By Scott Becker
I joined the wine business in the mid 2000s. It was the height of the cult wine era in Napa Valley. I could read about cult wines in various publications, but it was increasingly difficult to taste them (let alone purchase). These wines were certainly aspirational for me then, but that’s not where my roots began. My introduction to Napa Valley would come from a pioneer of an earlier generation. I was lucky to meet Jack Cakebread when I was in business school, and time with Jack inspired me to move to Napa Valley after graduation. An internship at Cakebread Cellars evolved into a years-long mentorship that shaped my early views of the valley and its wines. Through Jack, I was able to spend some time with other vintners like Jim Barrett, Joe Phelps, and Frank Farella. These vintners all started in Napa Valley in the 1970s. They were pioneers and entrepreneurs as much as they were farmers and winemakers.
Looking back now, I see the 1970s as its own era – the people, the wines, the farming…were all distinct from later periods. Maybe there’s a parallel to the art world, where distinct timeframes or styles are categorized into historical eras or periods. We are all familiar with terms like the Renaissance, Romanticism, Impressionism, and Abstract Expressionism, though I admit to not always knowing exactly what they mean. If we apply the art history concept of eras or periods to Napa Valley, I can see cataloging timeframes and wines into a few distinct eras. Most people don’t realize Napa’s wine history goes back to the 1850s, and that first era extended until the late 1800s when phylloxera hit. Someday, I will attempt to write a history of Napa Valley segmented into various eras. For purposes of this story, let’s say the modern era of Napa Valley began with the opening of Robert Mondavi Winery in 1966 and continued through the 1970s. The influence of UC Davis winemaking marked the 1980s as a distinct period from the prior decade. Phylloxera (again) forced a lot of replanting around 1990. Then, the cult wine era began somewhere in the mid 1990s and continued through the 2000s.
I’ve sometimes seen or heard Realm described by others as a cult wine, and of course we are grateful for any and all recognition. Admittedly, there are many aspects of a cult wine that are attractive. If you asked me in 2012 what I hoped Realm would one day become, I might very well have said, “A cult wine.” Today, my answer is rather different, and I hope to adequately explain why in the following paragraphs. My argument today is that the cult wine era ended in the early 2010s, and we are now living in a “beyond cult” era that is yet to be defined.
Jack Cakebread gave me a window into the early years of Napa Valley. I could see what it took to be an entrepreneur in wine, how he was relentlessly focused on the customer. I learned how Jack grew the business, evolved the portfolio, added vineyards when he could. Spending time with Jack in the 2000s somehow connected me to an earlier era…his era. Through his stories, meeting his friends…it’s as if I could imagine what it must have been like during those pioneering years. The stories had an almost aw-shucks element to them, and it felt like a simpler, quieter time in the valley. It was also clear to me just how much things had changed in the intervening decades. Land prices were one of the most obvious differences, but it was so much more than that. It was also cultural. The ambition of Napa Valley had grown over time.
Jack laid the foundation for how I see Napa Valley. And then Bill Harlan showed me what I could build on it. I first met Bill by chance, sitting next to him at a lunch at Cakebread Cellars. I only worked for Bill for two years, but the experience and lessons learned will last a lifetime. At the time, Bill had just acquired the land that would eventually become Promontory. I got to see everything from the ground up – how to finance the land purchase, how to craft and refine a business plan, vineyard redevelopment, winemaking trial and error, how to create and position a brand. It was inspiring, and it was clear why Harlan Estate had earned the term cult wine. I don’t think Bill ever really liked the term or what it implied. He had an incredible internal sense of true north. Yet there were many projects started in the 1990s and 2000s that would cite Bill Harlan and Harlan Estate as their inspiration. To simply sum up many of those projects, they too wanted to be a cult wine…but what exactly was a cult wine?
It’s hard to pinpoint who coined the term “cult” and when it first started. Eventually, the moniker “cult wine” would come to be used so often that it seems hard to even agree on a specific definition or determining factor. Yet there were some common attributes that defined many of these wines. They were small production, highly sought-after Cabernet Sauvignons from boutique producers which earned high scores from influential critics. Limited production and scarcity drove up demand and prices, which led to customer waiting lists that could take years to crack.
Many of the cult wines, particularly the first to earn the title, were incredible. You will inevitably recognize the names – Harlan, of course…and also Screaming Eagle, Colgin, Araujo, Bryant Family, among others. Most of these wines from the early 1990s set a new benchmark for precision viticulture and meticulous winemaking. Wine critics and consumers alike couldn’t get enough. That popularity attracted other producers to follow suit. Soon, there were dozens, eventually hundreds, of wine labels who all wanted to be considered a cult wine. Some had their own estates, some were virtual producers sourcing fruit. By the late 1990s, the trend towards bigger, richer, more extracted wines was clear. It was a style of wine that worked well with some vineyards and vintages, but definitely not with all.
A 100-point score in the early 2000s would have been enough to sell through the entire inventory. That doesn’t mean every producer was chasing scores, but it’s hard to ignore the commercial success that could result from such recognition at that time. It’s therefore understandable that many producers would choose to work with the same few wine consultants or source fruit from the same prized vineyards – with an eye toward earning a top score. Many newcomers to the valley, when designing a winery, would turn to the same architect used by Bill Harlan. The popularity and success of being a cult wine – with the implied business model and brand identity – led to, inevitably, a level of sameness across parts of Napa Valley.
I don’t mean to imply that every producer in Napa Valley was caught up in the pursuit of becoming a cult wine. And it’s overly simplistic to say that, even at the height of the cult era, the wines from Napa Valley all tasted the same. Even through the late 1990s and early 2000s, Bart Araujo maintained a clear vision for what he thought fruit and wine from the Eisele Vineyard should taste like. And it was (remains) distinct from wines coming from Oakville. Cathy Corison stands out as someone who has never chased scores or short-term success, and her wines have always emphasized more elegance and freshness. There are plenty of other examples that run counter to the cult wine narrative. Yet it’s impossible to ignore the fact that “cult” became increasingly popular through the 1990s and 2000s – for producers and for consumers. Cult became shorthand for successful, and which producer doesn’t want to be successful?
I left Harlan in 2011 to start my own project. After meeting the two cofounders of Realm, I acquired the business in 2012 with the belief that we could turn around its financial failings and elevate the wines to the next level. I wanted the chance to apply all that I had learned and seen from Jack Cakebread and Bill Harlan. I wouldn’t say that the goal was to specifically create a cult wine – I was too focused on just making payroll. But if becoming a cult wine was a way to establish the brand and stabilize the business, then we would do whatever it took to get there! Our wines garnered very disappointing scores from Robert Parker in the 2011 vintage. A year later, Mr. Parker awarded two of our wines from the 2012 vintage 100 points. I will never forget the lesson from both of those vintages, and that’s a topic for another day. The high scores translated into increasing demand for our wines, and we slowly but surely started to build the business.
As the 2010s rolled on, my mindset began to change…and so did the rest of the valley. New wine critics emerged after Robert Parker’s retirement, and they were more diversified in their tastes. Their endorsements, while still valuable, didn’t guarantee a wine would sell. Producers started to recognize that some of those bigger, more extracted wines showed very well in their youth but wouldn’t necessarily age for two or three decades. I’ve had this experience with our own wines. I’m very proud of the 2012s we produced. But tasting them 14 years later, I can see the limits. For the most part, our 2012s won’t age 30 or 40 years. Maybe that doesn’t matter to most people because their bottles will be drunk before then. Yet I believe longevity is one of the important markers for greatness. The greatest wines in the world have all demonstrated an ability to age for many decades. I can see (taste) how some of those hedonistic wines from the 1990s and 2000s were out of balance. At the same time, many winemakers and viticulturists across the valley became more interested in how to harness the expression of their own sites rather than chasing one particular style or score.
Now in the 2020s, Napa Valley wines have never been better, more technically sound or more diverse. Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon is not monolithic; styles run the gamut from rich, opulent and fruit-driven to focused, elegant and restrained - and everything in between. There’s more focus than ever on sense of place. That’s certainly true for us at Realm. The land has a way of reorienting you. When you’re farming the same ground year after year, watching one block struggle through a warm September heatwave while those vines fifty yards away stay composed and vibrant, you start to understand that no philosophy imported from the outside will serve you as well as paying close attention to what is right in front of you. You begin to ask different questions. Not: how do we make this wine bigger, richer, more? But: what does this place want to be? What does this vintage have to say for itself?
That shift in question is, I think, the shift that defines this moment in Napa Valley. The cult era asked a single question: how close can we get to an ideal? The ideal was specific — a style, a score, a certain kind of power and concentration — and many talented winemakers made extraordinary wine in pursuit of it. But an ideal, by definition, is fixed. The land is not.
I think what we see and taste in today’s Napa Valley feels like a return to something more fundamental. A return to place. A return to authenticity. Napa Valley is not one thing. Nor is it encapsulated in one person or producer. It is Pritchard Hill, where the high elevation and thin volcanic soils push the vines to produce with intensity and precision. It is the Stags Leap District, where the afternoon winds cool the area during warm summer days. It is Coombsville, at the valley’s southern end, where the fog rolls in and the long growing season builds complexity slowly. Each site has its own logic, its own timing, its own demands. Our three estate vineyards don’t taste the same, and they shouldn’t. That difference is not a problem to be solved. It is the whole point.
Talking about a sense of place in the wine is not as easy to communicate as a 100-point score. But more than a critic score, we are increasingly focused on feedback from trade professionals and members. After all, word of mouth is still the most powerful recognition we can hope for. It’s up to us to tell our story in a meaningful and compelling way. Hence our website, with Chapters and Anecdotes chronicling our journey through the years. To me, Realm’s trajectory and narrative are so much more substantive and powerful than scores alone.
Today, Realm increasingly defines quality and character by our own palates, our own understanding of the land. We don’t want to be known for trendy cult wines, but rather for an enduring culture focused on the pursuit of greatness. Jack Cakebread and Bill Harlan produced different wines and built different businesses – in different eras. I’d like to think I can continue to take inspiration from both of them, yet I also recognize I’m not defined by either. Realm needs to be its own thing for this era. The wines I most admire — here in Napa Valley and around the world — are the ones where you can taste a sense of place, a time and a distinct perspective. They are irreproducible. Not because they were produced in small quantities, but because they couldn’t have come from anywhere else or been made by anyone else. That’s the version of greatness we’re after. I don’t have a name for this era yet. But I do know the direction.
Onward.
