Sensorially profligate, promiscuous in its aromatic fecundity…when made the way it should be, the greatest of grapes is textured, complex, fun, delicious…sexy as hell.
Cab Franc has a mischievious streak to it too. It can be polarizingly herby (I call this quality simply intentful winegrowing imperfectly executed), and it can seem too austere in cooler climates: a liquid X-ray of perfect litheness.
It could never be just a coincidence that the grape cosplaying virginal rectitude in Bordeaux and libidinous merriment in Livermore and the Loire would accidentally roll up on a young and slightly skewed winemaker aching for his vinous muse.
Luck it was not, but inevitability.
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