Ontario International Airport, Terminal 2

The Set Up

The project continues to progress and the people and things seem to be coming together. One of the impending and significant challenges self resolved which I will take as a win. With this road block having been removed I think the opportunity for others personal growth will be significant and given that the people who stand the benefit the most are early in the careers it feels like a bigger win than normal. These are the thoughts on my mind as I drive back out to Ontario International Airport.

As I step on to the shuttle headed from the rental car return to the airport, I think I recognize this driver. I can’t be sure but this might be the Tour Bus Shuttle Driver. My associate is off doing other things and with no distractions, if this is the Tour Bus Shuttle Driver, I am going to learn about the hobos and how they came to overrun a winery. Pulling away from curb, the driver tests the microphone, then starts to give a little history lesson about the area and points of interest along the way. By god, it is the Tour Bus Shuttle Driver.

Before Napa and Sonoma, Greater Los Angeles was the largest wine producing region in the state. Nestled up against the snow covered peaks, in what is now the modern metropolis of Ontario, California, there were several large wineries. The winery that is the topic of the tour exceeded 8,000 acres of planted land. Snow pack in these mountains was more significant in those days and the melt water was used for irrigation. Then the people came in droves, they figured out new ways to get water to fields, and the wine business moved north. I STILL do not know the name of the winery. One of the other passengers coughed or something and I missed it. We are getting to the good part though. It turns out that because Ontario was so far from the rest of civilization (i.e. the wine drinking customers), the owner of this winery used to use the railroad to ship his product to the population centers for distribution. The hobos used the rail lines to travel to and fro, all the while enjoying a carefree existence. Once the hobos discovered the little slice of heaven provided by the winery and its surroundings they started arriving in bunches, via the railroad naturally. It is sort of a chicken and the egg situation but I gather that the hobos reached a critical mass at the same time as winds of change were blowing in the wine industry in this corner of California, ultimately resulting in the winery going out of business. Whether one caused the other seems doubtful, I think it is just a happy coincidence.

I feel nearly complete having a greater understanding of the hobos and the winery. I bound into the airport, check the bag and head to the CLEAR kiosk. Everything goes smoothly as I have come to expect at this airport, I get escorted past no one to the front of what would be the security line if there was one. Then something funny happens. I’m TSA Pre so I have been handed a card to identify me as someone special, but I cannot make it through the metal detector. I tried like 5 times, each time a new piece of metal would be found, put in its own special container and run through the scanner. The guy manning the detector actually said “You have to be able to walk through this without it making any noise before I can let you pass.” At this point, I’m the only one laughing. The final piece of metal I had to discard before the metal detector would stop beeping was my watch, which is mostly plastic I think.

Finally, I get through security. I know what comes next but in a state of denial as I put my belt back on I am hoping to find some new eatery or watering hole. No such luck. It is late enough that Wolfgang Puck’s Pizza is closing, however, it is not late enough for the Aspire Lounge to be open. The Vending Machine Ramen still does not serve beer nor is there anyplace to sit and eat it. I think I have ordered a brisket torta for dinner on the plane so its really only liquid refreshment that I am in need of. That leaves me with my only option, my current home away from home, The Cross Grain Brewhouse.

The joint is pretty busy tonight, there is only one table, a high top, to the bartenders left of where I normally have sat. It is good enough for me, I’m happy to have found anything at all. The local hockey club has a game that is streaming through my lap top and I have ordered an always reliable Sculpin IPA. Two or three beers later the team is putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece and regrettably I have started to think about food from the bar.

The Selection

I can’t.

OK, fine, I’d like an order of fries with tartar sauce on the side for dipping.

The Presentation

It was basically just like this picture from a few weeks ago. Once frozen potatoes, now having been fried, are in a brown box with a plastic ramekin of tartar sauce tossed on top for dipping.

The Bites

I was partially drunk at the time, they were fries, I was someone who couldn’t wait for dinner, so we made a match. Side note on the tartar sauce – it was pretty good. It had to come out of a package of some kind, I would be shocked to learn it was scratch made, but pretty good nonetheless.

The Score

I had seen my server before on other visits but had never been taken care of by her. I should have gotten her name because of all of my visits to this bar she is the only person that gave me the impression they cared about me or whether or not I was having a good time. Kudos to this person, she was great.

I want to reiterate that the Ontario Airport is by far the most convenient airport to the project I’m working on but I have had about all I can handle from the Cross Grain Brewhouse. This bar is not good enough to be good but it’s also not bad enough to be good. It is a bar wallowing in mediocrity. I have booked my next trip in and out of John Wayne in Santa Ana to give us something new to talk about. I will look forward to a change of scenery and hopefully some wonderful hospitality.