grapes

Wine country isn’t the obvious vacation spot at six months of pregnancy, but I was prepared to gamble that where there’s good wine, there’s good food. So this week we’re in Healdsburg, California, on the cusp of the Russian River Valley, visiting our friends, their dog Bob, and their multiple acres of cabernet and zinfandel vines.

Here in Healdsburg we’re eating like rock stars all day long. The abundance of local food is totally out of hand. At Saturday’s farmers market you were hard pressed to name a distinct season, seeing as how there were lovely bundles of kale and beets — and piles of eggplant, peppers and tomatoes, the latter of which don’t come to our northerly locale ’til early August. When people around these parts invoke food miles, they’re thinking in the double digits. Doesn’t hurt when you can do things like grow your own olives, then press the oil a half-mile down the road.

It’s the first place I’ve been where the hundred-mile diet might not be an exercise in deprivation. I’m enjoying it so much that I can almost convince myself I’m not missing anything good to drink.

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