Summary: Dan Berger reflects on why cabernet sauvignon often becomes more compelling with age, and why 20 years can be a useful moment to start opening serious bottles — sometimes with the lesson that patience could still be rewarded. He points to the 2005 and 2006 California vintages as examples of years that delivered structure, slightly higher acidity and more mineral character, in part because harvest sugars (and resulting alcohol) tended to be lower. He cautions that very ripe, high-alcohol styles can blur varietal and regional distinctions and undermine balance over time. He also notes that slower sales have led some wineries to quietly offer older “library” wines to customers who ask.
NAPA VALLEY, Calif. — It has long been known, particularly in Bordeaux, that cabernet sauvignon-based red wines — notably those made from high-quality districts by talented winemakers — can age for a long time. Some are structured so they will go 30 years or more.
Although changes in style can alter this concept, one thing is clear: Cabernet is so resilient a grape that almost all higher-quality versions will display far more interesting characteristics at age 10 than they do the day they are released. In fact, opening some of these wines at age 20 may actually reveal that the wine would’ve been better had the cork-puller waited another decade.
Why 20 Years Matters
My belief in 20 years as a good point to start tasting cabernet is rooted in a long history of wine evaluation. Recently I realized that we’re 20 years from two of the best vintages in recent memory, 2005 and 2006. Both produced cabernets that were destined to develop beautifully.
Both years were uneventful in terms of weather impacts. Both had the proper conditions so that most cabernets would have the structures to develop over time. The 2006 vintage, in particular, allowed for production of longer-aging cabs, which I noted when they were released. I called most of them “immature,” “backward” and “tight.”
“Cabernet is so resilient a grape that almost all higher-quality versions will display far more interesting characteristics at age 10 than they do the day they are released.”
Both ’05 and ’06 allowed for wines with a bit more of the mineral-y character that soil contributes. Acid levels were slightly higher than in many past vintages.
A key to all of this is that, on average, sugar levels were lower at harvest for almost all grape varieties, leading to better balanced wines with slightly lower alcohol levels — significantly lower in some cases.
Why is all this a good thing? After all, some reviewers give better ratings to bigger wines; “smaller” wines usually get lower points.
For those tired of the hugeness that masquerades as greatness in almost all our red wines, the message is that sometimes less is actually more.
Big Red Wines
I am probably the strongest proponent of this belief. Some readers may tire of my steady drumbeat in my quest for delicacy, harmony and balance in all wines. But that’s the way I live. And I certainly understand that some people (most, actually) do not agree with this view; some may think I am wrong. But I have been tasting cabernet professionally for more than 50 years and some of the most exciting wines were not particularly ostentatious when they came out.
I believe most lovers of Big Red Wines are misguided. Can you really drink pitch-black 16%-alcohol, sweet zinfandels? I know how seductive these wines can be to some people. Yes, temptresses are out there. I must have worn my anti-kryptonite suit all these years to be immune from the Circes who attempt to woo me, to no avail.
I have rarely been as insistent on a particular point as I am about bigness and the resulting lack of structure that we see so widely offered in expensive, expansive wines today. Indeed, my latest man-of-La Mancha windmill quest far supersedes my once-insistent complaint about excessive oak.
I’m willing to accept some smoke, toast, mocha, caramel, vanilla, chocolate or whatever else this oak mania is called in the Vinous Dictionary of Newbie Buzzwords. But oafishness? Nay. I prefer less, not more.
For more than 30 years I have stated my desire for better structure in wines. But I see little happening to benefit balance in red wines. In fact, quite the opposite. This includes some of my favorite European wines, which are now being made to appeal more to novices — an appalling turn of events.
A few Pollyannas have written to me saying, in effect, “Hey, cheer up! Winemakers are lightening up on the alcohol, on the oak, and they are making a more balanced wine, and they are seeking better harmony.”
Uh, well, I still don’t see it.
Today’s word puzzle:
Challenge your vocabulary with this week’s mystery word. Submit your answer in the poll and check the bottom of the page for the correct answer.
Acidity, pH and the Problem With “Goo”
Were it not for the intervention of Mother Nature in vintages like 2005 and 2006, we’d all be awash in yet more of this alcoholic goo they still call table wine. For more than a decade I have relied on years like 2005 and 2006 in California to deliver a bit more of the grace that has been missing from the vast majority of wines, especially pricey ones. (And remember the cab greatness of 1995 and 1998?)
A few winemakers may have tried to compromise the acidity levels in 2005 and 2006. Those are people who have little faith that the American consumer could ever understand a crisp wine.
Huge, soft red wines now contaminate the shelves of otherwise blameless wine merchants because it is clear that a new subset of wine drinkers — otherwise known as the Powerhouse Wine Seekers of America — demands these sorts of klutz wines. (The PWSA is the unofficial club of which almost all newcomers who buy wines by scores seem to be automatic members.)
Numerous winemakers believe firmly in the notion that a wine without “big” flavors is somehow less desirable and thus wimpy. These are winemakers who believe it to be their life’s mission to redact wimpiness by delivering only max flavors concerned — the maxer the better.
I now see that the bigger a wine is, the wimpier it is! I see it this way: The bigger the wine, the more alcohol it typically contains. And the more alcohol a wine has, the less acidity it usually has. High-alcohol wines need more acid, not less, and they need a lower pH to balance the “sweet” taste of the alcohol. But with high-alcohol wines, we almost always get a higher pH, not a lower one.
As I was writing this essay, a small, 30-year-old Napa Valley winery contacted me and asked me if I wanted to try one of its wines. The winery’s website said that the cab displayed regional character, akin to terroir. I requested the current release’s alcohol, acid and pH. The tech sheet showed that the alcohol was 15.5% and the pH was 3.94. This was a BRW.
Terroir vs. Intervention
The bigger the wine, the more a consumer must wade through aromas and flavors of alcohol, which are far less complex than the more mineral-y, earth-bound, herb-laced wines that are more a reflection of their soil than they are of the hand of a human. Humans do not make wine; grapes do.
Balanced wines reflect the earth-y notes, the acidic crispness, the herbs, the complexity. Such wines work better with food. They often display terroir and/or the grape variety. Or both. The bigger the wine, the less that terroir plays a role.
With BRW it’s harder to decide what is regional, what is varietal and what reflects the intervention of humans. And thus the bigger the wine, the wimpier it is: Wimpiness, sameness and simplicity are siblings!
In the quest to avoid what is seen as wimpiness, winemakers often race past that sublime point where it’s possible to make distinctiveness and regionality (and age-worthiness) a positive factor. Cabernet sauvignon is thus usually harvested so late the resulting wines taste similar to prune juice.
Grab a high-alc cab and a high-alc syrah. Try them side-by-side. They seem similar; it’s hard to define which has varietal character. And the regional influence is negligible.
This sameness between two big wines that are made from differing varietals makes them similar to one another and thus far more simplistic — and thus wimpy! Overly concentrated red wines more often than not bore me and lead me to this conclusion: Overt intensity = dullness and a lack of personality.
What I Reach For Instead
That’s why I seek crisp, dry rosé wines; gamay noirs from Oregon; Italian reds (acid!); or many European alternatives (i.e., Chinon, Langhe nebbiolo, nero d’Avola). There are dozens of these kinds of wines; they are usually “obscure.” And can be simply fascinating. And beneficially, they are usually far more reasonably priced.
I also look for “classical” versions of cabernet as well as barbera, sangiovese, carménère, cabernet Franc, gamay noir, blaufrankisch, grenache, carignane and dozens of other less-mainstream wines — for which a high number in a magazine isn’t a mandatory achievement, or even likely. I like those wines because they’re more likely to deliver captivating distinctiveness — and they work with my meal.
You may conclude that I consume only simple wines. But I firmly believe great wine reflects a human’s ability to “read” the grapevine, to “feel” the soil and then make an annual decision about what direction is best for each load of grapes that is harvested — decisions that give the winemaker maximum flexibility to deal with Mother Nature’s whims.
It’s like a quarterback who has just dropped back, quickly assessing what the defense has thrown at him, then calling an audible or making a split-second decision that will affect the other 23 players, one way or another.
So, yes, I adore great wine. And I am frequently in agreement with the classical styles that have been with us for centuries and have evolved in ways that would take decades to explain. But in many cases, it comes down to what the producer knows about his or her property, the grapevines and the manner in which greatness can be exemplified.
Great winemakers must decide how to make a table wine into a classic that delivers the harmony that not only shows regional character, but also has the structure to work with food.
This theory is anti-formulaic. Yet many domestic winemakers cleave to formulas. What I have seen over decades is formulation creeping into winemaking that seeks a specific Brix level irrespective of what the soil and the plants have to say about it from year to year.
I see a regime used to convert the grape juice into a bottled product that ignores some of the basic precepts about how the product will be used. Will it be aged? If so, for how long? If not, what’s in the wine to allow it to be enjoyed early on? Does it go with food or is it best sipped alone?
A Final Note on Library Bottles
With almost nothing selling these days, many wineries in California and elsewhere have decided to begin selling some of their old cellar treasures. Tasting rooms don’t frequently advertise this because they are hoping to sell the current vintage. But in many cases, tasting room personnel have a small list of wines that may well be for sale to consumers who ask about library selections.
As mentioned above, my choice would be either 2005 or 2006. I was not particularly enamored of the 2004s, some of which tended to be a little lacking in balance. Nor was I particularly fond of the 2007 red wines, some of which turned out to be a little low in acidity and not as long-lived.
Although the 2011 cabernets are some of my favorites of all time because it was one of the coolest years in the last 50, buying these wines could be risky if the wine started out to be slightly green. However, herbaceous-ness is a characteristic that I have found often will “age out” of the wine and which now, 14 years on, may be gone from any wine that originally had it.
When a wine comes along with 15.5% or 16% alcohol, or low acidity or high pH, I begin seeing a sameness that I equate to simplicity. Which to me is an ironic twist. I may be the first member of a society that has yet to be founded: The Less Is More Club.
—
Dan Berger has been writing about wine since 1975.
Wine Discovery:
2022 Trefethen Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa Valley (Oak Knoll) ($75): The 2022 vintage in Napa was cool until a heat wave affected later-harvested cabernet. In many cases, earlier-harvested varieties were already in, which allowed wineries to pick cabernet a bit sooner and sidestep some of the later heat. Since Oak Knoll is among the cooler mid-valley areas, Trefethen typically delivers a balanced cabernet.
This vintage, at just 13.8% alcohol, is a typically impressive wine from this excellent house. After a two-hour decant, it shows attractive bay leaf and delicate herb-spice notes. A trace of cassis on the palate brings balance and moderate richness, with not a hint of excessive ripeness. Twenty-four hours later, the wine is even better, with more expansive fruit and only a faint trace of oak. That moderate alcohol — a hallmark of this “regular” bottling — keeps it in the short list of remaining “Napa Classic” styles in the valley. As a comparison, I opened the 2021 Trefethen Cabernet (13.9%); the extra year in bottle adds a bit more depth and complexity. Either is worth drinking soon — or aging another decade or two. Older versions are a prize.
Today’s Polls:
Recent Poll Results:
In Dan Berger’s essay “Wine Chronicles: A Question of Terroir,” he revisited Napa Valley’s long-running debate over the Rutherford Bench and “Rutherford Dust,” arguing that modern winemaking choices have often prioritized power, alcohol and uniformity over site character. The reader polls echo that tension: Most respondents believe higher alcohol reduces Napa cabernet’s sense of place, and when choosing bottles they lean more toward producer brand and vineyard cues than sub-appellation alone. Together, the results suggest strong reader interest in terroir expression even as branding and style continue to shape buying decisions.
Question: What does the word "alluvium" mean?
Summary: Mystery word definition results. The correct answer is “Sediment laid by flowing water” and a strong majority selected it (78% of 77 respondents). Smaller shares chose “Weathered volcanic bedrock” (12%) while wind-deposited surface dust, organic matter in topsoil and crushed stone used in drainage each received 5% or less. Total responses: 77.
Question: High alcohol levels reduce Napa cabernet’s sense of place.
Summary: Views on alcohol levels and terroir expression. Nearly all respondents agree, with 54% strongly agreeing and 37% agreeing. Only 8% disagree, 2% are neutral/unsure and 0% strongly disagree. Total responses: 63.
Question: When buying Napa cabernet, which label detail matters most?
Summary: What readers prioritize on labels. Producer brand leads at 30% followed by specific vineyard at 23%. Price under $75 accounts for 18%, sub-appellation name for 16% and vintage year for 13%. Total responses: 56.
Question: Which order best reflects how you choose Napa cabernet? Vyd = vineyard, Maker = winemaker
Summary: Purchase decision sequencing preferences. The most common approach is Winery>Price>AVA>Vyd>Maker (37%). Price>Winery>AVA>Vyd>Maker and Vyd>AVA>Winery>Maker>Price tie at 21% each, AVA>Vyd>Winery>Maker>Price follows at 17% and Maker>Winery>AVA>Vyd>Price is least chosen at 4%. Total responses: 52.
This Week's Word Challenge Reveal:
The correct answer is B: “Mediterranean scrubland.”
Garrigue refers to the low, aromatic scrubland typical of southern France and other Mediterranean regions, characterized by thyme, rosemary, lavender and hardy, drought-tolerant plants growing on limestone soils. In wine writing, the word often describes the herbal, resinous, sun-warmed aromas associated with wines from regions such as the southern Rhône. For Napa readers, it offers a useful parallel — our own dry hillsides and chaparral landscapes can similarly influence the sensory character of wines grown nearby.
The term comes from the Provençal word “garriga,” meaning scrub or wasteland, derived from a pre-Roman root referring to oak. It entered French in the 19th century as a botanical and geographic term and later migrated into wine vocabulary as critics sought language to describe the distinctive herbal notes of Mediterranean terroir.
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I don’t buy library wines anymore. I‘ve stocked enough in my cellar so that I can routinely dip into wines of 20-50 years age. I enjoy this but sometimes there’s some real misses. It’s a risk. This is not to say people shouldn’t buy library wines because they should when they’re offered. I’m one that marches to Dan’s drumbeat. That’s why I’m a Francophile. I prefer to pair wine with my meals and not for sport.