpkin I swung the hammer down on the part of the knife sticking out of the pumpkin. It moved. It was actually cutting. I swung the hammer again and each successive swack moved the knife through the pumpkin. Eventually I was able to cut all the way around the beast and pry it open. Now I had to get rid of the seeds and strings.

MAKE SURE YOU HAVE THE CORRECT TOOLS

The healthy pumpkin, not the one that was going a bit squeamish, was not too bad for getting the seeds out and scraping judiciously at the stringy stuff with a tablespoon eventually got most of that removed. Squeamish pumpkin on the other hand did not go as well. The seeds were not the problem. But no amount of  scraping with the tablespoon would totally remove the strings. The spoon just slid over them without pulling them out. What to do? I took the large kitchen shears and began to cut at the strings. Kind of like giving a haircut on the inside of someone’s skull. I got as much out as I could and then decided that what was left would most certainly get broken up in the blender. Yeah.

By now I had quite a bit of pumpkin pulp in a bowl. Actually it was almost overflowing with pumpkin pulp. I looked at my recipe. It called for 15 ounces of pumpkin puree. Hmmm. Short of piling the mush onto my old Weight Watchers scale, I had no idea how much pulp I had. But I was now pretty sure I had more than enough for three loaves. A short note on the recipe said something about putting it into zip-lock baggies and freezing it. I made a mental note of that.

(By the way, I cut out the squeamish part of pumpkin number two and only used the healthy part. Now, you didn’t really think I would serve up a molding pumpkin bread, did you?)

In retrospect I now think that the best way to cut a pumpkin is with a hatchet. Furthermore there must be some special seed-and-stringy removal tool on the market and if not, someone really should invent one. Short of these tools, my recommendation is to buy pumpkin puree in a can and let the food processing plant handle the cutting and gutting.

BLENDERS DON’T CUT IT

I took my overflowing bowl of pumpkin pulp to the blender and spooned in a bunch that reached halfway up the glass holder. I secured the top and hit the puree button. Nothing moved. It was noisy. I turned it off and took off the top and felt around with the spoon. Nothing felt pureed. I tried again and this time I could see a bit of movement at the base of the blender container. There was too much pumpkin in the container. I opened it again and took out half the amount, plopping it back into the overflowing bowl. I hit puree again. A little more action, but still, it wasn’t looking like anything pureed. I repeated the action several times and finally got about half a cup of pureed pumpkin. At this rate it would take a couple of hours to puree all the pumpkin that was in the bowl. I abandoned the blender.

It was time for the mixer. I got my portable mixer out of the back of the drawer it has been stored in since I gave up baking from scratch. It still worked so I was set. Except now I had to transfer the pumpkin pulp to a larger bowl since inserting the mixer in the bowl the pulp was in would make the mash fly all over the room. Now I had two bowls to clean up not to mention the pile of seeds and strings.

But using the mixer was the solution. At least I hoped so. I’m not sure the pulp actually turned out as pureed, but in my estimation it was close enough.

Note to the cooking public. Get a food processor not a blender.

WHY DIDN’T I JUST BUY PUMPKIN BREAD

Now it was time to put together all the ingredients. Two more bowls were necessary. I combined my wet ingredients in one bowl – pumpkin puree, four eggs, oil, water – the bowl was filling up. In the second bowl I put three and one half cups of flour – hmmm, the bowl was three-quarters full – baking soda, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and what the heck, I added pumpkin spice. Now both bowls were pretty much full. I could tell that inserting the mixer would cause a disaster with gloppy pumpkin bread ingredients oozing all over the table. It was time to dig out a bigger bowl. This meant transferring the gooey wet ingredients from the first bowl as well as the dry ingredients from the second bowl. Try this. You tell me if you can do it without getting wet and dry ingredients all over the place. So now I had the original bowls to clean, the seeds and strings to dispose of, and glop all over the table. Sigh.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN FLOUR THE PANS?

Next step – grease the pans. Messy. What can I say? Messy. Wash your hands with Dawn dishwashing liquid. It really does cut grease.

Flour the pans. Hmmmm. I never used to do this step when I baked. Perhaps it is a good idea, I thought. No. It was a BAD idea! I’ve seen floured baking pans that other people have done – you know, on the cooking channel. They looked nicely, evenly floured. I scooped out a teaspoon of flour and tossed it into one of the pans. It did not spread nicely and evenly. It fell into the pan in lumps  and no amount of tossing the pan around would spread it because it stuck to the grease. I added more flour and tried again. (Don’t do this) Same result. All three pans turned out the same with lumps of flour. Sigh.

Since I now couldn’t remove the flour I decided it would have to do and I poured the mixed ingredients into the overly floured pans and popped them into the heated oven. Fifty minutes later I pulled one out and inserted a toothpick into the middle. Still gooey. Back into the oven for 10 more minutes.

HOORAY! THEY’RE DONE.

What do you know? They turned out pretty good. After they cooled I popped them out of the pans onto a large plate. “Uh oh, what is that white stuff on the bottom?” Yes, it was that flour. So I had to scrape that off of all three loaves, but no harm was done. After all, it only looked bad, it was flour, not mold.

AFTER EFFECTS

Five bowls, spoons, measuring cups, the mixer, et al – to be washed. The table – to be scrubbed. No, I don’t have a dishwasher. Sigh.

But gee, that pumpkin bread sure tasted good. In two days I polished off one. I guess I had better deliver the other two to the people I promised them to. Not to worry, I have enough pumpkin pulp left over to make three more loaves!
SIGH.

When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

It was a hard decision, but today I let Tom-Boy go. You can only domesticate a cat so far and this kitty just wasn't going to ever be good at being a house cat. A bad case of the whiz-bangs did him in. Well actually it did my furniture in! It seems some creatures never lose their wild and maybe that's a good thing.

So here I sit outside on my porch in the lovely October sunshine searching the terrain for a glimpse of orange and white, but he is nowhere to be found. What did I think? I hoped he would sniff around in the garden and settle down in the dust at the base of the bushes, here on his own territory. But he has fully disappeared. Off on an adventure that has been denied him for more than a year.

At 14, I wonder how he will do now, back with the younger neighborhood cats, and the dogs cooped up in yards, just waiting for a tasty morsel of cat. And will he reign terror on the yard birds, snagging them from their perches on neighborhood feeders? No, no that was not my intent!

Veterinarians tell you that it is far better to keep cats indoors. They frown at you when you tell them, "Puss is an indoor/outdoor cat." Oh, they smile widely when the answer is, "He's an indoor cat." But even vets won't tolerate a whiz-bang kitty. The resident cat at the clinic used to dwell indoors at the vet's home, but was sent to confinement at the clinic for his whiz-bang ways. Even there, he has to endure a daily dose of kitty Prozac so he won't anoint that pristine environment.

I tried the kitty Prozac. It's liquid and it's flavored. You can choose chicken, beef or tuna flavor. That must not do much for it because Tom-Boy made definitely sure that I understood that it was terrible and there was no way he was going to have that stuff shot down his gullet. Out of eight tries he only got one and a half doses actually into him. Most of it flew all over the furniture, the floor, and me. At nearly $50 a clip for a month's supply, it was clearly not going to be cost effective!

So Tom-Boy is back in the wild. Free to roam, free to explore, free to find available kitty bowls wherever he may wander. And should he show up back at the front door, I'll be happy to see him again. He can enjoy a nice bowl on the porch and snuggle into the bed in the plastic storage container there, protected from the wind, and the elements that are now, once again, to be part of his life. Happy trails, Tom-Boy. When you gotta go, you gotta go!

Colorful Flyers

The first of October and there they are, right on schedule. They flitter and flutter, lighting here and there, searching for something. One thing can be said for them, they are stunning. Their colors stand out against a rather bland world that has had the life and moisture sucked out of it all summer. Even the coastal fog wasn't enough to keep the grass green. The bushes endure, the flowers survive, but none sport the intensity of hue that these welcome visitors bring to us.
The Monarchs have returned.

You wonder as you look at them if their base color is black and the brilliant orange is laid on top of it? Or is it the orange that covers the flitting wings and the black lines are painted over it in different patterns? And are these lines the same on each or do they sport their own unique markings? We know the color is important, sending a definite signal to any who would have the audacity to try and gobble them up. "I taste BAD!" it says. Somehow most birds know this. The ones who don't, soon find out.

Today they fly from plant to plant and tree to tree with vigor. They glow and shine and whirl around each other. Courtship? Yes, I think so. What will this lead to? Sometime in months to come, somewhere else far away, eggs will be laid, and eventually a chubby, squiggly, wormy, many-legged critter with a voracious appetite will emerge. It too is colorful, bright yellow and black. It too carries the same message that its parents did. "Don't eat me! I am NOT tasty."

And then the day comes and everything changes for the youngsters. They crawl away into their own spin and sleep. Time passes. On a bright sunny day they wriggle free, flex their orange and black wings, and take off on their epic journey.

On a crisp October morning, we glance out the kitchen window and an orange flash is spotted and there they are, right on time. The Monarchs have returned.

Where Are The Blackbirds?

They're overdue. The blackbirds. Usually by this time the telephone wires are full of them. Perhaps it's the weather that has them delayed. It certainly hasn't been normal. Always foggy, actually dripping with fog. And maybe the birds don't realize what season it is. It's fall, you're supposed to be flocking together.

Spring finds red-wing blackbirds nesting in the tules near fresh or brackish water. They screech and scream at each other, trying for the best spots to build their temporary homes and raise their brood. Brewer's blackbirds are busy with the same endeavor and spend some time dancing over the farm fields, picking up tasty morsels of bugs and beetles to stuff into the gaping mouths of their fluffy offspring. Finally the days start getting shorter and all the baby birds have fledged. All those territorial squabbles are over. It's time to gather together to swing and sway through small towns and neighborhoods, gathering by the hundreds on the telephone and electric wires. Their dense, black bodies stand out starkly against the slate sky.

A murder of crows descend upon the neighborhood.

Today the crows came noisily winging up the road. Fifteen to twenty of them in a solid group, they settle for a time in the cypress tree at the foot of the road. Then two by two and one by one they drop to the ground and begin pecking away. In a flash ten of them flap from the tree to wires above. Caw, caw, they call and call. Some take to wing and head up the road. The crowd follows swiftly calling as they go. Again most settle on the wires while six or eight drop to the neighbor's lawn where bits of old bread are spread out. Zippo! And the bread is gone. Caw,Caw! They're on the wing again still advancing up the road until they are out of sight and all is quiet

Were the crows the advance troops? Are the blackbirds close behind? Maybe tomorrow.

Olives, Alpacas, and Fine Art

It wasn’t enough for Art Kishiyama to just grow olive trees and make olive oil, he had to raise Alpacas too. This retired Air Force Colonel, who also had a post-military career with Disney, settled in the eastern area of Paso Robles with his artist wife, Lynne and became a gentleman farmer.

 Kishiyama’s 3,700 olive trees span out across a sloping terrain adjacent to a large pond that sits behind the house where Lynne has her art studio. It is a lovely, serene setting.

 The olive oil, under the label Olio Nuevo, is sold at specialty stores, markets, and wineries throughout the county. Each bottle is delicately hand crafted at his small production center. The oil is Extra Virgin and is certified by the California Olive Oil Council. 

Two distinctive types of oil are produced, Olio Nuevo Estate Arbequina and Olio Nuevo Reserve Blend. Kishiyama uses predominantly green, early harvested Arbequina fruit for the first as he feels it presents a fresh, grassy taste. This oil is a good complement to fish, poultry, cooked vegetables, and meats.

 The Reserve Blend contrasts the Estate Arbequina in that it is harvested late using much riper Arbequina fruit. Estate grown Manzinillo and Mission fruit are blended in and all three produce a fine, smooth, less bitter tasting oil.

 Kishiyama also offers Balsamic of Modena, an aged balsamic made specifically to pair with the olive oils. This balsamic is imported from Modena, Italy.

 But olives aren’t all that is growing at the Kishiyama’s place. Art also raises Alpacas. That part of the property is known as the Alpacas of Cripple Creek. 

Nearby are the holding pens and barn for the Alpacas. These easy to raise animals have grown in popularity in recent years and most are bred for their coats that yield exceptional fiber.

But alpacas have another quality that makes them special, they sing or rather they hum. Spanish conquistadors referred to them as “humming sheep.” They also make other kinds of sounds like a high pitched whining along with noisy inhalations. These help to warn both the herd and other domestic farm animals of danger. This makes sales of the animals for guard duties popular.

 Alpacas are originally from the Andes in South America, primarily from Peru, Bolivia, and Chile. Their nearest relatives are vicuna and they share territory with them as well as llamas and guanacos, all of which are camelids. Alpacas are no longer wild and have been domesticated for more than 5000 years.

 Kishiyama raises and breeds for specific colors whereas many people prefer white animals in order to dye the fleece. In the United States it is becoming more popular to obtain fiber from a natural colored animal. Kishiyama’s alpacas come in fawn, beige, gray, white, brown, black, and black-brown. There are 22 natural colors of alpacas but Kishiyama prefers the blacks and grays.

 Because alpacas are herd animals Kishiyama never sells only one to a customer and although he maintains a small male herd, he prefers to select males from other breeders based on the amount of curl in their coat. A bit of curl in the coat aids in spinning the yarn.

 There is no specific time for females to come into heat. Ovulation only occurs after mating and usually a pregnancy will occur with one mating, but to be sure, Kishiyama continues a mating pair until a pregnancy is confirmed. Females give birth in 11 months and usually produce one offspring called a cria.

Many people worry about behavior issues, such as the notion that alpacas and llamas will spit. While they can bring up some nasty greenish stomach contents that they will project at times, this is usually aimed at other members of their herd.

 The nice thing about these animals are their bathroom behaviors. They tend to use a communal dung pile in a specific location rather than spreading it around randomly. This helps to keep enclosures neat and tidy and makes clean-up an easier chore.

 Alpacas don’t necessarily enjoy physical contact. They will tolerate some petting on their bodies, but do not like their abdomen, lower legs and feet being touched.

 All in all alpacas are relatively easy to raise, enjoyable to watch, and produce an excellent fiber that can be spun and made into a yarn for producing soft, silky garments. Since it is not prickly and contains no lanolin, it is good for people with allergies.

 Art keeps busy with olive oil production and tending to the alpacas, while Lynne works away in her spacious studio producing beautiful and delicate paintings, collages, and abstracts done with hand-made papers and an oriental flair. These two have got it made with olives, alpacas, and fine art.

As the Cook Turns–a Sequel to Confessions of a Cooking Novice

You laughed at my cooking confession but imagine my surprise the day after I posted that, when I received an invitation from the Cooking Club of America to test cooking products. I had to wonder, did they have a new type microwave available? No, my cooking prowess has been discovered! “It’s no secret among your friends and family that you are an outstanding cook!” There it was in black and white on the page, my friends and family feel that I am an outstanding cook. What a surprise! So why haven’t they ever mentioned it to me???

Well, out-standing where I don’t know, but if I accept this invitation I get to test a variety of cooking products and answer questionnaires regarding the performance of the products (not the performance of the cook). Then I get to keep the products. Hmmm. Where will I put them? The kitchen countertop is already taken up with the humungous microwave and Black and Decker toaster oven that Neil Farrell said would burn my house down (it hasn’t) and the kitchen table holds the wine rack with bottles of wine, the rice and vegetable steamer, and the Cuisinart grill. Hmmm. Maybe I can clean off the top of the refrigerator!

And wasn’t I delighted to read that they would be interested to receive my best tips and techniques and would publish them in Cooking Club magazine. Gee, should I really let the world know my best tip? When warming up the muffins that you brought home in a doggy bag from Bob’s Big Boy, do not put them in the microwave for three minutes on high unless you have a special need for hockey pucks. Surely someone already has discovered my best cooking technique – boiling water and pouring it on dehydrated potato flakes. Do be sure to fluff the results with a fork. I am sure this is a skill every good cook should know.

Man, they even want my best recipe, one that has been tested and approved by my family and friends. What do you say to that friends and family?!!? This is my chance to spread the word about my new culinary sensation and have my name and recipe in a national magazine! Let’s see, recipe, recipe, hmmmm. Say, why don’t my friends and family write in and tell me what that recipe is?

Okay, in this invitation I got a nice little recipe pad to record my culinary inventions, and a magnetized chart of measurements like 2/3 of a cup equals 158 milliliters. Boy am I glad I don’t have to do that math figuring anymore. Then there is this plastic white thing with different sized holes in it. The holes have numbers 1 through 4 under them. I’m not sure what to use this for but after studying it for a minute I think it would make a great template for drawing a cat’s paw! What that has to do with cooking, I don’t know, but I think they must have used Gordo’s paw for this design. Gordo is a BIG kitty!

Recently I journeyed out from slaving in my kitchen and visited Ostrichland down near Pea Soup Andersen Buellton and found out that they sell ostrich and emu eggs. They sell ostrich meat too but I can’t quite get myself to go that far. But the egg intrigues me. It would make one heck of an omelet. My only problem will be trying to figure out how to crack the thing. Probably have to use a hammer.

Well, thanks to a crummy colon section that has to be removed I’ve been on a low residue diet for weeks and weeks. I have to tell you there is nothing gourmet about soft chicken and fish over white rice. I really can’t understand why Asians are crazy about this rice. It has no taste and and if you don’t eat it right away it turns into a gummy, lumpy mess that would probably be better used to plugs cracks in the bathroom grouting.

So will I accept the invitation from the Cooking Club?

Get real!

COOKING TERMS GLOSSARY ALA RUTH ANN
Poaching – Stealing and it’s a sin.
Medallions – Awards of valor for cooks
Methylcellulose – Not something you want to eat!
Mouse – A small dark rodent
Blanching – Please don’t do this at the table – go to the bathroom!

Confessions of a Cooking Novice

Upon reaching tender old age I realized that it was overdue for me to learn how to cook. However, a person who needs to drop 30-plus pounds probably shouldn’t start their lessons making chocolate Christmas cookies. A person should though, take lessons from a pro. Learning to cook from Mom may not be a good idea, at least not the way my Mom cooked.

Growing up, my siblings and I didn’t know any better. We thought everyone had meals like ours. It wasn’t until I made friends with some Italian girls at school and had the good fortune to be invited for dinner at their homes that I realized my Mom was not a good cook.

I think her attitude about cooking came from a deep seated conviction that there should be more to life for a female than cooking and cleaning house. Whatever the reason, our meals were bland and tasteless, so developing an educated palate required me to either learn to cook myself or eat out at good restaurants. I chose the restaurants.

I have for years been expert at turning out wonderful Marie Callender, Banquet, and Swanson TV dinners. I’ve even developed a distinguished palate regarding them voting the Marie Callender meals the best. But none of them turn out a wonderful rare and juicy steak or a sumptuous lamb chop. It was time for me to learn how to turn out a good meal.

What good fortune it was that I met a great chef just arrived on the Central Coast from New York City. And better good fortune that she wanted to learn photography, my area of expertise. A pact was formed. I would teach her how to take good photos and she would teach me how to cook. I am sure I had the easier job!

My first lesson was just before Christmas and took place at my teacher’s kitchen where all the necessary tools were available. Cookies were our goal, primarily chocolate cookies. I decked out in an appropriate Christmas red apron and began to sift the flour, crack the eggs, melt the delicious chocolate. Our goal was for cookies and chocolate truffles.

Okay, sift the flour, stir the melting chocolate, whip the eggs. Fortunately the recipes did not call for separating the egg yolk from the whites. Perhaps that will come later in my tutelage.

Oh my, it’s necessary to have three hands in the kitchen! One is stirring, one is turning down the heat on the stove, and then there is one needed for running the mixer.

I could see right away that I would need to purchase a number of tools for my kitchen. There was the Hamilton Beach Mix-Master – where do you get one of those? I haven’t seen one since growing up in the 50s. Oh yes, and sharp knives are a necessity. I have since gone out and bought new knives only to nearly slice off the top of my thumb while carving some meat. Bleeding onto your food is not a good thing. There must be a technique to using these knives.

I did get a small grill. How did I live without a grill before? This thing is a God-send. Spice up your meat, slap it on the grill, and presto, in two minutes it’s done. It beats the microwave, which before the grill was my ultimate cooking tool.

And why did I ever prepare rice in pot on the stove? Good grief there is such a thing as a rice cooker! Fill it with water, throw in the rice, set the timer, and voila, perfect rice. And for that matter perfectly steamed veggies. No more mush vegetables boiled in a pot or microwaved to death.

Yes, having the right tools definitely aids in learning how to cook. Now if I only knew what one uses turmeric for I would be rolling along.

So I watch the food channel and see all the fine chefs whipping meals together with a dash of this and a pinch of that. Oh my, well, I can take a pinch or two myself!

Ah! I needed that! Bon Appetit!

Educational Fun at Salisbury Winery

It was billed as an educational day courtesy of the Central Coast Wine Growers Association and was going to be held at Salisbury Vineyards in Avila Valley and it sounded too interesting to pass up.

Traveling back and forth on Highway 101 from San Luis Obispo to places in South County I’ve often passed that distinctive building on the right side of the road that looked like an old schoolhouse. I remember seeing it years ago in a very run down dilapidated condition and would think as I whizzed by on the freeway that it would be a shame if no one did anything to save it. Well, someone did and they have turned it into an unusual combination of businesses.

The Salisbury family are farmers. John Salisbury hails from the Sacramento Delta and is a 6th generation farmer with family farming dating back to1850. He’s been growing crops there and in the San Joaquin and Imperial Valleys all his life. He often came to the Central Coast to visit his wife’s grandparents who lived in the Avila Valley. So it wasn’t too much of a leap for him to pull up stakes, purchase some prime hillside land, and plant grape vines. Thus began Salisbury Vineyards and Winery.

Salisbury, his wife Maridel, daughter Jennifer and son-in-law Kevin all got into the act and they decided to purchase the old schoolhouse, renovate it, and turn it into a tasting room and art gallery. The marriage of the two businesses worked as well as John and Maridel’s marriage. He did the vineyard, she did the art gallery.

On the day of our tour we arrived at 11 A.M. and boarded the trolley for a short ride up into the hills of the vineyard. Once there John spoke to us about his method of growing grapes. We stood amongst dormant Pinot Noir vines that had grasses and wild mustard growing beneath between the rows. John gave us a demonstration on how he prunes the vines, a laborious process done with clippers by hand. I can imagine that it takes many days to finish this task.

John told us about clones and weather and irrigation and sustainability and bottling and aging until my head hurt, but all of it was a good lesson for a neophyte learning about the special wine industry here on the Central Coast.

I learned what it means when someone says “fruit forward” and I realized that I like that style of wine. I found myself signing up for Club Avila: the After-School Wine Club and went home with three bottles of my favorites after tasting. I especially liked the Pinot Naturale, a sparkling wine without the sparkle!

So the next time you are flying down the freeway toward Pismo Beach and glance over and see the old schoolhouse, now sparkling in the sun, veer off at San Luis Bay Drive and stop in and take a seat at the bar and enjoy some of the selections at Salisbury Vineyards. You won’t regret it.

Salisbury Vineyards and the Schoolhouse Tasting Room are located at 6985 Ontario Road, San Luis Obispo (Avila Valley). Open Mon – Thurs from noon to 5 P.M.; Fri – Sun from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M.