After a night at the Napa Marriott Resort and Spa, I knew that we would soon be downgrading our accommodations, something my wife was not fondly anticipating. In the meantime, I was hoping that the wine might help with the transition. We had our first tasting appointment at Rombauer, a name synonymous with The Joy of Cooking. Next, we were referred to a nearby tasting room that became an easy decision to forego in favor of V. Sattui directly across the road. Their wines were not our favorite but they had a lovely picnic grounds where we had lunch.

It was a beautiful day, but time to head back towards our hotel for a nap. On the way back, we fortuitously stopped by Andretti Winery, founded by racing legend Mario Andretti. While we were sampling their wares, my wife was spotted by some former co-workers from Indianapolis that she hadn’t seen for 25 or more years. It seemed only logical that other Indy people would be drawn to this Napa spot, but it was still an unexpected surprise. I purchased a couple of commemorative bottles celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Indy 500. Once again, the wine was a secondary experience.

As we eventually made our way back to the hotel, I began to realize my critical booking error. As we continued to drive further and further south of downtown Napa, her frown got longer. It turned out to be near the regional airport in an under-construction industrial park, far from the quaint, romantic areas of The Valley she was expecting. I tried to change hotels once we got there, but rooms had escalated to $750 or more. It was harvest week in Napa and everything was at a premium. We were stuck in the boonies, and she was not adjusting to the circumstances. Our dinner reservation was at Farmstead, a 45-minute drive each way, and I could feel her cold shoulder.

We eagerly left the hotel early the next morning for our Cakebread tasting, as I gradually felt the thaw. In my defense, it was a brand-new Marriott property so everything was pristine. It was just not in the right location to continue our romantic getaway. If there had been a way to build-up to the French Laundry experience, rather than an abrupt fall from grace, it might have been more acceptable. Regardless, I was sporting the proverbial black eye.

We took a drive through downtown Calistoga, and stopped so she could shop. I’m sure it reminded her of a perfect weekend with a former boy friend when she was much more easily impressed. At least he had secured a B&B there, as opposed to my airport “hanger.”

Cade was our next tasting appointment, after a quick couple of sips at Duckhorn. As we stepped inside, I realized I had been there before as part of a ACBJ sales award junket five years ago. It was the cartoon duck drawings on the wall that sparked my recall. After finally finding the correct Cade location, I had an unexpected craving for a glass of bubbly at Mumm but a long wait nullified any possibility. Instead, we made our final stop at Stag’s Leap, famous for it’s shocking 1976 win over the French in the “Judgement of Paris” international wine competition.

Another long drive back to the hotel, left little time for a Napa nap, so we got back in the rental for a marginal Mustard’s dinner followed by a nostalgic French Laundry drive-by. There were preparation errors in her evening meals both nights, following the perfection of night one. My martinis were a welcome variation to the daily wine-athons.

From my perspective, wine-sampling is rarely taste-bud satisfying, but each setting is definitely worth seeing. The French Laundry was hard on my pocketbook, although Marriott Rewards helped offset some of this expense. I do however badly regret my poor choice of locations. My wife, on the other hand, got both of our money’s worth out of the bucket-list-meal, particularly enjoyed the Cakebread vegetable gardens, and shipped home lots of wine favorites. She got to see some long-lost friends, have a successful business lunch, support some local artisans, further her culinary education, and hang out with me for a long weekend. She unfortunately has to go back to work. As a lucky retiree, I’ve somehow earned nights in my own bed and a hassle-free month-and-a-half at home.