Napa: More Than What’s in the Glass

Napa is easy to write about.

You can write about the Cabernet. The scores. The Michelin-starred restaurants. The spectacular estates. You can write about which winery to visit, which bottle to buy, and which vintage got 100 points.

But after visiting Napa enough times, I’ve realized those aren’t necessarily the things I remember.

I remember the people. The conversations. The unexpected pour. The bottle someone opened that they probably didn’t have to. The wine I tasted years ago that I can still somehow taste in my mind.

Somewhere along the way, Napa stopped being just a wine destination for me. It became a collection of memories.

I’ve been fortunate to collect quite a few.

At Alpha Omega, tasting their futures was one of them. There is something fascinating about tasting a wine that hasn’t been released yet, still evolving in the barrel, without a score or reputation telling you what to expect. It’s a small glimpse into what the winemaker believes that wine might eventually become.

At Larkmead, that wine for me was The LARK. It’s the kind of bottle you buy, put away, and tell yourself you’re saving for the right occasion. I still believe some wines deserve that treatment, although I’m increasingly less certain we need to wait for an occasion to open them.

Nickel & Nickel takes you in another direction altogether. Their focus on single-vineyard Cabernet makes it possible to taste how much a particular piece of Napa can matter. Martin Stelling and Dragonfly remain two of my favorites, particularly when someone is generous enough to include them in a tasting.

And generosity, I’ve learned, is often part of the Napa experience.

You may arrive expecting a particular tasting and someone decides to pour something else. A conversation starts. Another bottle appears. The schedule becomes a little less important.

Sometimes the surprise is something you weren’t even looking for.

I’m not someone who normally goes searching for dessert wine, yet Dolce at Far Niente is one I still remember. The 22-karat-gold-plated bottle gets your attention, but the wine earns it. Far Niente itself is beautiful, and discovering a collection of vintage cars hidden away in the barn somehow fits perfectly into the experience.

Napa also has a way of constantly reminding you how much history sits behind all this polish.

At Château Montelena, that history is impossible to ignore. Its 1973 Chardonnay became part of wine history at the 1976 Judgment of Paris, helping change how the world viewed California wine. Today you can walk through the stone château and gardens knowing that a wine made here once helped rewrite the rules.

Inglenook carries its history differently. The estate feels almost cinematic—which is perhaps appropriate given Francis Ford Coppola’s stewardship of it. There is movie memorabilia, beautiful grounds and plenty to explore, but the reason I return is much simpler: Rubicon. It’s one of those wines that can make you stop analyzing what’s in the glass and simply enjoy it.

And then there are places where not much needs to happen at all.

One of my favorite Napa experiences is simply sitting outside at Joseph Phelps, looking across the vineyards with a glass of Cabernet in front of me. If that glass happens to contain Insignia, even better.

That’s Napa too.

Looking back, what strikes me is how different these experiences are. A wine that isn’t finished yet. A bottle you save for years. Two Cabernets grown in different vineyards. A dessert wine you didn’t expect to like. A Chardonnay that changed wine history. A glass of Rubicon. A quiet afternoon overlooking a vineyard.

On paper, they don’t have much in common.

But somehow, Napa connects them.

And I think that’s what I’ve come to appreciate most about this place. Beneath the scores, famous names, beautiful estates and extraordinary wines is something much simpler.

People grow the grapes. People make the wine. People decide to open the extra bottle. And we usually experience it with other people.

Years later, you may forget the tasting notes. You may forget the score. You may even forget the vintage.

But you remember who was sitting next to you.

You remember the conversation.

You remember how the place made you feel.

And perhaps that’s the real reason we keep opening bottles.

Not simply to taste wine.

But to make memories.