Bainbridge Island Winery

The pairing of food and wine is a complex and highly inexact science. It is fraught with outmoded rules and a propensity for generalizations.

Sid Goldstein, The Wine Lover’s Cookbook

“Venison with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy,” would pair nicely with the wine in your glass, said the winery owner’s wife, looking Big Papa right in the eye.

“And with your wine, pizza,” is what she said to me.

Pizza?! I definitely hoped for more venison and less pizza in my life, in a metaphorical sense. It was January 9, 2005 and I was on my first date with Big Papa. Seattle lay under a dusting of snow, and the air was chilly, but inside the Bainbridge Island Winery we were toasty and warm as we stood side by side and sipped. We had successfully navigated a ferry ride to the island (successful in the sense that we liked each other enough not to end up on opposite sides of the boat), and had commenced to part two of our date: wine tasting.

Big Papa and I found each other on an online dating site and, for our first date, I asked him to think of something more creative than going out for coffee (the gold standard for first dates with online suitors). He said “ferry ride” and I said “great idea.” I suggested Bainbridge Island as our destination and wine tasting as our island adventure. We were two people who had never met, taking a ferry to an island across Puget Sound, to drink wine and then ride the ferry back to the city, easily a 3-4 hour date as opposed to a 30 minute coffee chat. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, nothing went wrong. Our first date was awesome. We left the winery and drove to Faye Bainbridge State Park, where we sat at a picnic table near the water as the sky grew dark (I must mention again how cold it was). I brought out the cheese, crackers and chocolates I’d carried along with me in my backpack. We quickly found out that the chocolates (and some of the cheese) were frozen when Big Papa tried to cut a chocolate truffle in half and it sailed off into the evening sky. I’m not sure how much time passed as we sat there together, sharing stories and getting to know one another, but I do remember that my fingers were numb from the cold by the time we decided to head back to the car.

In a flash of brilliance (and attempt to be the female equivalent of gallant), I grabbed the fleece “emergency blanket” stored in the trunk of my car (which, by the way, I still have) to throw over our legs on the drive back to the ferry. And throw it I did. As Big Papa got into the front passenger seat, I tossed the blanket (which is tightly wrapped into a fabric envelope, like a pillow) in his direction.

“OW!”

“Are you okay?”

“You hit me in the face.”

“Oh wow. Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“You nailed my cheek.”

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help myself, the hilarity of it all (though I will say I breathed a silent sigh of relief the moment he started to laugh too). We were having a good time together, inadvertent attempts to cause my date bodily harm notwithstanding.

On the ferry back to Seattle, he suggested we continue our date and go out to dinner. We headed to Coastal Kitchen. After dinner, wine, and dessert–eight hours after I’d picked Big Papa up and said hello for the first time–I dropped him off at his house and headed home to my apartment.

Since that first date, nine years ago, we’ve continued to taste wine–and share adventures–together: in Oregon’s Willamette Valley and the Walla Walla wine region in Washington State, in New York, Pennsylvania, California, Canada, Mexico, France, and Armenia. Wine at restaurants, tasting bars, wineries and–most of all–at home, where we enjoy wine collected from our travels.

And you know what? The two of us are still a nice pairing.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Part I of V

All hail the Internet! Without it, Big Papa might never have entered my life. When we met, I’d been dabbling with online dating on and off for several years. On New Year’s Day, 2005, I was about to head into an off phase. I needed a break. A spell of disastrous dates had dealt my self-esteem a serious blow and I wanted off the Match.com merry-go-round.

The New Year began with me purging all the emails from ‘prospects’ I’d corresponded with in recent months. Then I canceled my membership. I was informed that my profile would remain up for three days before I would fade into Match.com history.

As a parting gesture, I ceremoniously sent one final e-mail into the ether to a guy whose profile said he found that “pulling weeds was therapeutic.”Salt of the earth, I liked that. My e-mail read, “In three days I’ll be a Match.goner. If something in my profile piques your interest, my home e-mail is…”

A reply was in my in-box the next morning. For the next few days, little missives were exchanged, and we discovered a bit about each other. We both moved to Seattle from similar cities on the east coast in 1985. We’d each done a few-year stint in California. I had two cats and he had one (big points for being a guy with a cat). He also lived barely a mile from my apartment, which meant he was geographically desirable, as a former boss used to say.

We decided to meet in person and bypass the awkward, “Let’s chat on the phone” stage of the blind dating process. Sick of coffee dates that felt like job interviews, I asked if he would suggest “something more unique” for our first get together. He responded with, “How about a ferry ride?” Brilliant! I love to ride the ferry and this adventure sounded like fun, albeit that it was early January and snow was in the forecast. Some months later, we both confessed to each other that we’d had second thoughts. Big Papa told me he’d mused to himself, “Why waste a perfectly good Sunday on something that isn’t likely to go anywhere.”

Our rendezvous was set for Sunday, January 9, 2005. I offered up transportation to the ferry and Big Papa gave me his address. His house number was 1-9-0-5.

So, on 1-9-05, I drove up to 1905 and picked him up. My first impression was that the Urban Cabin was cute and homey. Standing in the doorway, I saw two Edward Hopper prints, one of my favorite painters. I like the colors in Big Papa’s home. It looked like a place where I’d feel comfortable. It also didn’t hurt that I thought Big Papa was pretty handsome too.

He got into my car. I was nervous. He was nervous. Off we drove to the Bainbridge Island ferry. As we chatted more, we both relaxed. I had a feeling of ease and familiarity. Talking with Big Papa was as comfortable as standing in the doorway of the Urban Cabin.

The ferry ride led to wine tasting at the Bainbridge Island Winery, which led to hanging out at Fay Bainbridge State Park and eating cheese and frozen chocolate truffles (remember, this was early January), which led to dinner back in Seattle at Coastal Kitchen.

When I dropped Big Papa off at the Urban Cabin, some eight hours later, we kissed goodbye. He told me he enjoyed our time together and wanted to go on a second date. Driving back to my apartment, I realized I felt none of the first-date angst that so often accompanied online dating. Did he like me? Yes, I felt fairly confident he did. Would he really call me to get together again? Yes, I was pretty sure he would. Honestly, it was the best dang date I’d ever been on.

I smiled to myself as I reminisced about our first date on 1-9-05. I smiled bigger as I thought about Big Papa and 1905, the Urban Cabin. After many years of wandering, it felt like I’d finally come home.