Sone Brewery

The tire pressure light in the car went on yesterday (one week after we got four brand new tires) so OilMan and my brother went off this morning to Scarappy's, the local tire store. Lady Findhorn and His Lordship will recall a similar episode on our epic trip to the Pacific Northwest, when a nail was found in the tire. However, Scrappy couldn't find anything wrong with the tires. I remembered that every time anyone works on the car this light goes on afterward, so we're choosing to ignore it. Makes it a bit difficult if something actually does go wrong with the tire....The more labor saving devices we have, the more time we spend tending to them!

After a slow start this morning, we finally decided to drive to Escondido to the Stone Brewery for lunch and some beer. If OilMan is to be believed, buying a glass of Stone Arrogant Bastard Ale is somewhat akin to finding the Holy Grail. The high altar of Arrogant Bastard is a brand new concrete building with a huge dining room, a beer garden, indoor and outdoor bars, and huge rocks, er, stones, everywhere (including a wall of the very same pebbles we are having installed in our bathroom. And nary a glass of wine to be seen. We have entered the Land of Artisan Breweries. Not a beer drinker myself, I enjoyed a 40z. tasting glass, but can't understand how anyone can manage a pint or two.

On the way home we we went to a Mexican meat market in search of carne asada. It was difficult to tell much from the humble stucco building with a barely recognizable effigy of a black and white cow in front (especially since there were three children sitting on its back) and a pockmarked parking lot which had us hoping that Scrappy was right about the tires. While OilMan and Rick ventured inside, Meg, her mother and I sat in the car and watched a steady stream of people going in. Tacos for dinner tonight.

Ozzie, noting whiffs of Arrogant Bastard, felt justifiably neglected when we got home, but has settled down after a treat of his own--a brisk swim in the pool.