46
followed by a tipple at FishGaucho. “Do you
guys like tequila?”asks themaîtred’,whowith
his gleaming braces doesn’t look old enough
to talk about tequila, let alone drink it. I try
a few sips of the bar’s “private stash” tasting
flight (Joshhasgallantlyvolunteered tobeour
designateddriver),thenwehitAdelaidaRoad,
a winding (and traffic-free) counterpoint to
Napa’sSilveradoTrail.
Paso Robles is known for its Rhône
varietals,but lately it’sbeengetting into spirits,
too: handcrafted vodka and gin from pre-
fermented grape juice, plus bourbon distilled
from barley and wheat obtained from local
breweries. “Juice we’d otherwise have to toss
is now going into making our spirits,” says
the staffer pouring at Re:FindDistillery, the
county’s first since Prohibition. I try a vodka
infusedwith cucumber.Kumquat is coming
next, I’m told.
AtnearbyHalterRanch,Joshand Ipile into
adustyLandRoverwith risingstarwinemaker
KevinSass.This is thevehicle thevineyarduses
to take guests on the “ExcursionTour,”a fun,
affordableway toexplore thearea’sabundance
of natural beauty. Sass overseesHalter’s new
gravity-flowwineryand280acresofCabernet,
Syrah,andGrenachegrapes,aswell aswalnuts
andolives,on the rolling2,100-acreproperty.
We bounce along below a covered bridge,
past a19th-centurybarn, to a catfish-stocked
swimmablepond.Not far fromhere isAnces-
tor,a coast liveoak that has stoodon ahilltop
for maybe half a millennium.We pause for
a while beneath the tree’s broad canopy,
taking in views that stretch all the way to
theSantaLuciaHighlands.“PasoRobles is like
SantaBarbara20years ago,”saysSass.“We’ve
gotAvilaBeach,wineries, great food.What’s
not to love?”
We endour tourwith a tasting in theHalter
Ranchmembers lounge,sinking intocowskin-
covered chairs. Kicking back withHalter’s
spicySyrah, I’m forever ruined for the typical
crowded tasting room.
Josh gets to navigate thewinding road back
to Paso Robles, while I get to gaze out the
window at the beautiful blur of vineyards
passing by. About 20 minutes later, we’re
at our second hotel, Inn Paradiso, a quirky
four-suite property (they’ll also soon offer
a newly renovated home for rent down the
road) whose Great Room has a wood fire,
JohnRobshaw decor, and flea-market finds
from around the world—including a stuffed
bobcat depicted mid-leap. (Why are they
followingme?)The owner is a formermovie
poster designer with a flipbook on the coffee
table of his work, including
AmericanBeauty
and
AlmostFamous
.
After adip in theParadisopool, it’s time for
a pre-dinner drink.We sit beneath another
giant oak atHotel Cheval’s PonyClubwine
bar, where retirees, glad to have found an
affordable slice of paradise, gather for Friday
evening happy hour. From here, we go to
Studios on the Park, a local artist collective
that lures us inwithpaintings of cutepuppies
in thewindow.RoseyRosenthal, in a knit tie
and denim apron, is eating his supper while
overseeing sales of his etchings. “There was
onewinery herewhen Imoved here in 1981
fromNewYork,”he says.Today: 200.
We had asked a few people where to eat
tonight, and they’dmostly pointed us to the
sameplace:Artisan,atownsquaremainstaywith
deep booths, goat cheese fondue, a “must try”
mushroombrioche,andarichwildboarrisotto.
A block away, the Pine Street Saloon is a
real-deal cowboy bar where a motley crew
gathers onkaraoke nights to sing their hearts
out.We sip beer beside a small wooden stage
asawhite-hairedTonyBennettwannabebelts
out theBillyPaul classic“MeandMrs Jones”:
No one owns Big
Sur. Whether
you run Twitter
or are a tourist
from Texas—or a
24-year-old from
New Jersey, like I
was when I first
moved here—
everyone comes
to Big Sur for
similar reasons.
michelle rizzolo,
chef and co-owner,
big sur bakery
