Day 4 in Wine Country: Frank Family Vineyards, Napa

Let me just begin by giving you a name: Jeff Senelick. If you are planning a trip to Napa, call him at (707) 942-0859 for recommendations. I will. If you are considering purchasing a Frank Family Vineyards wine, also call this number. The website does not have the most current information.

Jeff was expecting us. When he found out that we were the ones that inquired from Pinot Blanc a day earlier, he welcomed us, and announced, "I am going to ruin your day." He did. He blew my mind.

First, he insisted that we try their champagne. "Ugh," I thought, "Let's get to that cab already." I was pleasantly surprised. Unlike the pedestrian, low-ball sparkling wines we tried at Korbel, the Frank champagnes were, to follow a theme, revelatory. The Blanc De Blancs was dry and heady. Then we tried one that I regret to say I've forgotten the name of, but I haven't forgotten the taste. Dosaged with cognac, it had an herbaceous quality, faintly reminiscent of a good reposado tequila, actually—think Oro Azul. I know it sounds weird, but it was the most unique champagne I've ever tasted, and that was not the last of the hyperbole I had in store. Next, we tried the Champagne Rouge, a Pinot Noir champagne that actually works. If you like Pinot, you'll appreciate the delicate aroma and flavor of this complex, yet totally fun sparkler. Delicate, but no wallflower, it was a fascinating elixir. We couldn't try the Blanc de Noirs, as there were only 8 cases left, and those only available at the winery.

Then we went into another room, and were force-fed the Frank Family Vineyards 2004 Chardonnay. This was all highly unusual, since we'd been refusing whites for the past dozen wineries. But Jeff said we couldn't try the reds if we didn't try the Chard. Okay, Jeff, you're the boss. He pointed out that there was something different about this Chard, and challenged us to identify it. Hell if we knew. Ugly amber bottle? Check. Piss color? Check. Old ladies want to taste it? One had just come in saying she only tasted whites (Jeff complied—bastard). But then Jeff gave up and told us—it wasn't chilled! It was just sitting on the counter at room temperature. Jeff said the only reason you would chill a Chard would be if you were trying to mask something in the flavor. He told us to try it at room temperature, and we did (was there a choice?). And to be honest, despite its being a Chardonnay, it was complex, brooding, very creamy, not-too-oakey, not-too-crisp, and really quite good. Will Chard ever be our thing? Absolutely not. But we respected this wine.

Next, finally, we got into reds. We tried a solid Sangiovese, a great Zinfandel (another "panties off" Zin), and finally, the 2001 Napa Cabernet Sauvignon, the one we'd tasted at Pinot Blanc the day before. I was ready to buy a case at that moment.

"But wait," Jeff said, "I still have three better wines."

I'd believe it when I tasted it. Next he poured the 2000 Rutherford Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon. I tasted, then took my glass outside and wept. This was the best thing that had ever passed my lips. All of my notions of good wine went out the window. This $65 bottle kicked every other wine that we'd tried straight in the patootie. I was devastated. I momentarily thought about trying to return every bottle we'd bought until that point. I returned to the tasting room, located in the back of the most humble cottage we'd set foot in the whole trip, a changed man.

Then Jeff went vertical on us. He poured the 2001 version of the same wine. 2001 was a good year for huge, chewy tannins. While the 2000 was perfectly balanced, the 2001 was a mystery. I've tasted young wines before, and felt confident in my predictions of when and how they would peak. This tannic monster was an open book. I didn't know where it was going, but I knew it was the master, leading me by the nose. I am not worthy.

"But wait," Jeff said, "that's still not our best wine."

Then he poured us the 2001 Winston Hill Rutherford Cabernet Sauvignon, named after a Springer Spaniel. I probably shouldn't report on this, since he doesn't pour this for everybody. My God. No description will suffice. This wine was like the monolith at the beginning of 2001, summoning me toward my evolutionary fate. Heartbreakingly complex, yet verily approachable—drinkable today, even, though we will save our bottle for a couple of years at least. Woe is me! I can die now without any legitimate cause to complain! Jeff had truly, truly ruined our day.

We huddled outside, murmuring about selling the cars, the dog, whatever. Then we settled on a modest buy. One bottle of Winston Hill, and one bottle of the 2001 Reserve Cab, that enigmatic minx. Jeff was good enough to give us an extra 1-case styrofoam container at that point, since our cooler and several boxes were full already.

We drove home, lamenting having to leave, but rejoicing in our luck nevertheless. It's good to be an alcotourist.