Lodi's
not a bad place to get stuck in, after all
By
Matea Gold
Los Angeles Times
LODI
- There's a Creedence Clearwater Revival song about this Central
Valley town.
``Just
about a year ago, I set out on the road, seekin' my fame and fortune,
lookin' for a pot of gold,'' the lyrics go. ``Things got bad,
and things got worse, I guess you will know the tune. Oh! Lord,
stuck in Lodi again.''
During
a business trip here last summer, though, I was surprised by the
town's rural charm and picturesque vineyards. My boyfriend couldn't
believe the scene I described.
``Lodi?''
Jon asked. ``As in the song?''
Yes, as in the 1969 song, but also as in the vineyards, which
have flourished in Lodi for more than a century. The area produces
more premium wine grapes than Napa and Sonoma counties combined.
Only recently has Lodi promoted itself as a wine-tasting destination,
partly in response to a wine glut caused by overproduction worldwide
and an influx of cheap imports in the United States. Not until
1998 did the Lodi-Woodbridge Winegrape Commission begin publishing
the Lodi Wine Trail map, now a glossy color guide to 40 wineries.
With
wine prices dropping, vintners are turning to tourism for revenue.
While some growers in other parts of the Central Valley are ripping
out vines in favor of more profitable crops, Lodi vintners are
opening tasting rooms and playing up their viticultural roots.
Jon
and I decided it would be the perfect locale to expand our wine
knowledge and spend a low-key weekend. We flew into Sacramento
on a recent Friday evening, drove 30 minutes south on Interstate
5 and soon found ourselves trundling down a road surrounded by
vineyards. The bustle of traffic faded as the evening light tinged
the sky pink behind a canopy of oak trees. The view was perfect
except for a subdivision that appeared on the left -- a sign that
growers are fighting the encroachment of the suburbs and aren't
always winning.
The
sight of our bed and breakfast restored our spirits. The Wine
& Roses is a converted 1902 Victorian house next door to the Winegrape
Commission's 2 1/2-year-old visitor center. The original Wine
& Roses building looks out over a lovely plaza and garden, a popular
spot for weddings, and the inn's year-old Mission-style addition,
which includes luxury suites for $275 to $325 a night.
We
were staying in the original building, which has the least expensive
rooms, but we were thrilled nonetheless. The spacious second-floor
room ($149 plus tax each night) boasted a mahogany four-poster
bed and plantation-style shutters. We declined the desk clerk's
offer to move us farther from the bar downstairs, preferring to
enjoy the strains of piano floating up through the floorboards.
After
dropping off our bags, we drove a few miles for dinner and some
jazz at downtown's Rosewood Bar & Grill, operated by the owners
of our hotel. Driving down School Street, Jon remarked on the
brick walkways and trees festooned in white lights, part of the
city's $4 million revitalization of downtown completed in 1999.
``This is pretty nice,'' he said.
The
restaurant, a dark wood-paneled room, was a modern extension of
our hotel. We shared a refreshing apple romaine salad with candied
pecans, followed by a delicious flatiron steak with rice and beans
for me and mahi-mahi with wilted spinach for Jon.
When
we returned to the hotel, pianist and vocalist Rudy Tenio was
crooning ``Walking My Baby Back Home'' by the bar. We fell asleep
to the faint rhythms from downstairs.
Fruit
salad, coffeecake, croissants, coffee and orange juice awaited
in the dining room the next morning. We jump-started the day with
a jog around nearby Lodi Lake, fed by the Mokelumne River.
In
summer the city rents paddle boats and canoes, and locals flock
to the surrounding park for barbecues. For us, getting there required
a half-mile walk that wasn't very picturesque. We strolled down
Turner Road, a busy four-lane street, and passed a power plant
and a General Mills cereal factory.
The
scenery improved at the park. We jogged past the reed-fringed
water and a gaggle of geese. At one end of the lake lies a milelong
wilderness trail. Berry bushes frame the path, which leads to
the river. We took a break on a wooden bench, watching cows graze
languorously on the facing riverbank.
That
afternoon we hit the vineyards. Our first stop was Phillips Farm,
a homey roadside cafe and grocery. We had a good light lunch and
then walked over to the adjoining wine bar of Michael & David
Vineyards. We liked Seven Deadly Zins, a popular red.
Ducks
and chickens roamed underneath picnic tables in the farm in back.
We could have picked our own bouquet in a flower patch, and camera-ready
pigs, billy goats and rabbits peered out of pens. The woman at
the wine bar showed us hour-old ducklings hiding with their mother
in the herb garden.
``You
know what's great about this?'' Jon said. ``In Napa you feel like
you're driving into the gates of Falcon Crest when you go wine
tasting. But this is so down to earth.''
The
vibe continued five minutes up the road at Jessie's Grove, a 320-acre
vineyard that dates to 1873. The story goes that in the early
days, Jessie Beckman's father wanted to plow down the farm's oak
trees to plant more grapevines, but Jessie persuaded him to preserve
a 32-acre grove. Now the vineyard that bears her name holds summer
barbecues and concerts in the shade of those oaks. (The Temptations
are scheduled for September.)
Inside the tasting room, we studied walls covered with old black-and-white
photos of Jessie's family. The woman pouring wine said Jessie's
great-granddaughter, one of the seven family members who own the
vineyard, is a spitting image of her ancestor.
It
wasn't hard to find peace and quiet, as crowds were non-existent
everywhere else we went, and tasting rooms had a flannel-shirts-and-jeans
ambience. At the nearby Lucas Winery, we got a lesson in winemaking
from David Lucas, a former Robert Mondavi executive who had opened
his boutique winery in 1978. He had us compare a 1998 Zinfandel
with one barreled in 2002. For two novices, it was a wonderful
lesson in how a wine grows more complex with age.
The
$5 tasting fee included two glasses engraved with the Lucas motto:
``A Zinfandel is never truly happy unless it's shared among friends.''
That
night we stayed in for dinner at the Wine & Roses' restaurant.
Single rosebuds and votive candles adorned white tablecloths,
and the waiters bustled with professional intensity.
A
crab-cake appetizer was fantastic. I had perfectly cooked salmon
with homemade gnocchi, and Jon ordered beef tenderloin with fresh
asparagus. We were utterly content.
After
breakfast the next morning, we browsed Lodi's commercial district.
In Joe Hassan's Clothing & Western Wear, on a slightly down-and-out
street on the outskirts of downtown, Jon bought cowboy boots.
We walked a few blocks, but almost every other store was closed
for the day. Jon peered through the window of the Casablanca Wine
& Piano Lounge.
``This place looks great,'' he said. ``How could we have missed
this?''
I told him we'd have to try it next time.
``I
don't know,'' he said. ``I wouldn't mind being stuck here for
a few more days.''
