Napa, a Castle, and a Clueless Wine Taster
Updated: Aug 21
The Wrong Man for Wine Tasting
Picture this: a glass of deep red wine in my hand, a bartender explaining its origins, its soil, its “tannic structure with hints of dark cherry and aged oak”—and me nodding along with what I hoped looked like the face of a connoisseur.
Beside me, my daughter Trisha and son-in-law Rohan were gently explaining what I was supposed to be tasting.
I took a careful sip and tried very hard to look as though I understood.
This was not a scene from a film. This was me, at Castello di Amorosa in Napa Valley, California—one of America’s celebrated wine destinations—doing what is called a wine tasting.
My credentials were, to put it mildly, thin.
Until recently, my entire knowledge of alcoholic drinks went something like this: Brandy, Beer, Rum, Vodka, Whisky, Red Wine, White Wine. I had tasted some of them now and then over a lifetime, but never often enough to tell a good one from a bad one, let alone name a brand that meant anything.
No trained palate. No favorite. No opinion.
In the most honest terms, I was probably the wrong person to be in Napa Valley for Wine Tasting.
And yet, perhaps that is exactly why I should write about it—it was, after all, a truly pleasant, once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The road to Napa
The trip was Trisha and Rohan’s idea. But there was a small coincidence that added a nice touch to the story.
A few days earlier, when my flight from Boston landed in San Francisco, the lady sitting next to me asked where I was headed.
“San Jose,” I said. “My daughter’s place. I’ve been there many times.”
“And you?”
She smiled. “Napa.”
I lit up. “Oh, what a wonderful place!”
She laughed and said she felt lucky to call it home.
We parted at the terminal, two strangers exchanging the small courtesies of travel. Neither of us knew that within days, I too would be driving into her valley.
Napa is about 75 miles from San Jose—roughly the distance from Delhi to Meerut, if you want a familiar comparison. Once you enter Napa County, Highway 29 takes you into the heart of the valley. It took us about an hour and a half to reach Napa town.
I don’t drive in America, so Rohan was at the wheel. That left me free to do what I do best on a journey: sit by the window, phone in hand, photographing everything that moved—and quite a lot that didn’t.
The valley opens gradually. On either side of the road, vineyards stretch across gently sloping land, rows upon rows of grapevines arranged with almost mathematical precision.
The vines are not tall—usually no more than four or five feet—and each is trained along wooden posts and wires, trimmed and spaced almost identically.
It is a remarkably disciplined landscape.
The engineer in me noticed the geometry and the planning. The traveler in me simply thought it was beautiful.
In the warm July afternoon light, the vineyards looked like a painting someone had decided to make life-size.
Napa town
Napa town is smaller than you might expect. It has population of about 77,000 people.
It is the county seat of Napa County, but there is little of the administrative heaviness one might associate with such a place. Instead, it feels like a quiet, unhurried riverside town that somehow became world-famous.
The Napa River runs gently through its heart. It is not grand or dramatic, but there is something companionable about it. A promenade along its banks invites you to walk without purpose and let time slow down.
We did exactly that.
Then we headed to Oxbow Public Market for lunch—a lively indoor market filled with food stalls, bakeries, cheese shops, wine vendors and chocolates, with communal tables where people eat, talk and watch the world go by.
It was a pleasant way to get our first feel of Napa.
There is also the Napa Valley Wine Train, a beautifully restored vintage train that winds through the valley while serving food and wine along the way. It sounds like an idyllic way to see Napa without rushing through it.
But we had a timed entry at Castello di Amorosa, another thirty minutes up the road.
The Wine Train would have to wait.
I suspect there will be another visit.
Then came the castle
Soon we were back on the road.
The valley opened wider. Vineyards stretched on both sides. The July sun fell hard on the leaves, making them shimmer like polished copper.
The road was quiet, almost lonely, with only an occasional vehicle passing by. The air seemed to carry the smell of warm earth and ripening grapes. Hills held the valley on either side.
And then, suddenly, the castle appeared.
Stone towers rose from the hillside.
For a moment, you forget you are in California.
You are somewhere else. Another country. Another century.
Castello di Amorosa is the creation of Dario Sattui, whose family has been involved in California winemaking since 1885, when his great-great-grandfather Vittorio started a winery in San Francisco.
Prohibition shut it down.
Dario revived the family tradition in St. Helena in 1972. But then he decided to do something far more ambitious.
In 1994, he began building a genuine medieval-style castle on a hillside near Calistoga.
It took thirteen years.
Eight thousand tons of stone went into the walls, much of it hand-cut. European craftsmen were brought in, and traditional techniques were used—load-bearing stone masonry, arches and vaulted ceilings.
No modern shortcuts.
When the Castello finally opened in 2007, it had 107 rooms, four floors above ground and four levels of wine caves below, along with a drawbridge, chapel, great hall and dungeon.
It is so authentically constructed that visiting Castello di Amorosa feels like stepping back into the medieval era.
One man’s stubbornness, turned into stone.
And then came the wine
Trisha and Rohan had found the place and planned the visit. I had simply come along—a willing but completely clueless novice.
Inside the thick stone walls, the temperature drops noticeably. The caves go deep beneath the castle. Bottles rest quietly along stone corridors, as though time itself moves differently down there.
Rohan had done his homework.
He had shortlisted wines across the spectrum: Gewürztraminer and Dolcini among the whites; Pinot Noir and Sangiovese among the reds; and Simpatica and La Fantasia among the sweet wines.
The bartender poured them one by one.
She explained what we should expect. What we should smell. What we should taste.
I listened carefully.
I nodded even more carefully.
And I understood very little.
Each wine was different—in color, aroma, texture and the way it lingered on the palate. I tried to detect the notes the bartender described.
Dark cherry.
Oak.
Tannins.
I largely failed.
Since I rarely drink, even those small, careful pours were quietly doing their work. By the end, I was mildly—and undeniably—tipsy.
But strangely, it did not matter.
What stayed with me was not the wine.
It was the place.
The stone walls. The cool silence. Aroma of wines. Medieval architecture. Rustic ambiance. The vineyards outside. And the sheer audacity of one man spending thirteen years building a medieval castle in California because he believed it was worth building.
Most Napa wineries offer you wine, a tasting room and a beautiful view.
Castello di Amorosa offers something more.
It leaves you with the feeling that the easier path is not always the right one.
And that feeling, I discovered, stays with you much longer than the wine.
MANOJ MITTAL - August 22 , 2026 | NOIDA
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