Napa Valley

There is honey that says in a squeaky little mousey voice, "I'm syrupy sweet, therefore I'm honey." Then there is honey that says, in the sultry deep sonorous tones of a Luther Vandross, "Listen, brother. Lemme show you what real honey tastes like." Marshall's Farm Honey, in a little out of the way spot on the road to Napa Valley, is the second kind of honey.

Their natural style—they have other kinds—is raw and unfiltered. When it crystalizes you can spoon it out of the jar and it's almost like soft honey candy. You warm it up and it spreads on, gracing whatever it's on.

We discovered Marshall's earlier this summer when, on a birthday splurge, we treated ourselves to a dinner for two at Ad Hoc, the latest outpost in Thomas Keller's culinary empire. After the spare ribs came the cheese course, with candied walnuts and Marshall's, which is made not that far from our home. Actually no, they don't "make" honey there. When we stopped by their farm one of their people told us, "No, we don't make it. We steal it from the bees." Such grand wondrous larceny!