As a group, the 9 individuals who were traveling as one, or as close to one as possible, had made the decision to make a day trip to the Coast during our time in the wine region of Northern California(Sonoma County and Napa Valley to be precise). Collectively our group’s knowledge of the area was little more than what had been recommended to us by our friends and vague memories of oysters eaten at restaurants back East. Tomales Bay had been suggested to us by several friends who were born and raised in the area so the decision came easy. Being that we were pressed for time due to a dinner we had previously scheduled, Tomales Bay, which is located in the Pt. Reyes National Seashore area,was only an hour or so jaunt from our quaint country wine home. It had been raining off and on for a few days prior, but we decided to load up as scheduled, and with a stroke of luck the clouds which had been strangling the coasts and valley’s decided to loosen their grip as we loaded into our severely abused rentals and headed west; turns out you can lay rubber in a Dodge caravan (Side note* I always recommend insurance on rentals).
The drive from Sonoma to Tomales bay immediately brought to mind landscapes out of a Steinbeck novel. After passing through Petaluma the drive consisted of hairpin turns that climbed the hills of the most western edge of California. The hills themselves were a testament of time with trees that had been shaped by the wind similar to that of a middle aged man’s hair after a ride in his convertible. The land was littered with dairy farms, some old, some new, but all beautiful nonetheless; rolling green hills that seemed painted with the yellow buds of the blooming mustard plants accompanied by silhouettes of dairy cattle standing atop as if bragging to all cows that are confined in tight spaces at mass production dairy farms. Until this moment I could not recall a time in my life where I envied the life of a cow with such seriousness. One wrong turn later (right turn if you’re an optimist), we accidently ended up in the town of Pt. Reyes, home of Cowgirl Creamery, a place where bicycles out numbered motored vehicles, and everybody wore a smile. Not wearing tight fitting cycling shorts definitely left all of us in the minority. I almost felt guilty.
After hugging the tight lanes of CA-1 along the bay, we picked our jaws off the floorboards and ended up at The Marshall Store. An unassuming shack on the water where retired boats littered the grounds just begging for a large wave to carry them into the pacific, and a sign hanging over the door that simply read “Chowder”, I was sold. The nine of us piled into the store and took a quick glance at the menu board and the drool began to flow. The decision was not what to get, but rather what not to get. I think that my initial order consisted of a medium bowl of ”famous” chowder, ½ pound of Dungeness crab, 12 raw local oysters, and 3 ½ dozen orders of oysters done in a Rockefeller style with varying accompaniments. My total for lunch that day far surpassed any lunch total that I had ever racked up, not because of high prices but rather an insatiable appetite for everything on the menu. We left our names with the counter gal and went outside to sit at the long wooden tables that line the road facing the bay. The setting was arguably the most ideal location to indulge in such a glutinous feast.
All said, the group ordered everything on the menu, along with a few bottles of Rose to boot. The most memorable item that was ordered had to have been the raw local oysters on the half shell with a mignonette that would have left Poseidon wanting more…later to find out that it consisted of two types of rice wine vinegar, cilantro, and jalapenos. After the meal we sat back and wallowed in an oyster comatose like state with smiles from ear to ear and belts that were in dire need of adjustment. Good food, good friends, and good wine, really all that one could ask for. We eventually, without any sense of urgency, waddled back to our trusty rentals and made the trek back towards wine country and to whatever experience lay ahead….
Photos courtesy Chrissy Reed.
