Waves and wine; Trip of a lifetime; Santa Barbara, Santa Ynez Valley, Big Sur: a Central Coast road trip makes a vintage romantic getaway

Sunset, Sept, 2005 by Matthew Jaffe

Sunset at the beach: the staple of personal ads, romance novels, and Playmate turn-ons. Thee and me and we. The biggest of all California cliches. But trust me--as sunsets go, this is an epic, a masterpiece. As if van Gogh had decided to work in Cinerama.

We're at Oso Flaco Lake, on California's Central Coast. My wife, Becky, has never been to this spot, so I wanted to show her the lake and, beyond it, a beach with churning, restless surf.

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We follow the boardwalk along the lake and then through the shifting dunes. The day has been overcast, but the sands begin to brighten to gold. By the time we reach the ocean, the setting sun has emerged beneath the layer of clouds along the horizon. Everything--ocean, dunes, underside of clouds--is suddenly on fire with spinning oranges and reds and purples.

Even though we've both lived in California for a while now. Becky remains a genuine Jersey girl at heart, and I'm still a Chicago guy. Neither of us has ever seen a sunset quite like this. But while we're astounded, we're not entirely surprised. Because when we began our 670-mile round-trip drive through the Central Coast's wine regions and along its incomparable coastline, we were venturing into the California of our dreams.

2 DAYS, 30 MILES

Santa Barbara to Santa Ynez Valley

In my mind, Santa Barbara is California: Mediterranean architecture, palm trees, the beach, and islands veiled in mist. (Chicago winters will do that to you.) But it's a city that has always remained just out of reach. I've lived an hour to the northwest and now live an hour to the east, but never in Santa Barbara itself.

We splurge with a night at the Four Seasons Resort. It's Santa Barbara condensed, all ocean and gardens, archways and decorative tile, trailing bougainvillea and rambling Moreton Bay figs. The mood here is decidedly relaxed, especially compared to posh oceanfront spots in other beach cities that have an almost white-gloved fussiness about them. This too seems to be a reflection of Santa Barbara, where the surf vibe and sea breeze seem to chill out loftier pretensions. Santa Barbara is a city that reveres not just its Dons but its dudes too.

In that spirit, we eschew some of the fancier dinner spots in town for one of the best. La Super-Rica is really a glorified taco stand, with a zigzag roofline and a covered patio. But what it lacks in decor it makes up for in authenticity, from its handmade tortillas to fire-roasted pasilla peppers stuffed with cheese.

With its long lines, La Super-Rica demands some strategizing. The patrons in line ahead of us are weighing their choices with the solemnity of the condemned choosing a last meal. Becky, a much nicer person than I, senses my escalating impatience. She gives me a sweet but firm "Be nice" look as I feel the declamation "Holy pozole, just make a choice!" rising up from the molten core of my being. But it only takes one bite of my taco to make me a contented man.

2 DAYS, 170 MILES

Santa Ynez Valley to Pinnacles N.M.

Let the Sideways backlash begin!

I issue this fatwa not out of any dislike for last year's best movie. But having watched the Santa Ynez Valley's emergence from languid ranchland into a top wine region over the past few decades, it was a shock to suddenly see favorite haunts on the big screen. Think of it this way: You live in the Amazon rain forest and Angelina Jolie or Sting visits your village. You appreciate the attention but also know that things will never quite be the same again.

The joy of the Santa Ynez Valley and its fellow Central Coast wine regions has always been their blend of kickback vibe and knockout wines. These are places to discover wines without being intimidated by adjective-spouting pedants. Terroir without terror.

Maybe it's just a coincidence, but our favorite wines come from the least opulent and most un-faux-finished spots. Near Los Olivos, Foxen Winery's tasting room is little more than a tin shack, while Garretson Wine Company up in Paso Robles is located in a generic, hard-to-reach industrial center better suited to a plumbing-supply business. It's symbolic of how the wine industry has become engrained in the life of the Central Coast. In Los Angeles, every young dreamer is an aspiring screenwriter. Here the dream is to create great wines, with waiters, store clerks, and winery employees all eager to talk about their vines.

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With our tastings done, I cleanse my palate with a full-bodied and slightly assertive root beer from the 21st Street Drive-In in Paso Robles. Missouri may be the Show-Me State, but California is the What-If State. And as Becky and I drive past rows of vines exaggerating the contours of the rolling hills, we ponder the possibilities of a life in wine country.

It's the life that Jan and Jon Brosseau have been building with their own hands since they bought land here in 1978. They're the owners of the Inn at the Pinnacles, a Monterey County bed-and-breakfast set in the middle of acres of Pinot Noir, Syrah, and Chardonnay grapes. During the week, Jon works in aerospace in the Bay Area, then the couple loads up their car with provisions and heads to the inn for the weekend. Their property sits adjacent to the historic Chalone Vineyard and a few miles from Pinnacles National Monument, the landmark volcanic outcrops that Becky and I are eager to explore.