2016 Cabernet Sauvignon

Product notes

An Ode to Our Cabernet Sauvignon

"Growing up, my grandfather owned a blacksmith shop just South of Fresno, where it would grow so hot in the summers you'd swear the devil was in there, making repairs to his pitchfork. The town was so small you could throw a stone from one side to the other and it was only big enough for one of everything. There was one barber and one cobbler and one carpenter and one plumber and one gravedigger and one dentist and one doctor and, of course, one blacksmith. And, everyone offered everyone a fair price because the barber knew he'd one day need a new pair of shoes and the cobbler knew he'd one day need some work done on the floor his shoes had worn out and the carpenter knew he'd one day have a home with a clogged toilet and the plumber knew he'd one day run out of time and the gravedigger knew he'd one day need a dentist to repair the caps of his teeth, cracked, from the grinning and bearing that comes with moving copious amounts of dirt and so on. After school, I would run down to my grandfather's blacksmith shop where he had a small fridge he'd load up with colas. This was forever ago, mind you, back when the colas came housed in cold glass bottles and tasted a hell of a lot better. I'd sip and I'd sip and I'd sip and I'd get this feeling in my chest on those hot days sippin' those colas, watching my grandfather throw down a 25 lb hammer and all of gravity atop the face of some stubborn piece of steel refusing to budge; feeling this pounding in my chest the same way you do a good Cabernet Sauvignon when paired with a good dinner, after a good day of work."

• Vegan
• 108 cases produced

Production notes

Underneath the cork.

Red. But, more red than red. Ruby red. Garnet red. Red like you're staring into the eye of a gem. Lean in, gems shouldn't smell this decadent. Cola. Vanilla. Mocha. Is that, leather? Lean in, gems shouldn't taste this rich. Round. Robust. Full. As if you're biting into a red fruit whose genius you can't place a finger on. Don't try. Keep sipping. Sipping. Sipping. Gone. No more red. Save for the red of your lips tattooed to the rim of your lonely wine glass. Lonely. Lonely. Pour more red.