2013— St. Francis’ opus, if you would— one of its grandest of grand efforts, Bordeaux spectrum. A certain galaxy speaking from its delicious faultline, reminding me why I’m with wine. This offering actuates the poetic and demanding demeanor you expect from Bordeaux blends. I know, I’m biased. But this bottle’s its own space, its own place and perforation through time continuums. Mostly Cabernet, I think, then mettled with some of the other Bordeauxs. Could call my sister to get the exact blend but I’d rather not and just sip, let it speak to me— this wine reminds me of why I started writing about wine in the first place, why I started to blend my literary terrestrial with cet oenological peripatetic where I live. This contained savory code appeals not just to Meritage chasers, but to any wine lover or roamer or gawker seeking something that perforates their expectations, that teaches them, that electrifies them in ways that delightfully disturbs the way they encounter any new wine going forward. It’s obvious, my tie to this mammoth producer in Kenwood, but believe it or not I’m object in this step-set. And what I get, a contained and convincing red blend. An anthem, singing to all my receptors and analytical receptions. Just finished last glass. One more before bed. The smoke and cherry, chocolate dark atop espresso powder and power, just too inexorable to dismiss. St. Francis winery never speaks. Rather, demonstration and tangibility is its culture. And I’m here, before nightcap, convinced. I’m instructed on Bordeaux amalgamation and attitude— seeing myself in some vineyard, Kenwood or the Left Bank. What do I do? Glass, another. Meditate, alongside my Patron Saint. More I let it sit, after glass final poured, I see more tenacity and character, palate rhetoric and vocality. The wine now not only reminds but instructs me to play with time, to not just enjoy, but purposefully enjoy and understand what I’m sipping.