I’ve been writing and preaching on occasion, for more than a few years, that the celebrated Napa Valley, via time, inertia, and well, hubris, simply got too big for its britches, so to speak. As a result, it’s now heralded less for its many cookie-cutter Cabernet-focused wineries, and more for its “unaffordability” to all but the wealthiest visitors. Many of its good yet affordable hotels became resorts, and new ones sprang up, with the accompanying resort fees, and dozens of its wineries morphed into what felt like a single winery with franchises everywhere, offering remarkably similar, high-priced, high-alcohol, highly-oaked Cabernet Sauvignons and (to a lesser extent) Chardonnays that quickly dulled the palate and bored the tourist. There are only so many founder, tech millionaire in search of himself, philanthropist, authentic, family-oriented, best-fruit-ever stories you can tell, when, within a mile, there are 50 more wineries just like you. Today, some (or many) of those same wineries are barely breaking even; others are not, held afloat only by their founders’ or owners’ purses. Many are hanging on, and a lot of them really need to give up the ghost, heretofore an unthinkable thing. All of this needed a closer look, and are finally getting it from the most comprehensive, brutal, and insightful analysis of the ills of a wine region I’ve read in 30 years.
Yet I, too, was a big fan and vocal proponent of Napa for almost three decades. I began coming to this famous place 26 years ago when living and working in tech PR in San Francisco, often staying overnight and visiting, by my tally, 113 wineries over many stays. Back then, the legion of new, small, and self-styled “luxury” was in its early upswing, building out and paying for costly tasting rooms, winery buildings, and DTC-focused marketing intended to convey, ironically, the same story of exclusiveness as the guys next door and down 29. Then, in 2005 and 2010, “commuting” from my adopted home in Jersey (the new one), I enrolled in classes in winemaking, wine and food pairing, and basic viticulture, at the Culinary Institute of America’s Rudd Wine School in Napa. What a great place! And the added bonus? We were treated to gourmet meals every full day of classes, prepared by the student chefs studying at the CIA. I also took two extended series of wine marketing classes at UC Davis, each time making the pilgrimage back to the famous, and famously growing-ever-more-expensive, Napa Valley. Lunches at Gott’s Roadside, dinners at Mustard’s Grill or Brix, and long afternoons of quaffing Sauvignon Blancs while taking in breathtaking views on the terrace at Auberge du Soleil. At night I’d head to the Calistoga Inn Restaurant and Brewery. And I rarely failed to visit the restaurant at Etoile, Domain Chandon‘s now-closed restaurant, the only winery in Napa to have an in-house sit-down, and one that earned a Michelin star from 2006 to 2012.
As for my criticism, I was often rebuffed–fair enough; there is always room for debate–and occasionally had a lot of vitriol heaped upon me for daring to spout such heresy. But as much as I love the place, over many years I saw a troubling confluence of events, market changes, and circumstances that reinforced my view, and for the first time in memory, I now see a stunning reckoning, on the record, of Napa’s blinding arrogance: Tell the Truth and Do the Right Thing by one Ted Hall, a self-described “advisor, director, musician, vintner, entrepreneur, and economist, who writes on current topics. His disciplined economic analyses often result in insight beyond conventional narrative.”
I have never read, nor even contemplated, something so shockingly authentic and revolutionary, challenging the very ethos of not only the most famous wine region in the USA, but arguably in the world. Separated by the Mayacamas mountains from the coast and the sprawling, multi-climate and more laid-back Sonoma, Napa rose from obscurity in the 1960’s on the backs of a handful of brave pioneers who (mostly) had more money than wine experience, and really hung together. Today, some appear to he hanging separately. Documented lovingly by James Conaway in Napa: The Story of an American Eden, their stories were and are inspiring. One such story, of Jack and Jamie Davies of Schramsberg, literally led me to the door of their winery and an appreciation of what I believe is the finest domestic sparkling wine in the USA.
I encourage any and everyone with a interest in the wine business–or just wine in general–to read this Substack post. Meantime, here are the opening paragraphs that set the stage for a remarkably introspective look at a place where it’s clearly all wine, but less and less accompanied by roses.
“The vines line up with military precision. The mountains hold their familiar shape. Visitors glide from lunch to tasting to dinner under the comforting impression that they have entered one of the world’s most successful agricultural theaters: a place where beauty, money, craftsmanship, and prestige have somehow found durable alignment. Almost everything the eye encounters reinforces that belief. The estates look prosperous. The wines are expensive. The hospitality is polished. The language of excellence is everywhere.
And yet the valley is full of wineries that are not really working.
Not failing in the dramatic way outsiders imagine failure. Not shuttered, derelict, or desperate. Quite the opposite. Many are immaculate. Many are serious. Many are owned by intelligent, accomplished people who can easily afford the appearances of success. That is part of what makes the problem so hard for Napa to discuss honestly. The strain is hidden behind capital, aesthetics, and the prestige of the place itself.”
By way of closing, I want to illustrate Napa’s dilemma in a way that food people–who may or may not be wine aficionados as well–can surely relate to. Now, The French Laundry is not a winery, to be sure. But the Yountville spot’s rise and, let’s say, “plateauing,” epitomizes an entire region that clearly left its humble roots behind and doubled-down on its own press. The famous, three Michelin-Star restaurant is increasingly seen by critics and diners as emblematic of Napa Valley’s broader trend toward vulgar exclusivity and embarrassingly high prices. While it retains a legacy of “shaping” modern American fine dining, recent reviews highlight growing dissatisfaction over its $390 tasting menu, rigid pacing, and perceived lack of innovation. Many diners now describe it as overpriced and overhyped, with some calling it “dated” or “a self-reflecting fine-dining theme park.” A 2025 San Francisco Chronicle review echoed this sentiment, noting the restaurant was “no longer worth the splurge,” a view shared by 74% of over 15,000 poll respondents. Even wealthy patrons report feeling underwhelmed, citing forgettable dishes and excessive formality that doesn’t justify the cost.
