On the Wine Train with Dad

The scrap yards soon gave way to vineyards, and the first of four delicious courses was served. I was beginning to soften on my preconceived notions about the train. I mean, yes, it was moving slowly (the forty mile round trip took about three hours) but that was sort of the point: a leisurely ride through pleasant scenery, a chance to pick up the nuances, and drink and eat. I paid attention to the flavors of the Syrah as I took a bite of the duck confit; I chewed the hanger steak slowly while taking a sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon; I let the queso fresca melt in my mouth as I washed it down with the Pinot Noir. I looked out the window and relished in the fact I was not driving up Highway 29, which can suffer from a crushing amount of traffic during the summer.

And the dining experience, though formal, was not stodgy. Passengers came back and sat at our table to ask my dad questions about winemaking and wine. Kelly MacDonald, the energetic chef, took time out of his busy day to sit and chat with us and invited my dad and me to take a tour of the commissary the following morning.

By the time the train pulled back into the station, my thoughts about the wine train had changed. It had been fun. But the day was not yet over. Back at my dad’s house, seven east-coasters showed up to taste more Tulocay and enjoy the late afternoon sun on the patio.

A young couple, about my age, expressed their initial skepticism about the train; they had never heard of Tulocay Winery and the $144 per person price tag seemed a bit high for lunch. But, like me, they were equally impressed.

“The wine, the food, the pairing, it was absolutely worth it. And getting to see a small winery like this,” said the woman, waving her arm around, “is priceless.”

A local could not have said it better.

Photo courtesy of the author, pictured with her father in front of an old railcar.