Napa Valley, Reconsidered

The high proportion of great restaurants per capita in St. Helena seems to draw a lot of attention to the place; it's Taylor's Refresher, however, that put this town on the map in 1949. Taylor's is a spiffy outdoor canteen with a mid-century look, absent the retro detritus of a new diner. But then the menu isn't exactly nostalgic, either. Besides the burgers and BLT's there are impeccably rare ahi burgers with gingery slaw, chile-laced fish tacos, and bright-green garlic-dipped fries. We lingered as long as possible at the dining bar and washed the meal down with a white-pistachio milk shake and Roto, Napa's homegrown red soda, modeled on the slightly bitter Italian soft drinks.

That night, we arrived at Calistoga Ranch, a sexy resort east of downtown Calistoga, developed by the owners of the wine country-classic Auberge du Soleil, farther south in Rutherford. But where the yellow stucco Auberge juts out of the mountain, Calistoga Ranch is a resort for the new age: a clutch of cedar-shingle lodges with copper detailing hidden in a forest just east of the Silverado Trail. With its vaguely Aztec rooflines and carefully placed windows, it's a complex that seems designed for a discreet heiress or tycoon who loves nature, architecture, and buttermilk baths (available with a walnut-oil massage at the ranch's Bathhouse overlooking Lake Lommel).

All eyes are on the Calistoga Ranch, to see what influence it has on low-key Calistoga. When we checked in, a tiny field mouse darted into the reception area, and nobody flinched—not the employees, not the lady in strappy spike heels, and not her tanned escort. They get it here: Napa is wild—embrace it, or get out.

Despite all the new construction, there's a palpable spirit of preservation, one that has spawned, of all things, a vigorous cave-building industry (old caves, like Del Dotto's, are rare). Rather than carve a new winery or warehouse out of precious open space, winemakers today are creating storage vaults underground, putting their barrels where the temperature's a constant 58 degrees. The wineries save on the air-conditioning bill, and they leave a smaller divot in the landscape. At Von Strasser, a boutique winery in the recently designated Diamond Mountain District, the entrance of the brand-new 7,000-square-foot cave is tucked behind a 19th-century barn. Dirt excavated from the cave at Long Meadow Ranch, where Ted and Laddie Hall grow organic grapes, press organic olive oil, and raise grass-fed Highland Cattle, was recycled to build the rammed earth structure that houses the winery and olive press. Hall's organic, sustainable philosophy—what is better for the earth is also better for the bottom line—seems to be spreading to the big players too. He was recently tapped to be the CEO of the Mondavi Corporation, one of the largest wine businesses in the state.

The following afternoon we assembled for the Napa Valley Wine Auction, held since 1981 under a stadium-sized tent on the fairways at Meadowood. We were able to have more of French Laundry's signature salmon cornets, this time straight from the hand of Thomas Keller in a booth set up outside, and listened with a mixture of awe and embarrassment as high rollers from around the country bid on 137 lots of mamma mia-quality wine (a vertical Stag's Leap Wine Cellars lot that included a bottle of the 1976 Cabernet went for $80,000).

Our table gradually filled up with a crowd of young locals who'd left their kids with babysitters. There was a winemaker, an ex-winery owner, a couple of wine publicists, and Sheila Rockwood, the only valley native at the table, and who, having started a boutique soap operation, was uniquely qualified to take the long view.

"We lost Napa for a while there," Rockwood said as the gavel pounded and a few more bottles sold for a five-figure sum. "Now it's back."

When the final gavel struck, the auction had raised $5.2 million. It seemed like a lot of money, but the folks around the table agreed: it was definitely more temperate than in years past.

There may be hope yet for those dentists. Later this year, the ribbon will be cut at a place for the big dreamers who in a headier time might have bought that 25-acre parcel and "Tuscan" in Oak Knoll. Called the Napa Valley Reserve, it's a club that's the brainchild of Bill Harlan, owner of Meadowood and the boutique Harlan Estate winery. Members will play winemaker, doing as much or as little of the work as they wish to grow, ferment, and blend (and even design the label of) their own wine while someone else takes care of the real headaches: the water bill, grape-skin disposal, hiring the seasonal pickers. Live the Napa wine-making dream without owning any property! Alas, the price is high—the entry fee alone (not including dues) is $125,000 a year—but compared to $9 million, that's small change.

Matt Lee and Ted Lee are contributing editors for Travel + Leisure.