Frank came up from San Francisco to have lunch with us on Friday. Once he arrived on property he invited us down to the main house so that he could show us around. Beautiful structure. Tastefully decorated. The things that stuck with me were the entrance, the basketball court at one end of the family room (set up to entertain the boys while the room is being re-designed), an extensive rose garden, and a jaw-dropping wine cellar.
The cellar was the last room that we explored. Frank approached the door, opened it, and said "Let's go down here." So we followed him down the stairs into a basement. The basement was divided into a number of rooms and the one that we were in was stacked waist high with carton boxes and, as far as we could see from our position, so were the others. Frank walked over to one of the boxes and pulled out a 1961 Lafitte. The pile with which that carton (by now I had noticed that they were shipping cartons) was associated was all old Lafittes. Then we went over to another pile and it was Screaming Eagles. Then we went over to another pile and it was Harlan. Then we went over to another pile and it was Araujo. Then we went over to another pile and it was DRC. And then we went over to another pile and it was d'Yquem. And this went on and on. All the top wines in the world. 750s, 1.5Ls, 3L, 6Ls, 9Ls. This was the most extensive private collection I had ever been proximate to. I tried to be cool but my heart was thumping. I needed air. Luckily Frank started walking towards a tunnel (it seemed as large as one of the tunnels linking NYC and New Jersey) that was closed at the far end. This tunnel, still under construction, ran under the house and came out from underground to connect with the wrap-around terrace on the outside of the house. So you could be sitting on the terrace, decide you wanted some 1982 Lafitte, and just pop into the cellar and pick it up.
Sweet.
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