MAYHEM | 2023 CARBONIC GRENACHE NOIR | Windmill Ranch

MAYHEM

2023 CARBONIC* ESTATE GRENACHE NOIR

UM… WHAT DOES CARBONIC MEAN?
Cracks knuckles.
Alright. Here we go.

Carbonic fermentation is not a winemaking choice.
It’s a VERDICT.

It’s the moment where farming and winemaking stop pretending they’re separate disciplines and stand shoulder to shoulder, under oath. Carbonic fermentation is when you take PERFECT, WHOLE GRAPE CLUSTERS—uncrushed, untouched, picked that very morning—and seal them in a tank filled with carbon dioxide. No smashing. No stomping. No stirring. No “we’ll fix it later.” No edits. No safety net.

This is a FULL SEND.

Fermentation begins INSIDE THE BERRY ITSELF—quietly, naturally, on its own terms. Not because you forced it, but because the fruit was healthy enough to carry itself. That’s the PUREST HANDSHAKE BETWEEN FARMING AND WINEMAKING there is. Because once that tank is sealed, your job is over. You don’t interfere. You don’t hover. You don’t pace the floor inventing contingency plans. You either believe in the TRUTH OF YOUR FARMING—or you shouldn’t have sealed the tank in the first place.

You say a prayer.
And you wait.

And here’s the part most people won’t tell you—because it scares them.

You can only do this if your farming is DIALED. Not “pretty good.” Not “award-winning.” Dialed like standing behind your son while he signs a check that has real weight on it—and knowing, in your bones, that it’s going to cash. Dialed like when your son looks at you and asks, “Do you have my back on this?” and you answer instantly, without hesitation, because his last name is the same as yours.

That’s not optimism.
That’s CONVICTION.

Carbonic doesn’t hide flaws—it EXPOSES them.
Rot shows up.
Stress shows up.
Imbalance shows up.
Shortcuts show up.

This method doesn’t forgive any of it. It doesn’t soften the truth. It doesn’t negotiate. If you lied to yourself during the growing season, carbonic will testify against you. Publicly. Permanently. It will absolutely tell on you. And if you weren’t ready, it will absolutely destroy you.

That’s why this is RARE.
That’s why almost no one does it.
That’s why you don’t hear about it.

Because this isn’t a trend.
This isn’t a technique.
This is a RECKONING.

We went carbonic because our farming could stand in front of the GOOD LORD and not flinch. Because Windmill Ranch isn’t a vineyard we “source from.” It’s our dirt. Our decisions. Our mistakes. Our corrections. Our early mornings and late nights. Every canopy pull, every water call, every pick date was made knowing this moment was coming—knowing that when the tank closed, the vineyard would speak without us interrupting.

And that’s why this wine bears the name CASH SAARLOOS.
MAYHEM

Because carbonic fermentation and Cash are the same lesson told two different ways.
PURE MAYHEM

Nothing came on a platter.
Nothing was softened.
Nothing was handed to him with a bow on it.

If it came easy, he didn’t want it.

Cash learned early that effort is the only currency that spends. That work ethic is what gets remembered. That talent is meaningless if it isn’t backed by discipline. When Cash shows up, the question is never can he do it? The question is is he willing to do it longer, harder, and cleaner than everyone else in the room?

And the answer—every time—is yes.

Again.
And again.
And again.

He comes from LOS OLIVOS, CALIFORNIA—not the postcard version, not the tasting-room fantasy, but the earned one. Dirt under the nails. Early mornings that don’t care how you slept. Long days that don’t care how you feel. A place that teaches you to get dirty, get ugly, and finish the job whether anyone is watching or not.

Once the tank is sealed, there’s no reaching back in.
Once you paddle past the break, you’re on your own.

No hovering parents.
No shortcuts.
No half-steps.

Life doesn’t forgive flaws.
Carbonic doesn’t either.

Cash chose the hard road because that’s where truth lives. Discipline over noise. Patience over panic. Effort over excuses. That’s why this wine bears his name—because MAYHEM ISN’T CHAOS. It’s CONTAINED POWER. Energy under control. Confidence earned the long way.

Look at the label.

He’s sitting in the water, board under him, waiting. Not scrambling. Not chasing every wave like he used to. He’s reading the ocean. Feeling the timing. Understanding that forcing it is how you get wrecked—and that the right wave always comes if you’re ready to meet it.
IF YOU PREPARED. 
IF YOU WARNED IT.

That image IS CARBONIC FERMENTATION IN HUMAN FORM.

Stillness instead of control.
Trust instead of panic.
Prepared, not passive.

Head down.
Praying.
Double shakas.

That’s gratitude and confidence living in the same body. Faith without fear. Humility without doubt. A young man acknowledging forces bigger than himself—the land, the ocean, God—and still knowing exactly who he is. That image isn’t decoration. It’s the PERSONIFICATION OF THIS WINE. Fire and restraint. Calm and mayhem. Power you can trust.

As his father, this is the kind of man ANYONE—and I mean anyone—would be proud to call son. But he is mine. And that is one of the HIGHEST HONORS I will ever be given. To point and say, “That is my son,” knowing the work behind him, the character inside him, the spine that doesn’t bend—that’s everything.

He is the son of KEITH AND HEATHER SAARLOOS.
The grandson of LARRY AND LINDA SAARLOOS.
Raised not on shortcuts or handouts—but on dirt, effort, and expectation.
He does not use our name, 
HE ELIVATES IT.
HE SHINES IT. 
HE IS GOING TO LEAVE IT BETTER THAN HE FOUND IT.

HOME GROWN.
IN THE DIRT.
NOTHING GIVEN.
EVERYTHING EARNED.

That’s Cash.
That’s Carbonic.
That’s MAYHEM.

Not a style.
Not a flex.
The PINNACLE OF FARMING MEETING WINE.

FULL SEND—WITHOUT FLINCHING. 

PURE MAYHEM.

🍷🤙