The Chapel Doesn’t Pour, It Confesses: Abreu Cappella 2016 And The Sacred Right To Pleasure

I don’t do altar wine—I do altar calls. Abreu’s Cappella 2016 is the kind of Cabernet blend that makes even jaded palates shut up and listen. It’s Napa turned cathedral: stone-cool, candlelit, and humming with something you feel in your ribs before your brain catches up. I’m here to liberate you from polite sips. Drink like a god, think like a thief, and let this bottle rewrite your house rules.

Smoke And Velvet In The Glass

In the bowl it’s midnight with a heartbeat—inky core, garnet rim like stained glass at vespers. First inhale: blackcurrant liqueur, macerated cherry, and boysenberry jam swirl with violets and iron filings. There’s incense off a cold stone floor, cedar shavings, damp loam, cocoa nib, and that graphite-pencil snap you get from serious old vines and seriously focused intent. Breathe again: bay laurel, espresso crema, and a flicker of menthol glide through the dark fruit like moonlight on slate.

The Texture That Knows Your Secrets

Sip and it moves—panther-smooth, coiled, then unfurling in slow motion. The attack is plush cassis and black plum; mid-palate stacks layers—dark chocolate, crushed blackberry, anise, tobacco leaf—on a chassis of ultra-fine tannins. Acidity is the conspirator keeping everything upright; alcohol slips in warm but disciplined, the way a velvet rope lets you pass without a word. The finish is long enough to text your ex, delete it, and choose a better life: mineral echo, sweet spice, and a ghost of savor that tastes like the air in a barrel room after punch-downs.

Stones, Vines, And A Prayer

Cappella is David Abreu’s little hymn behind St. Helena’s old stone and sun-warmed walls—a precious site where vineyard whisperer meets chapel quiet. If you know Abreu, you know the drill: obsessive farming, ruthless selection, the kind of vineyard detail that turns “terroir” from a word into a fingerprint. 2016 in Napa gave even ripening, cool nights, and fruit with both muscle and poise; Cappella bottled the year’s best habit—balance—then layered it with Abreu’s trademark polish. This isn’t a greatest-hits compilation; it’s a studio album you play on repeat until the neighbors learn something.

How To Serve Without Wasting A Single Breath

This is not a wine you “open.” It’s a wine you stage. Give it a decant—two hours minimum if you’re civilized, three if you’re virtuous. Serve at 60–64°F; the fruit sings there, the structure shows its cut, and the oak hushes to a beautiful hum. Food? Go carnal: a bone-in, dry-aged ribeye with charred fat cap; lamb racks buried under rosemary smoke; black truffle risotto with a sinful knob of butter; cocoa-and-espresso–rubbed short ribs that collapse under a spoon. If you must snack, do aged Comté, Parmigiano crusts, or a slab of pâté that scares chiropractors.

Why This Bottle Belongs In Your Vault

Scarcity is real—Cappella is a pocket-sized vineyard with cult-level demand and allocations tighter than a tuxedo the morning after. The 2016 vintage in Napa has a spotless rep for longevity and equilibrium, and Abreu’s single-vineyard wines routinely flirt with perfection in the major books. Translation: blue-chip pedigree, long runway (20–30 years easy), and a secondary market that knows how to price “impeccable and rare.” You can drink this in its youth for thrill, but cellaring pays compound interest. If you collect, this is one of those corks your future self thanks you for—out loud.

Final Word Before The Choir Starts

You don’t need another Cabernet. You need this Cabernet. Skip two “maybe” bottles and buy one certainty. Cappella 2016 is Napa’s velvet knuckle—pleasure forward, intellect after, memory forever. Miss it now, and you’ll find yourself years from today paying more for someone else’s story about your bottle. I won’t weep; I’ll just pour the last glass and say amen.