Meat you behind the apple tree

We fought our way to Apple Hill over the weekend, pushing through throngs of people in search for--what else?--apple pie, apple cider, and other things malus. Amid the apple orchards, vineyards, pumpkin patches and Christmas tree farms, we found a location that doesn't sell apples, wines, pumpkins or Yule trees. Oh no, this stands sells good ol' meat. More specifically, it sells high quality prepared meats--that is, the heavenly morsels of charcuterie.

A scenic view from behind
Apple Hill stop #133

Smokey Ridge Charcuterie is a small stand along Carson Road (stop #133, if you're looking at the Apple Hill map), the main avenue through the Apple Hill area. The stop is very humble looking and can be passed by if you're driving quickly along Carson. Behind the stand are picnic tables and a pond--when we were there, a gaggle of geese (Canadian, according to my wife) were floating on the water. Overall the location was very scenic, hidden away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of area.

As expected, the meats are high quality and California-sourced, while the produce and herbs are from their farm. Premium sausages, hams, pates, duck confit, and more--enough to make any foodie drool. We indulged with their country pate, which--as opposed to duck liver--is made with ground pork shoulders with a hint of liver and brandy. Yes. Brandy. Awesome. And it does taste as good as it sounds.

Next time you make a trip to Apple Hill, keep in mind that there's more than just apples orchards and wineries and stop by Smokey Ridge.

The unavoidable trip to Napa

For years now, I've avoided going to Napa. Instead, I've opted for other wine regions in California, the "up-and-coming" locales that, ironically, have been around for a while, but have only been overshawdowed by the Napa Valley wineries. This past weekend, we went for the first time to one of the Napa wineries.

View of Napa from the patio

Sterling Vineyards has, perhaps, some of the most stunning views in Napa Valley. The winery is a beautiful, expansive structure that is set atop a hill that overlooks the vineyard surrounding it and the entire Napa Valley below, a white jewel against a lush, green velvet bed. To get there, guests take a 3 1/2 minute ride up the hill on an aerial tram. The complex is large and guided tours are offered, though we opted to show ourselves around. The patio areas were strategically built to offer fantastic views of the area.

It all seems like a bit grandiose, no? To me, Sterling encapsulates my (and some other people's) long-held stereotype of Napa Valley: It's too trendy, too snotty, and too pretentious, and filled by too many people of those same descriptions. A $25 gondola ride--an entrance fee, really--up a hill to the winery? Guided tours of the facility? Seriously, what is this--a winery or an amusement park? The libations are good, sure, but not great--definitely not up to the level you'd expect a sun-bleached, commercially refined winery on top of a hill to be, especially since they upped expectations by having the beautiful and elegant (and host of Top Chef) Padma Lakshmi as their spokesperson.

St. Francis Winery in Sonoma

The reason I've held off from trekking to Napa for so long was to avoid the trappings of traffic along the St. Helena Highway, and the ostentatious people with their fake tans and sense of self-entitlement trying to be all snooty and sophisticated. And to pay for wine tastings! The gall of it! I've yet to pay for a wine tasting at any of the wineries in Sonoma Valley, the foothills, or even little old Clarksburg. And honestly, I enjoy the more rustic, cozier, and down-to-earth atmosphere at these locations so much more.

Are the Napa Valley wineries worth a visit? Certainly, it's worth a trip or two. But there are other places that are just as good and much more accessible, without the pompous attitude. Save the amusement park ride; pass me the vino.

Please mind the gap

Here is a link to an interesting article on the Atlantic Cities, by Mark Byrnes. Check it out.

It's not entirely clear what makes some subway maps the "best" in the world, but they are fun to look at. The writer states that each map has a certain "feel," with their curvy lines (Lisbon's has a romantic feel, supposedly) or balance between use of white space and color (like DC's). 

Subway map of Mexico City
(from theatlanticcities.com)

Eh--that's thinking about it a bit much, and forcing too much meaning onto what is simply a map. After all, feelings are dependent on the particular person. With any map, what a person looks for is ease of use and understandability. Many of the cities are cosmopolitan and international. The subway maps should be easily understood and used by travelers, both guests and citizens. It puts them in relation to where they are not only with other stops but with the rest of the city as a whole. Amsterdam and Buenos Aires are nice in this regard.

Perhaps another way to look at the maps is how emblematic they are of the personality of the city they operate it (or under, literally). Look at the expansive jumble that is New York City. Look at the order of Berlin. Look at the controlled chaos of Tokyo. Look at the, well, just plain chaos of Mexico City.

The most iconic--not necessarily the best--subway map is probably London's Underground, or the Tube. The map is proudly displayed on the walls of dorm rooms and British-style pubs around the globe, coffee mugs, boxer shorts and t-shirts. Even people who haven't been to London know it at a glance. And who doesn't know to mind the gap?

London's tube map
(from theatlanticcities.com)

I remember my first day in London in 2004, trying to make my way to the dorms.  I took the Piccadilly line from Heathrow into central London and transferred to the Central line. After exiting at the Chancery Lane stop, I wandered around lost for about an hour before I was finally able to find the LSE res halls on Rosebery Avenue. And I got rained on. Twice. In June. In order to reach for the umbrella that was in my suitcase, I had to stop in a liquor store to borrow a pair of scissors to cut the plastic tie the airport people had put on the zippers of the suitcase to keep it closed. But, it's OK--I still love you, London.

The weight of heavenly peace

We are currently reading a book called Sounds of the River, by Da Chen. It's the second of the author's memoirs (the first one is Colors of the Mountain), a coming of age story arc about growing up in Cultural Revolution China as the son of a landowner and his path to university. In this book, Chen is studying in Beijing at what was then known as the Beijing Languages Institute.

Looking north to Tiananmen Gate and
the Forbidden City

Every time I read the book, particularly about his treks through Beijing, I think about my own experience in the capital of China and my travels through the country in September 2003. One of my most vivid memories was standing in the middle of Tiananmen Square, looking around a vast and barren landscape. OK, OK--it's not like the square is in the middle of the Gobi Desert or something, but it is flat. And it's big. And there are absolutely no trees around. Just 440,000 square meters of concrete.

Let me establish the orientation of the square. Tiananmen is roughly translated as "gate of heavenly peace." On the southern edge of the square is Mao Zedong's mausoleum and an obelisk, the Monument to the People's Heroes. On the northern side is Tiananmen Gate--passing through the gate leads to the always impressive and overwhelming Forbidden City and its Imperial Palace. Between the square and the gate is Chang'an Avenue, which is commonly used for military parades. (Imagine Mao standing at the top of the gate, peering down as tanks and troops roll down the street.) On the west is the Great Hall of the People and on the east is National Museum of China.

It was still hot and humid in Beijing during September, without any shade save the long shadow cast by the Monument to the People's Heroes. The sun beat down relentlessly, though it seemed--counter intuitively--hazy and cloudy outside. I realized that it wasn't cloudy or misty--the sky looked hazy because of the air pollution. The air felt heavy and enveloping due to the humidity and gunk around me.

South view, looking at the obelisk
and Mao's mausoleum

Beyond the uncomfortable heat and the sensation of inhaling in a pack of cigarettes with each breath, I felt an eeriness standing in Tiananmen Square. It was hard to not think about the protests in 1989, knowing that I was standing right where it took place, where student protestors were so close to turning China toward democracy, only to be crushed under the thumb of communism and the tracks of tanks. This was where the tanks rolled in. This was where hundreds--maybe even more than a thousand--people were mercilessly massacred. To know that I was there--to witness history and tragedy on TV and then to actually be at that location--was chilling.

The square is, as you can imagine, under continuous surveillance. Video cameras are set on tall lampposts. A woman's soft voice through loudspeakers remind tourists not to take flyers or pamphlets that might be handed out. Uniformed and non-uniformed police wander around. There is no doubt that the Chinese government still feels a tad sensitive about the 1989 pro-democracy protests.

Perhaps, then, the sense of barrenness, pollution and desolation that weighed so heavily on me is perfectly apt for a location that has seen so much death and violence, and perverted the heavenly peace it is named after.