A Sign of Things to Come?
Every harvest has one wine that quietly changes the way you think.
In 2025, that wine was our Skin Contact Albariño from St. Helena.
An Unexpected Beginning
The story began with one of those moments that reminds you the universe has a funny way of putting people in your path. By pure chance, I was introduced to one of the few Cuban vignerons farming in Napa Valley. We immediately connected over our shared heritage, our passion for farming, and a belief that great wine starts long before grapes ever reach the cellar.
It was an honor to work with his vineyard for the first time, and I knew from the moment I walked the rows that there was something special about the site.
Then came the fun part.
Making Orange Wine in Cabernet Country
Making an orange wine from St. Helena fruit feels almost rebellious. In a valley synonymous with polished Cabernet Sauvignon, choosing to ferment Albariño on its skins is about as punk rock as it gets.
It isn’t what people expect from Napa, and that’s precisely what made it so exciting.
In the Cellar
Half of the fruit was foot treaded while the other half remained whole cluster. The grapes fermented naturally on their skins before being pressed with a touch of sugar still remaining.
The wine spent nearly ten months resting on its lees in a combination of neutral French oak barrels and stainless steel drums before being bottled unfined, unfiltered, and with only a minimal addition of sulfur.
I’ll admit, I almost wanted to push it further.
I wanted more grip. More funk. More of the wild edges that people often associate with skin-contact wines.
But the vineyard had other ideas.
When the Vineyard Wins
The terroir took over.
The pedigree of St. Helena refused to be hidden beneath the winemaking. Instead of becoming loud or rustic, the wine became incredibly elegant and refined.
It has texture without being heavy, structure without aggression, and an unmistakable sense of place. Aromas of honeysuckle, dried citrus peel, and stone fruit lead into a palate with soft tannins, incredible freshness, and a long saline finish that keeps pulling you back for another sip.
It’s almost an orange wine for people who think they don’t like orange wine.
Or maybe more accurately, it’s orange wine for people who want more from skin contact than just oxidation, tannin, or funk. It proves that skin contact doesn’t have to sacrifice precision or elegance. In the right vineyard, it can actually amplify them.
More Than a Vintage
I’ve made wines that scored well.
I’ve made wines that sold out.
I’ve made wines I’m incredibly proud of.
But this one feels different.
It feels like a conversation between the vineyard and the cellar where the vineyard won—and I’m grateful it did.
A Sign of Things to Come
Is it the best wine I made in 2025?
I think it just might be.
More importantly, I don’t see it as the finish line.
I see it as proof that our greatest wines won’t come from trying to impose a style on a vineyard. They’ll come from listening closely enough to let the site tell us what it’s capable of becoming.
If this Albariño is any indication of where No Love Lost is headed, then I couldn’t be more excited.
Maybe it’s not the best wine we’ll ever make.
Maybe it’s simply a sign of things to come.