Missions Possible in the Sonoma Valley

The last of the grape harvests was being picked when Sue Gurries and I arrived at the Sonoma Mission Inn and Spa just outside the little town of Sonoma in the heart of the Sonoma Valley. The leaves in the vineyards were turning coppery, and most of the grapes were gone.

Sue and I are longtime friends and we had planned our wine country visit for weeks. We chose the Sonoma Mission Inn because we both love it.

The inn is a rambling mission-style building with archways and a bell tower, a cluster of buildings standing in a grove of sycamores and immense eucalyptus trees. One of the buildings has fireplaces in each room with a fire readied morning and evening.

We were in the main building where there are canopies over the beds and curved windows shaded with plantation shutters looking out on the central courtyard.

The inn is built on top of natural hot springs where the local Indians had a sacred healing ground. In 1927, the present building was built. It was most recently renovated and enlarged in 1985.

The inn was popular with the Nob Hill wealthy who made the trip north from San Francisco for the spa, the tennis courts and the unspoiled beauty of the Sonoma Valley. Now, it’s difficult to know which is the more intoxicating, the wines or the Sonoma Valley air.

The spa is known around the world by the world-weary and health-seeking. There are all kinds of massages, aerobic exercises, a pool and an herbal room.

On the first day we had lunch by the pool at the Grille restaurant patio. I asked about the wonderful bread and was told it was from the Brother Juniper Monastery in Santa Rosa, a half-hour drive away. I called after lunch and talked to Brother Peter who told me that theirs was an Eastern Orthodox service order. They are known for their struan bread, a five-grain Celtic loaf.

At harvest time, all of the grains grown locally are gathered. Traditionally, the oldest daughter in each family makes a loaf from the mixed grains and takes it to church on the feast of St. Michael the Archangel, patron saint of the harvest. There the bread is given to the poor in honor of all the people in the area who have died during the year. The monks also make a bread of roasted sunflower, pumpkin and flax seeds, and a Cajun three-pepper bread.

The bread is an example of the food served at the Sonoma Mission Inn and Spa. The proprietors buy everything locally so the vegetables and fruits are the freshest. The poultry and meat are locally raised. The fish comes from Bodego Bay.

The chef’s name is Stuart Tracy, and he supervises and creates two menus, the one in the Grille and the spa menu which makes you forget you’re supposed to be on a diet. One of the creations is a coffee no-cream ice cream, satin-smooth. I had chicken with a rhubarb chutney and Sue had lamb chops with a subtle pesto sauce.

If the inn were not so gracious we would not have had our little contretemps. We were trapped out in the hall in our robes. The inn presents each room with a bottle of Sonoma Valley wine, and Sue and I decided to have a glass before dinner. We had been given one of those openers that only a 5-year-old child could manage so Sue couldn’t do it. I suggested looking out in the hall for a passing bellman and of course, the door closed behind us leaving us stranded.

Sue had on velvet and looked quite grand. I had on my faithful blue and white and looked utilitarian. We tiptoed to the top of a short flight of stairs and called to a young man we had met behind the desk in the lobby and he came up and let us back in the room and opened the wine. He laughed quite a bit, but he didn’t tell anyone. Good man.

The next day we went into the town of Sonoma and visited the Mission San Francisco Solano, the end of the mission trail that began in 1523 in Guatemala and ended in Sonoma in 1823.

Across the street stand the Sonoma Barracks where the Bear Flag was raised by the Bear Republic on June 14, 1846. Twenty-three days later, Commodore John Sloat took possession of California in the name of the U.S. government.

The same day we went to the Kenwood Winery in the tiny town of Kenwood and met the owner, Marty Lee. The tasting room is more than 100 years old and has the original planking on the walls. Two congenial cats live in the building, a calico named Chardonnay and a gray tabby named Pinot.

There are 5,000 barrels made of oak from France in the winery. All of the reds spend from 10 months to two years in the oak barrels. There are no nails in the barrels. First, winemakers put in water, called “swelling the barrels,” Bart Hansen, one of the cellar crew, told us.

Forty-five percent of the grapes used at the winery come from other vineyards. Kenwood buys all of the grapes from 150 acres that writer Jack London planted in the Valley of the Moon when he built his ranch there.

In the tasting room, there is this quote from Jack London: “I ride over my beautiful ranch. Between my legs is a beautiful horse. The air is wine. The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame. Across Sonoma Mountain, wisps of sea fog are stealing. The afternoon sun smolders in the drowsy sky. I have everything to make me glad I am alive.”

So did Sue and I.