This Cabernet Sauvignon comes from a commune named Fontanes. It lies south of Cahors, ancestral home of Malbec, and north of Toulouse, ancestral home of Saint Louis of Toulouse, aka the original San Luis Obispo. Ha! History can be perverse sometimes, no?

But wait, the story grows more odd, even subversive. The 2022 Les Traverses de Fontanès Cabernet Sauvignon comes from a corner of the Languedoc where Cabernet Sauvignon is, by the rulebook, not supposed to exist. I mean, they can grow it, they just can’t tell people where it comes from. Yet there it is. Stubborn as a mule. Happy as a lark. Affordable. Fifty-year-old vines planted by someone who either didn’t know the regulations or, more likely, didn’t give a damn. The wine ferments and ages in concrete. No oak, no fuss. Just fruit, stone, and the quiet satisfaction of getting away with something, something that tastes really good. Particularly for 22 bucks. The damn steak you’d grill to accompany this bottle is probably going to cost you more than the wine.

In the glass, the wine feels like liquid rebellion and its taste reminds you of the afterglow you feel after listening to Oliver Nelson’s alto sax solo on “Stolen Moments.” Ripe raspberries and blackcurrants float up first, like a greeting from an old friend who has been living under an assumed name. Or maybe under a bridge if your old friend is the shy type. Then come the herbal notes, the warm stones, the suggestion of a breeze that blew in from somewhere honest (and a new direction.) The wine is medium-bodied, smooth, and finishes with a dry chalkiness that reminds you that limestone has a longer memory than any bureaucrat. “We don’t need no stinking badges” indeed.

So it goes. The 2022 Les Traverses de Fontanès Cabernet Sauvignon is proof that sometimes the best things happen just outside the lines. It’s delicious, drinkable, and quietly defiant. A little miracle of southern France, made by people who trust their vines more than their rulebooks.