There's a restaurant we all have where, no matter the wrenches life throws directly between your eyes, nothing else seems to matter but the plate of food in front of you.
For me — and hopefully many others — that place is Wool Growers, a French Basque restaurant in Los Banos, California, where meals are served in traditional Euskaldun family style.
One large, open room. Long tables, seated next to strangers. You pick out your entrée, and they'll bring out the rest. It's heavy. You may never want to eat again. The sides never stop. You might not even make it to your entrée.
First, they bring out fresh bread with soft butter along with the house wine. Soon after, the server carries out four more large plates: beans, vegetable soup, drenched salad, and potato salad. It's a requirement to grab two spoonfuls of beans and toss them into your own bowl of vegetable soup.
Next is a lamb stew with a side of perfectly done French fries. The lamb falls off the bone the moment you lift it from the bowl. The vegetables in the stew are soft and stand on their own, with strong, hearty flavors.
You try to keep up with the plates flying around your table. You can barely see the red and white checkered tablecloth through the mountain of food around you. It's a shame to waste any of it. It's not the same when you take it home for later.
Finally, the main course arrives. This time, you're not sharing. This was your decision. For me, I'll only order the lamb chop. It's simple. Four large chops. Garnished with garlic and pepper. Always cooked medium.
By the time they bring the cup of ice cream, the only room in your body is your esophagus.
This place is special. It's a staple of the Los Banos community. Generations of Euskaldun made this establishment their home away from home. The bar detached from the main dining hall has seen many days of great men speak in a dying tongue. The now-closed hotel attached has been the site where many of our parents were likely conceived.
The walls may not have the yellow tint anymore, but the feeling is there.
As the original Michelin Guide once intended — long before it became a pissing contest for restaurant investor egos — this is a place worth planning your trip around, not just a detour.
It’s probably for the best I live four hundred miles away — any closer, and I’d have gout by now.
