Well, I did it.  I traveled across country to eat a meal at The French Laundry in Yountville, California.  I admit that I was nervous when I left Washington, DC last Sunday.  I was about to meet members of a travel club at the airport, fly to California, tour Napa Valley on Monday, and then fly back home on Tuesday.  Five of us were going on this trip. 

As I met my new travel mates at the airport, we were a mixed group—three women and two men, ranging in age from mid-twenties to mid-fifties .  I’m not sure about everyone’s reason for this trip, but I do know that the 26-year-old guy with the bleached blond hair was a wine lover, and this trip was right up his alley.  I felt the most affinity to the woman closest to my age.  We boomers stick together.  When I asked her why she was on the trip, she replied, “It’s different and that’s what I feel like doing now.”  Did she read my mind?  This echoed my sentiments exactly.

Monday’s weather proved to be picture perfect.  Who ever controls the weather in Napa Valley was looking out for us.  He/she must have known that we only had one full day in Napa, and it had to be perfect.  It was.  The flowers were blooming, the trees were budding, and we were riding around to the various wineries.  Life is good.     

Dinner at the restaurant was worth the trip.  Let’s just say that we dined.  Arriving right at 7:30, we almost stayed until the following day, but didn’t.  We left 15 minutes short of it at 11:45.  The restaurant is small and in our upstairs room, there were only five tables.   The decor is what I would term “simple elegance.”  I loved the look of fresh flowers, dark wood, soft lighting, and cream linens.  We were served 12 different courses that were truly almost too beautiful to eat. And yes, I took a photo of each one.  As each course was served, it was fun to watch the almost choreographed movements of our wait staff.  The French Laundry knows how to put on a first-class show.

And here is where my epiphany starts to come into play.   As I looked around at the other diners, I saw many couples. The French couple at the adjacent table were from New York.  She exuded that elegance that French women are just born with.  I learned that the two couples at the corner table were both celebrating wedding anniversaries, 15 and 21 years .   I became a little wistful.  I don’t celebrate a wedding anniversary anymore.  My husband died two months shy of our 20th anniversary.  As I looked at the couples, I couldn’t help but wish that I was part of a couple.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a man in my life who would whisk me to The French Laundry to celebrate an anniversary or even celebrate the fact that we had found each other? I would even love being whisked to a hamburger joint.  It’s the person and not the venue that counts.  I admit that I miss romance in my life, the closeness one feels as a couple.  I had it once.  I have met several men after my husband’s death, but I have never gotten the sense that any of them felt that romantic connection with me.  So, where I am I going with all of this?  My epiphany, of course.

As baby boomers, many of us are living lives we didn’t imagine or even want.  And yet, this is our life and we must embrace it.  As I looked at my four dinner partners who I had only met a little over 24 hours earlier, I smiled to myself.  This is it, I thought.  This is the lightbulb moment.  After 10 years of being on my own, I finally said it to myself:  Welcome to your new life, Marian.  It’s not what I expected life in my 50’s to be, but isn’t that part of the adventure?

And yes, sometimes we might just have to travel across country to finally realize what life is about.

The email came a few weeks ago. The sender said that we had to respond ASAP if we wanted to get the best fares to California. I thought (but not too long) and sent my response. Yes. I’ll fly across the country for a good dinner. Crazy? To some, I’m sure that I do appear a little off balance, but I’m going for it.

And what exactly is this? I live in Virginia and belong to a local travel group. I haven’t taken any trips with them yet. Honestly, I’m living a little vicariously through their postings about the quick getaway to Barcelona or the weekend trip to Rome. While these trips interest me, I wasn’t willing to commit to anything…until now.

The California trip will leave on Sunday afternoon and return on Tuesday. We’ll fly to San Francisco and then drive up to Napa Valley. We’ll sightsee on Monday and then have dinner at The French Laundry that evening, which is the highlight of the trip. Considered to be one of the top-rated restaurants in the country, this avid food lover is willing to fly cross country for that experience. We travel back east on Tuesday, and I’ll be back at work bright and early Wednesday morning. I confess. There are times that I have to shake my head at all of this. Is it worth it? I certainly hope so. I’ve paid my money. There’s no turning back. We leave February 21st, and you know that I’ll blog in detail about this adventure once I come back home. To me, 2010 is the beginning of an interesting decade. It’s the decade where I “leap and the net will appear.” I’m willing to go out on a limb (or, in this case the side of a cliff) and just jump. A whole new culinary adventure is waiting.

Early Bird specials don’t appeal to me.  While I’m always happy to save money, the idea of eating so early in the evening just to save a few dollars doesn’t work for me.  Yet, I was front and center for a 5pm dinner at The Inn at Little Washington.  The Inn is situated about sixty miles west of Washington, DC.  A former garage, this restaurant opened in 1978 and has been going strong ever since.  Critics see this restaurant as the American version of  ”a Michelin starred restaurant in a European countryside.”  Washington, Virginia is a small town.  Literally, in a blink of an eye, you’ve passed by it.  It’s full of history, too.  George Washington surveyed this tiny town back in 1749.

What brought me here?  It was an article in The Washington Post newspaper.  Advertising it as a singles dinner, it was an opportunity to experience this restaurant in the company of others.  I love the idea of trying new and different things and meeting new people.  Even though I’m single now, I didn’t see this as my opportunity to meet Mr. Right, though I wasn’t going to ignore him if he sat next to me.  Rather, I saw this as an opportunity to be with like-minded people who enjoy fabulous food in a unique setting.

I was a little nervous as I drove to Washington, but the lovely scenery with the Blue Ridge foothills in the distance eased any anxieties and made for a pleasant ride.  There were about 15 of us gathered around two tables.  We were mainly individuals in our 40s and 50s, fairly equally divided among men and women.  We ate in the kitchen surrounded by chefs in black working to the sounds of Gregorian chants.  Yes, you read correctly.  The chefs were quiet, and the lilting, mysterious chants seemed appropriate background music for our dinner.  For some reason, I’ve always thought that restaurant kitchens are full of noisy expletive-shouting chefs.  My apologies to any chefs out there; I blame my impression on watching too many episodes of Top Chef.

We were served course after glorious course of food—food that I might not be that adventurous to try on my own.  It totaled seven courses in all.  We began with truffle popcorn.  If you haven’t tried it, sublime is the only adjective to describe this treat.  From soft shell crab tempura to pan roasted Maine lobster on vanilla scented silver queen corn succotash to veal cheek on a nest of baby green beans, the meal was a culinary event.

I can’t afford to eat like this every weekend financially or calorie wise, but this was one early dinner that sits high on my list of a satisfying meal.