A la recherche du cabernet perdu

When I came to Bloomington in 1968, I quickly discovered that California cabernet was my wine. The available French wines were mostly generic blends from the big shippers, B&G Vosne Romanee and the like. These wines were shipped long before Kermit Lynch and other importers transformed the global scene by insisting on refrigerated shipping containers. It's not so much that these wines were cooked, although they often were: it was more that they were made commercially to withstand the expected abuses of being shipped without refrigeration through the Panama canal. Filtered, denatured, industrial wines with good names on the label. California, on the other hand, sent us wines with character. For $2.40 (odd I can remember the exact price, but it was a significant amount for an assistant professor in those days), a Christian Brothers cabernet could excite with its clear and lively personality and, for not much more, BV and real Inglenook were the kind of wines you could think about and remember. I drifted away from these cabernets as French wines got way better in the eighties and as importing became more sensitive to heat damage. And then the prices of California cabernet became absurd. I have to drink a wine fairly often, to make its acquaintance over different moods and foods, before it becomes a friend to be invited to my home. The odd Dominus or the like that comes my way has not been enough to form that bond. When I got my newest Wine Advocate and Tanzer newsletters, I was struck that they both seemd to think Robert Mondavi was back on track in 2001 and 2002 -- both critics really liked both years in the simple Napa cabernet, a twenty-dollar wine. I couldn't find a 2002 in Bloomington but bought a 2001 at Sam's Club. Tonight, with anticipation and a flank steak, I tried it. Nah. It didn't do it for me. All the elements were there: black fruits, coffee, a touch of tar, soft tannins, a rich texture. It just didn't come together as a delicious drink so much as a gynasium for the taste buds. I don't think this is something anti-California on my part -- I had a basic Au Bon Climat pinot noir on Saturday at Big Red's weekly tasting and promptly bought a bottle for the same $20 as the Mondavi. So I think I am going to leave Cali Cabs in the realm of nostalgia. At least I'm not so disappointed now to learn that Mondavi just sold everything to a conglomerate for a billion bucks with who knows what in the future. Maybe the new owners will filter all the wines and ship them to France through the Panama canal to get even.