A Little Trip to Boonville
Chris and I recently had our fourth anniversary, and to celebrate we went to the Boonville Inn and Restaurant in Boonville – about two-and-a-half/three hour drive north from Oakland in Sonoma County. We learned about the Boonville Inn and Restaurant from Ron, who has been everywhere. He recommended we go to their paella nights on Sundays, but we opted for a five course dinner on Saturday instead.
We floss daily.
I don’t have any pictures of our dinner. I left my phone behind in our room, the “Side Room” as it’s called because it’s on the very edge of the property. It has a large shower with a door that opens out to the outside, a queen bed, and no refrigerator. We stored the cheese we bought at the winery/cheesery a short ways down the road in a thin canvas cooler we bought. The cheese was exclusively made from sheep and goat milk. It’s still in our fridge at home now in a little cheese container we bought, rich and complex and to be savored sparingly.
Bomb af what can I say?
Before dinner, we had drinks at a restaurant across the street. They distill their own vodka and agave spirits and play Talking Heads and have two roaming cats that lie in the sun and accept long pets. The dinner itself was on the patio and five courses long, starting with local halibut crudo with plums, tomatoes, and avocado. Next was a chilled tomato soup with clam toast (a sort of like a deconstructed Manhattan clam chowder), followed by gnocchi with crumbly sweetbreads, and then smoked pork. We drank white and smelled the air and beckoned for Roger, their particular roaming cat, to wander over to us. Alas, he seemed to prefer women. We moved inside to eat our lemon tart since it was getting dark and the mosquitos had come out. There were at least a dozen tables, but we were the only ones there.
A margarita from the Boonville Distillery made with their own agave spirits!
In the morning, we indulged in an outdoor breakfast of cheddar biscuits with pimento, yogurt, and granola. The granola was laid out in a communal bowl, and I saw a blue jay swoop down and pick up some granola back up with it. I told the person in charge in the least cunty way I could muster before having coffee. She laughed and put a net over the granola and I took the tent off the granola and scooped some of the granola into my yogurt bowl. The jay watched enviously, and I did not blame him.
Roger would never.
After, we walked to an award-winning wine shop across the street. Its owner was at dinner with us last night. We shared a glass of white and didn’t opt for any of the unfussy tapas even though I wanted to, since we were told to go to Jumbo’s Win-Win sooner rather than later and it was on the edge of town. I did not take a picture of my burger, which tasted like what you imagine In-N-Out should taste like if you haven’t had it in a while. I did take a picture of our girlypop pickle beer and a horse statue outside.
The pickle beer is not for me.
We then drove back into the center of town and stopped in an art gallery featuring amazing art from local artists. We walked into a shoppy shop that gave rustic-chic, and we walked into an ice cream shop to get a little espresso. We drank our espresso as we walked past the one grocery store and a string of shops that had long been closed. Our car was next to the post office, built in a time where post offices were given their own stately structures built to last. We got in our car, burning from the sun. There was nothing left to do. We drove away.
We don’t litter.
