September in the desert is a funny little tease. The calendar (at least later in the month) says fall. The kids are back in school. Football is on. Pumpkin spice has somehow infiltrated everything within a 20-mile radius. Yet the air conditioner is still running; the ceiling fans are humming; and the misters are misting with purpose.
Still, you can feel the shift coming. The evenings are getting a little softer. The patio furniture is beginning to look usable again, and suddenly a glass of red wine sounds infinitely more appealing than it did during the punishing days of July.
This is cabernet franc season. If your repertoire consists primarily of cabernet sauvignon, pinot noir, merlot or malbec, there is an entire category of deliciousness you’re missing—and it’s sitting right under your nose.
Cabernet franc has spent most of its life in the shadow of cabernet sauvignon, which seems particularly unfair considering it’s the parent. DNA research confirmed that cabernet franc and sauvignon blanc crossed centuries ago to create cabernet sauvignon. So before Napa Valley turned cabernet into a luxury commodity, and steakhouse wine lists started dedicating entire pages to it, there was cabernet franc.
And franc has plenty to say for itself.
This isn’t pinot noir. It doesn’t lead with delicacy, silkiness or ethereal red fruit. It isn’t malbec or zinfandel, with all that dark, plush, sometimes jammy intensity. And it isn’t merlot, whose charms often come from softness and generosity.
Cabernet franc occupies its own wonderful space. It can be firm and spicy without being aggressive, ripe without becoming syrupy, structured without becoming heavy, and round without becoming soft. There is real body here. There are tannins. There is depth. Yet it carries those things with an aromatic freshness that keeps the wine alive.
In one glass, you might find blackberry, cranberry and black cherry tangled with violet, tobacco, graphite, dried herbs and fresh pepper. Cabernet franc is famous—occasionally infamous—for its green characteristics, which can range from bell pepper and leafy herbs to something more savory and earthy. Those flavors come partially from compounds called methoxypyrazines, naturally present in cabernet franc and several related grape varieties. Too much of them—which happens in underripe fruit—can make the wine can taste aggressively vegetal.
But when the grape is grown well and picked at the right moment, those herbal notes become part of its magic. They provide contrast. Blackberries taste more interesting beside fresh thyme. Ripe cherry becomes more compelling with a little graphite underneath it.
Wine should have layers and tension. That’s what keeps you going back for another sip.
Cabernet franc’s ancestral roots are believed to be in southwestern France, but its spiritual home is the Loire Valley, particularly Chinon and Bourgueil. Here, the grape gets something it doesn’t always receive elsewhere: center stage.
One of my longtime favorites is Bernard Baudry from Chinon. Bernard began with just two hectares in 1975, and his son Matthieu later returned after making wine as far away as Tasmania and California. Their vineyards span Chinon’s gravel terraces and limestone-rich slopes, creating a living laboratory for just how expressive cabernet franc can be. The wines offer dark and red fruit, minerality, herbs and that unmistakable perfume that somehow feels both pretty and rugged.
I’m also a huge fan of Domaine Audebert et Fils from Bourgueil. Their wines make a compelling argument for why the Loire remains the grape’s benchmark: generous enough for someone accustomed to California reds, but savory and energetic enough to feel distinctly European.
Then there’s California. Here, cabernet franc tends to get a little broader through the shoulders. Sunshine brings greater ripeness, darker fruit and concentration, but the best examples never lose the floral, herbal and mineral qualities that distinguish franc from its more famous offspring.
Give it 20 or 30 minutes in the fridge, and aim for somewhere in the low 60s. That small drop in temperature tightens the fruit, brightens the wine and makes it incredibly refreshing.
Perhaps nobody in California has made the case for cabernet franc more consistently than John and Tracey Skupny. They founded Lang and Reed in 1993 specifically to explore the grape—an almost contrarian decision in a Napa Valley obsessed with cabernet sauvignon. The name Lang and Reed comes from the middle names of their two sons, making it a true family project built around a variety they believed deserved more attention.
Their wines are a fantastic introduction for cabernet sauvignon drinkers: There’s plenty of weight and ripe fruit, but also fragrance, lift and complexity—exactly the sort of wine that makes you stop mid-sip and think, “Why don’t I drink more cabernet franc?”
And it doesn’t have to be expensive. Even my bargain pick comes with real history.
Ironstone is owned by the Kautz family, who have been farming in Lodi since 1926 and helped push the region toward premium wine-grape growing. Their remarkably affordable cabernet franc feels less like a mass-market afterthought and more like a seriously overachieving bottle.
Versatility might be the grape’s greatest strength. If you love cabernet sauvignon but occasionally find it too heavy or oak-driven, cabernet franc can offer similar structure with more lift. If pinot noir feels too light, franc brings more grip. If you’re tired of jammy, ultra-ripe reds, it delivers generous fruit without tasting like Grandma’s preserves.
At the table, cabernet franc is equally useful. Traditional pairings are almost embarrassingly easy: roast chicken with herbs, pork tenderloin, lamb, duck, grilled sausage, mushroom risotto or anything involving lentils. It loves earthy flavors and fresh herbs, so rosemary, sage, thyme and mushrooms are all your friends.
But don’t feel obligated to behave. Try it with Korean barbecue, lamb kofta with yogurt and herbs, a mushroom banh mi, roasted beets with goat cheese, harissa-glazed eggplant, smoked duck tacos or a really good cheeseburger with caramelized onions.
Best of all for us desert-dwellers, cabernet franc takes beautifully to a slight chill. Give it 20 or 30 minutes in the fridge, and aim for somewhere in the low 60s. That small drop in temperature tightens the fruit, brightens the wine and makes it incredibly refreshing.
So while we wait for sweater weather, consider cabernet franc your transition wine. It has enough red-fruited comfort to whisper that fall is coming, enough freshness to survive the heat we still have, and enough personality to make you wonder why cabernet sauvignon has been hogging all the attention.
The patio furniture isn’t quite ready yet. But the cabernet franc is.
