The Drizzle Story.
During the early 90's, while on a sales and marketing assignment in the Northern California Wine Country, an old recipe came into my possession. I was staying in a lovely bed and breakfast in Sonoma County
The little B&B
and like most B&Bs there was a lending library. Having always loved the classics I picked up the copy of
Steinbeck's “The Grapes of Wrath.”
While reading the book during my flight home I found an old thank you note
tucked away into the pages. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened
the envelope simply addressed to “R”.
Thank you for opening your lovely home to us.
The dinner was equal to any that I have experienced in
San Francisco. I have copied great grandmother Rozella's
wine dripple recipe from the old country, as I know it will be
delightful made from your wines.
Thank you for your wonderful hospitality.
I found the note to be quaint and used it as a bookmark while reading the book. When I returned home I placed the book compete with thank you note and dripple recipe on my bookshelf. As life moves forward at warp speed I simply forgot about the handwritten note from long ago and dripple never entered my mind for decades.
During the fall of 2012 while visiting the Sonoma wine country, I had a
mental flash back to my former life, the B&B, the book and the dripple
recipe. Dragging my travel companion, who is now our webmistress
extraordinaire, from tasting room to tasting room, I was looking to see if
any wineries were producing dripple. I found none anywhere.
The original thank you note.
Could it be that I was the sole owner to what could possibly be an
old world family recipe? Panic quickly set in. The book! What had
I done with the book?! I spent days wracking my brain trying to
remember when I had last seen the book. When I returned home
I scoured my many bookcases and emptied the contents of storage
boxes, but the book was not to be found. I had only moved five times
with three of the moves being cross country since the 90s. The book
had to be in my 30' sailboat that I had purchased as my future One of the beautiful tasting rooms we visited.
retirement home. It currently stood on dry land and served as a
storage locker. It was crammed with cross country skis, jackets,
bicycles and box after box of books that I could never bear to part with.
I called a friend. She owned “the beast,” a large SUV that could carry massive
amounts of just
about anything. She is also the best old school cook that I have ever met in
my life and her true passion is the kitchen. Yes, she was up to the adventure
of driving to the lake and unloading the books. She was also dying to get her
hands on the dripple recipe so she could do what she does best, experiment in
It was an unusually warm November day when we drove to the boat. As we unloaded boxes of books the temperature started dropping like a rock, then we saw the flakes. By the time the last box had been loaded into the beast the snow was swirling around us in a white out type condition. There was no way that we could drive home in this storm. We could spend the night, however, The majority of the lake motels were closed for the season.
Remembering that a friend of mine had a lake house about 15 miles away, I dialed his number to see if there was any way we could spend the night. Yes, the lake house was made available to us. It took us an hour to make the drive and another 45 minutes to unload the boxes of books into the house. The owner of the lake house made supper while my friend and I poured through the contents of the boxes. The last box contained the book. Like a madwoman I clutched the book and held it upside down by the spine. I shook the book like a terrier shaking a prize toy. The thank you note to R drifted out of the book and now lay at my feet. With trembling hands I picked up the envelope and opened it. I had the long awaited dripple recipe in my possession, once again.
I suddenly felt exhausted after the long day's work and the end result of finding the long lost dripple recipe. My friend took the envelope and read the recipe. I curled up on the couch to take a nap. In my dream I had been magically transported to Sonoma County during the wine harvest, with the air inundated with the fragrance of wine. I opened my eyes I was not in Sonoma anymore Toto but I was still surrounded by this wonderful smell. As I sat up my friend and John, the owner of the lake house, were standing in the kitchen stirring the contents of a large soup pot on the stove.
John looked over at me and said in his thick southern drawl, "Hey darlin' this "drizzle" is perdy gud stuff."
"Drizzle?" I asked.
My friend laughed and said, “Oh Carol the p's are really z's."
John replied, “Who wants to eat dripple when y'all can eat drizzle? 'Ya know this drizzle is so gud I think y'all 'ot to bottle this stuff."
And so began the Get Drizzled legacy--hook, line and sinker.