Calistoga Ranch

How, goes the famous Napa Valley joke, do you make a small fortune in wine? Start with a large one. Winemaking is an expensive business, and you have to have serious financial clout if you want to start mucking about with the merlot. Still, if you can’t afford your own vineyard, then at least you can experience the Napa Valley lifestyle by staying at Calistoga Ranch. From the moment we arrived, when the cheery valet took the keys of our car to park it on our behalf, to the morning we left, when gorgeous Gloria on reception handed us two bottles of water for our journey home, Mrs Smith and I were made to feel like the most important oenologists in town.

The ranch nestles in a secluded gorge at the north end of Napa Valley, near the spa town of Calistoga. The 157-acre, 46-room resort is understated Cal-luxe, all low-rise buildings in cedar and stone, punctuated with modern accents such as giant cube lampshades in all the public spaces. There’s a luxurious spa, the Bathhouse, an outdoor yoga deck with soothing views over the valley’s aged oaks, and a dramatic pool overlooked by both a bar and gym. There’s also a cosy wine cave for tastings. So, whichever cornerstone of Californian culture you’re after – wine or workout – Calistoga caters for you. And it feels more like a hamlet than a hotel. Perhaps because, in addition to the guests, it’s occupied by plenty of fractional owners, who’ve purchased their own generous glug of this fine vintage. As a result, there’s a very real sense of being welcomed into a community.

Mrs Smith and I are driven to our accommodation in a dinky electric golf buggy. We’ve been given a one-bedroom lodge by the creek, which comes with a separate lounge area and bedroom suite connected by a deck. The living room even has its own bar, with a complimentary bottle of the ranch’s private-label merlot and a coffeemaker shaped like a rocket. While I’m admiring this, Mrs Smith is making cooing noises in front of the indoor-outdoor fireplace, which promises the enticing option of either snuggling up on a comfy sofa in the lounge or out on the patio next to our personal hot tub. It’s a hard life, this wine-making lark.

Our bedroom has glass walls on two sides, allowing us to look at tall pines wafting their branches over the water from the comfort of our bed. But don’t worry – there are blinds for those who want a little time to themselves and don’t want to be watched, no matter how much fun they’re having.

We poke around the bathroom, unwrapping the mudbath soap, and Calistoga Ranch’s custom-made eucalyptus and bay laurel toiletries, then lathering them all over our hands. Interest piqued, we head into the discreetly fenced outdoor rainbath shower. Despite the slightly cool temperature of the December air, it’s wonderful – like standing beneath a waterfall. What with warm water cascading over our heads, the birds of northern California tweeting away in our ears and the breeze deliciously tickling our wet skin, Mrs Smith and I feel quite the frontiersman and woman – more Lewis and Clark than Ernst and Julio Gallo.

That evening, we eat at the Lakehouse restaurant. As its name suggests, it sits on the shores of Calistoga Ranch’s private lake, offering the sort of romantic setting that the filmmakers downstate in Hollywood dream about for backdropping their denouements. We knew the restaurant was exclusive – it’s only open to guests and those residents who’ve bought into this paradise – but it’s only when we find ourselves seated next to cult singer-songwriter Tom Waits that we realise just how much so.

The food certainly lives up to its environment. Mrs Smith, who has been assured by our waiter that none of the dishes contain her culinary bête noire of cucumber, tucks into scallops with salsify purée and short ribs. My John Dory with leeks and salt cod brandade is exquisite. Every dish on the Modern American menu – zealously seasonal and constructed only from local ingredients – is chosen to complement Calistoga’s reassuringly wonderful wine list, and our sommelier makes sure that each mouthful we eat is matched by either a 2003 Chalone Estate Chardonnay or 2002 Provenance Merlot. We retire to our lodge feeling as fat and drunk as Friar Tuck.

The next morning, keen to experience the area’s famed natural beauty (as well as burn off all those calories accrued the night before), we set out on a ramble. The ranch has plenty of its own hiking trails – this is California, after all – and Tiffany, our guide, leads us through woods to a watermill, where local villagers are hosting a ‘Pioneer Christmas’. Dressed in historical costume – though, in quaint Calistoga, it’s sometimes hard to tell the participants from the onlookers – they buzz about the food and craft stalls, indulging in all manner of 150-year-old activities. Mrs Smith is particularly amused when I am collared by a lace-making lady, and has to rescue me after several uncomfortable minutes of stitching and bobbin-shuffling. We head back to our room, dragging an impulsively bought two-pound bag of stone-ground polenta behind us.

In the afternoon, we do as any good Napa Valley visitors should, and go wine-tasting. Both Sterling and Clos Pegas wineries are within walking distance of the ranch – well, a short drive, but don’t tell anyone – and we spend a pleasant couple of hours running through their delicious range of chardonnays and cabernet sauvignons. That night, after dining at sleek local steak restaurant Press, we return to our lodge, where we sit out on the deck in front of a blazing fire, sipping merlot and gazing up at stars glowing in a grape-black sky. It’s beautiful beyond words. Napa Valley is sometimes referred to as the American Eden, and I completely understand why. I’m certainly tempted to stay forever.