ALL ABOARD FOR A MEMORABLE MEAL
Chug and dine your way through the train ride of your life in gorgeous Napa Valley
In our hurry-up age of jet travel and road rage, sometimes an ambling ride through the countryside can be a balm for the soul. Add a gourmet meal, a bottle of wine and a vintage train, and you may have the perfect travel day.
These were the thoughts clickety-clacking around in my head as the Napa Valley Wine Train pulled out of the station on a lovely November day.
My ride was a mobile railroad museum, a flashy burgundy-and-gold number running on tracks laid in 1864 and powered by locomotives built in Canada in the 1950s. The 100-year-old Pullman passenger cars sport mahogany paneling with plush seats that conjure the sense of 1920s firstclass travel. And then, of course, there’s that train whistle.
The wine train’s appeal is so strong, it creates a bit of a problem for at least one person, executive chef Kelly MacDonald.
“My biggest competition is the train,” he says. And he does not take that competition lightly.
“The stigma is that it’s touristy,” he says. “But we’re really a fine-dining restaurant that happens to be on wheels.”
MacDonald talks faster than a locomotive about his passion: food. Emoting about locally sourced ingredients and sustainably raised meats, he discusses the walnuts served on the baby lettuce salad. He gets them California-fresh, blanches them to take away some of the tannins and candies them himself. The goat cheese on that same salad comes from a farmstead in the Valley that grows its own grain.
“For me it was a product that was so special that I wanted to do something to it once it came into our house, our kitchen,” he says.
He gives the goat cheese a light smoking with applewood from locals who call him when they’re trimming their trees.
“That’s what Napa Valley means to me,” he says. “You put your own stamp on something already so beautiful. You just want to add to it.”
That’s the kind of thought and care that goes into all of MacDonald’s food. And along with the fresh ingredients and made-toorder dishes come the chef ’s wine-pairing recommendations. The wine list, about 40 strong by the bottle and glass, features mostly Napa wines, many from the vineyards we pass en route.
The soups and desserts (including a perfectly executed crème brûlée) are made in advance, but everything else is cooked to order in the moving kitchen, a long narrow car that gives new meaning to the term “line cook.” It runs along one side of the car; the other is a hallway with windows, an unusual feature that allows passengers the run of the train and a chance to watch the action — a lot of it — as dishes are prepared for as many as 125 guests, all seated simultaneously.
On the day when I was aboard, the train chugged out of the station and meandered north at a civilized 18 mph. Soon we were in rural Napa Valley.
Known worldwide for worldclass wines, Napa also is known for its sheer eye appeal. Nestled between two forested mountain ranges, it remains largely undeveloped despite its proximity to San Francisco.
At only 30 miles long, it’s one of the smallest wine-growing regions in the world, but its 400 wineries churn out more than 9 million cases every year. The mountains flanking the valley have a smattering of houses but retain their forest cover and jagged Palisades. The grapevines have the run of the valley floor, 45,000 acres of sprawling vineyards stretching in orderly rows.
Each season is striking. In summer, the grapevines wave their green, leafy arms overhead, and roses at the ends of the rows bloom in the many colors of wine. In the fall, the acres of grape leaves turn a daring gold, the trees a tapestry of crimson and amber, and the air grows ripe with the tantalizing aroma of grapes. Winter lays bare the genius of vineyard workers, exposing complicated trellis systems and intricate manipulation of vines. March sprinkles in the happy orange of California poppies as vines awaken, known as bud break, and the annual circle of life starts another turn.
This bucolic, ever-changing tableau plays in full color as the wine train meanders its way halfway up the valley to the tiny burg of St. Helena, then heads back, taking three hours to go 36 miles.
Half the trip takes place in the dining car and the rest in the lounge car, leaving lots of time for sipping in the tasting car, watching the kitchen or standing on the rear platform toasting the openair view of Napa Valley.
At the end of the line, what remains is a full belly, an empty bottle, a restful mind, a perfect day.
The “bucolic, ever-changing tableau plays in full color as the wine train meanders its way” up the valley and back.