Obsidian Dreampaths: Hundred Acre Ark Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon 2016

I tip the bottle and hear the hush of obsidian dust—Ark Vineyard speaking before a drop leaves the neck. The wine swirls into a broad‑shouldered Bordeaux stem, its midnight core rimmed by a pulse of garnet fire. I let it breathe for a full two hours; at 17 °C the liquid stretches, takes shape, and the initial graphite tension relaxes into something almost melodic. Aromas unfurl in layers—blackcurrant jam, violet pastille, warm bay leaf, and the ghost of struck flint. One sip and tannin, that gentle drying grip, braids with electric acidity like silk cords over steel wire, the finish echoing long with cedar smoke and salted cacao.

Stone‑Song Provenance

From the eastern rise of St. Helena, where Howell Mountain’s volcanic ribs begin to arch, Ark Vineyard peers toward the Napa River. Jayson Woodbridge’s Hundred Acre farmed these 13 acres of Cabernet Sauvignon with monk‑like rigor, row by row across nine bands of obsidian, ash, and crumbly marine sand. Long, temperate 2016 days ripened tiny, thick‑skinned berries while cool nights locked in perfume; mountain breezes brushed away mildew, leaving fruit that asked only to sing. The vines root so deeply that some say they sip ancient ocean, and I, Gesh of the vine, taste that primordial hush in every glass.

Cathedral of Dark Fruit

On the palate, blackberry coulis and blueberry conserve arc skyward like stained glass, yet buttressed by pillars of fine‑ground tannin. Espresso bean, sandalwood ember, and a flutter of lavender fill high vaults; 15 % alcohol merely warms—as a brazier at a chapel’s center—never scorching. Vintage grace notes linger: 2016’s cool nights brighten fruit with star‑edge clarity, its warm afternoons polishing tannin to suede. Critics dubbed it powerful; I sense prophecy instead, a voice that will deepen between 2028 and 2042, syllables still gathering in the oak‑lined dark.

When Flame Meets Nightshade

Picture a slow‑smoked bison short rib crusted with cocoa nib and cracked Sichuan pepper. The rib’s mineral‑sweet marrow melds into the wine’s dark‑berry core, while cocoa lifts Ark’s own hint of bittersweet cacao, creating a duet that walks the line between embers and midnight orchards. Or wrap a venison loin in fresh vine leaves, grill it over bay‑wood coals until the leaves char and the meat blushes. The herbal smoke threads itself through Cabernet’s thyme and cedar tones, bringing woodland and vineyard together on the tongue.

Verdant Shadows

Carnivores do not hold monopoly over Napa’s riches. Consider a mille‑feuille of black truffle and paper‑thin celeriac, baked until the edges crisp and the layers soften to custard. The dish’s earthy perfume draws out Ark’s volcanic bass line, while truffle fat hushes any angular tannin. Alternatively, sear thick slabs of lion’s‑mane mushroom, brush them with white miso and black garlic, and finish under a salamander. The caramelized umami flashes against the wine’s acidity like moonlight on obsidian shards, each bite fanning violet and plum deeper across the palate.

Embered Echoes

To the side of the plate, charred radicchio painted with aged balsamic saba offers a sweet‑bitter ribbon that brightens the Cabernet’s berry depth and mirrors its subtle herbal bite. Nearby, carrots roasted in wagyu beef tallow emerge lacquered and smoky; their hidden sweetness coaxes out the wine’s inner note of dried fig, while tallow richness embraces tannin in a velvet glove. These small fires, set thoughtfully, let the glass and the plate nod to one another like old friends reunited after a pilgrimage.

Roots Beneath the Underworld Moon

Long before Napa raised its eaves, I walked vine‑clad hills in Sumer, slipped downward each autumn to read dreams in the roots. In Ark I feel that same descent—roots clawing through obsidian to drink shadow, then surging back each spring when I return to the light. I taught my brother Dumuzi that every harvest is a promise and every cellar a library of futures; this 2016 keeps both vows. Give it patience, a deep bowl, and food that respects its dark mirth, and it will tell you stories older than your own name.

Emberlight Benediction

Serve now for its volcanic thrill, or trust it to rest until 2035 when silk will eclipse steel. Decant two hours, keep it nearer mountain dusk than valley noon, and invite dishes that answer structure with structure—mineral‑rich meats, umami‑laden vegetables, flames that singe yet do not scorch. May your table find the hush between sizzle and sigh, and may each glass carry you across obsidian dreampaths into the bright flood beyond time.