Napa Insider

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Napa's Ever-Changing Restaurant Row

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Louisa Hufstader
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Thomas “Needs No Introduction” Keller appears to have scotched, at least for now, the idea of moving into a nearby Main Street location—the derelict Fagiani’s bar, which has been shuttered since 1974 after its bartender, Anita Andrews, was found raped and murdered by an unknown attacker. As neighboring buildings have been renovated and new construction rises, Fagiani’s has remained the haunted house of downtown Napa—an eyesore to many locals, but an object of fascination for even more.

Andrews’ sister, Muriel Fagiani, obstinately held on to the landmark property for more than three decades before agreeing this year to sell it to a couple from her downtown Napa neighborhood. It made a stir in town: Fagiani’s, sold! I won’t easily forget the day, some five years earlier, when I’d bumped into Muriel as she was leading a small group into the building for a rare tour. Of course, I tagged along—cursing myself for not having my microphone and recorder in my purse—as she unlocked the padlock on the front double doors and we followed her reverently into a life-sized time capsule from Napa’s blue-collar past.

Here, on the wall in dim light, hung deer heads from game shot by Fagiani’s uncle; there, on the dusty counter, stood glass ashtrays as if still waiting for butts. On the floor stood the car-sized neon sign that once adorned the roof, with its martini glass that glowed, but did not flash—Fagiani and Andrews’ papa loved neon, but within the bounds of good taste.

This was not a nightclub: It was a watering hole, a place for the working men of Napa to go for a jolt after their shifts at Basalt, Kaiser or Mare Island. Eventually, Fagiani says, a few small tables were added so women wouldn’t have to stand at the bar. I could see them; I could almost hear the jukebox playing “Blue Velvet.”

As she led us past the back room devoted to “off-license” liquor sales, Fagiani gestured to a bottle of Cold Duck, veiled in the dust of decades. “’Nita and I were saving that for a special occasion,” she said. “Now, there it sits.”

The Fagiani building, which includes the first-floor bar, off-license shop and a second-story meeting room with a vaulted ceiling and tall windows overlooking Veterans Memorial Park, needs extensive renovations and earthquake retrofitting; losing Keller as a tenant will surely make the prospect more challenging for the new owners. But after hibernating for nearly 35 years, Fagiani’s is bound to have a little trouble waking up. Will it be Rip van Winkle or “Sleeper”? Watch this space.

The secret life of beans

Keller may be staying off Main Street for now, but his tendrils are reaching southward: He’s written a gracious, two-page preface to Marin-bred Napan Steve Sando’s exuberant new Chronicle Books cookbook, Heirloom Beans: Great Recipes for Dips and Spreads, Soups and Stews, Salads and Salsas, and Much More from Rancho Gordo. Even the subtitle is over the top, as befits the enthusiasm of this bean evangelist I’ve enjoyed knowing for more than five years. You may have seen him earlier this century at farmers markets around the Bay Area; today, with a thriving wholesale/retail business and more books in the pipeline, he’s usually either on the road or stuck in his warehouse office in north Napa, but you may be able to catch him at book signings this month.

Sando engages Central Valley farmers to grow dozens of old-fashioned varieties of dried beans from the New World, with names like “Jacob’s Cattle,” “Good Mother Stallard” and “Yellow Indian Woman.” He brings the beans to market as soon as they’re ready, as opposed to mass producers whose beans, at supermarkets, can be up to 10 years old. The difference is perceptible: Sando’s beans require less soaking and render a delicious pot liquor that’s a shame to drain.

Sando travels to Mexico several times a year in search of new recipes and ingredients, and his cookbook offers a mouth-watering tour of kitchens both south and north of the border—including his own, in rural Napa, where he cooks his beans in a clay pot over a flame. Every recipe, whether from a restaurant chef like Kimball Jones of Farm at the Carneros Inn or from a taco truck in Vallejo, is accompanied by an introduction in Sando’s trademark, breakneck style: “As a self-described bean freak, I think I hit a high C when I discovered enfrijoladas…When in doubt, poach a chicken…Sausages and legumes are a marriage made in heaven, but happily available locally.”

A confident voice in this time of economic uncertainty, Sando encourages us to eat well without breaking the bank. His recipes call for affordable ingredients and common-sense utensils—no special trips to the kitchen store. (Ham hocks? Unnecessary, with good legumes.) Even more humbly: It’s a paperback. Two-plus years ago, when Sando got the contract for this book, who could have expected we’d all be eating beans this winter? But as long as we are—this is the cookbook to make it a gourmet meal every time.