With it’s emphasis on good food and drink, Healdsburg—situated between Napa and Russian River vineyards—is my kind of town
It’s not so much the quantity of good drinking/eating establishments (though there are many), it’s the quality.
First evening in town, an easy choice is Spoon Bar, a cocktail called Fireplace:
Walking through The Plaza nearby, I am reminded of a poignant passage near the conclusion of Motional Blur, my 2016 road novel:
Dusk turns to dark, it’s cooler, and a gas heater overhead is switched on for us. Gearhart shows no sign of wanting to get up. He orders us both something called Armagnac, which he describes as “triple-refined cognac.”
“Won’t it make your gall bladder worse?” I say.
He shrugs. “Sometimes it helps.”
When finally he finishes, and Healdsburg is quiet, no diners left, no one on the streets, he gets up and crosses into the main square.
I check on Pablo, feed him some of the fancy burger meat I’d set aside, and scoop him up for a walk.
Gearhart, strolling way ahead, finally settles near the flagpole. He looks straight up at the fluttering stars and stripes in what I can only describe as a mournful gaze. In my mind I still hear Taps playing.
I quietly leave Gearhart to his thoughts.
Tip-toeing away, toward the hotel, I hear Gearhart ask after me, "Are you kind?"
I turn. "What?"
But he is already gone, somewhere in the shadows.