Winding roads. Sun-drenched hillsides. Orchard after orchard of plump purple grapes separated by green trees and blue skies. This was my last Saturday as my father, Jeff (my best friend), and I cruised the less known wine country of Amador County, CA in search of a decent barbera. We stopped at a tuscan style winery full with fresh gardens of flowers, yellow stucco buildings, and patio views overlooking the fields of central California. Having already tasted some nice wines and a bit light headed, we stopped at this winery as it was the only one that served food.
The winery had a small cafe with personal pizzas, hot/cold sandwiches and salads. Everything had meat, cheese, and mayonnaise in it. As I have said before, I am not a salad guy and refuse to eat one for a meal. My only option was to do what I used to make fun of a co-worker for doing: order a pizza with no cheese. Up until now, I had figured out how to order vegan food without making a scene. This was all about to be tested. I walked up to the counter and asked the kid behing the register for a pizza…with no cheese.
“So you want mozzarella?”, he said.
“No, tomatoes, mushrooms, red peppers, and basil with no cheese”, I replied.
“Uhhh, we can’t do that”
“You can’t make the #3 pizza on your menu without any cheese?”
“Well, I have to ask the guy making it.”
He disappeared into the back. Two minutes later, a twentysomething blonde haired petit girl came out and said “You want a pizza with no cheese?” I said “Yes.” She hesitated, smirked, and turned to the mystery chef in the back who was out of sight. At this point, there were some other guests in line getting their orders. She said in a loud and drawn out voice suitable for my 4 year old “He wants to-ma-toes, mushhh-rooms, pepperssss, and baaaasil with no cheeeeese.” She turned back around, looked at me and said “It will be 20 minutes.” I must say that the whole time Jeff and my father were somewhat tickled, but not enough to rub it in my face as they walked out with their beef brisket and bbq ciabatta sandwiches.
The three of us walked through a beautiful flower garden and found a nice green table under some shade. Jeff and dad opened their sandwiches that were soaked with meat and bbq sauce on the edges. The bbq had a savory scent that filled the air. It got everyones taste buds going, including some local bees (yes, the furry yellow winged insects). As they dug into these wine country culinary delights, swarms of bees encircled them. Like they had no shame and started landing on their fingers, swarmering around their heads, and diving right in between the two slices of bread. I have never seen a bee that agressive or that into meat. They literally dive bombed into my father’s beef and stuck their heads in the meat.
Waving hands did absolutely nothing. They swarmed his hands, sandwich, and the plate with the other half. Jeff faired no better. The onslaught was so awkward that they did not know what to do. We decided to move to another table. It offered all of 5 seconds of relief. My dad had his sandwich one inch from his open mouth before I yelled “Stop”. He was about to chomp a bee who had it’s butt 1 inch from my dad’s face.
There was a covered pavilion 20 feet away. We made a third attempt for shelter from the meat eating bees. Dad and Jeff got about 3 bites in before a smaller attack force (just as fierce) swarmed their warm bbq. Jeff, fed up, grabbed his sandwich and started walking in zig zag patterns, taking bites and maneuvering. Not wanting to budge, my dad held out for a minute more and then he got up and started the zig zag method. The two of them walked from location to location eating their sandwiches, all the time concentrating on the bees and not the beef.
The snarky twentysomething emerged from the building with my no cheese pizza. She handed it to me with a smile and said “No cheese.” I said “You are correct. BTW, what’s up with the bees?” She replied, “I don’t know. It’s wierd. Fresh mint will drive them away.” She returned a couple minutes later and plopped down fresh sprigs of mint around my plate. She handed some to dad and Jeff who at this point where just trying to consume animal protein.
I opened my pizza with fresh mushrooms and basil picked from the garden. It was delicious and full of tuscan flavor to match the surroundings. The bees were not down with my cheese. I did not have a single been swarm, bug, sniff, or stick it’s butt in my face. I sat and savored the pizza, the wine, the hillside, and the ambiance of wine country (trying to ignore Jeff and dad running in front of me every couple minutes).
Sometimes vegan justice comes in the form of carnivorous bees.