Wine Without Borders - The Myths of Napa Wine Superiority

American Wine is Bigger Than Just One Valley

Let’s get one thing straight: I love California and its wines. I’ve walked its vineyards, tasted its cabernets, hunted for a good merlot and swapped stories with wine people who treat their craft like religion. But every time someone says “Napa is the only good wine in America,” I hear the same tired tune—one that sounds suspiciously like the French scoffing at California decades ago. Funny how the snobbery just migrated west.
This kind of wine homerism isn’t just absurd—it’s historically blind. Because if you trace the roots of Napa’s greatness, you’ll find that some of them don’t start in California. They start in Missouri.
🌱 George Hussmann: Hermann’s Gift to Napa
Before Napa was Napa, it was a patchwork of hopeful growers battling disease and climate. Enter George Hussmann, a viticulturist from Hermann, Missouri, whose writings and rootstock research laid the foundation for what would become California’s wine empire. Hussmann didn’t just dabble—he authored the playbook. His work on phylloxera-resistant rootstock and vineyard management became gospel for West Coast growers.
So when someone tells me Napa is the cradle of American wine, I nod politely and think: “You mean Hermann, right?”
🌿 Midwest Roots Keep California Alive
Let’s talk about phylloxera—the vineyard plague that nearly wiped out European wine in the 19th century. California wasn’t immune. And when it came time to save the vines, guess where the solution came from? The Midwest. Missouri rootstock, hardy and resistant, became the lifeline for California’s vineyards. Even today, many vines in Napa and Sonoma owe their survival to grafts developed far from the coast. Over 95% of all California vineyards have native American rootstocks, sourced in the Midwest region of America.
It’s poetic, really. The same soil that nurtured Hussmann’s vision now quietly props up the prestige of Napa. Missouri doesn’t just make wine—it makes wine possible.
🥇 Augusta, MO: America’s First AVA
Here’s another inconvenient truth for the Napa purists: the first American Viticultural Area (AVA) wasn’t in California. It was in Augusta, Missouri. Awarded in 1980, this designation recognized the unique terroir and winemaking tradition of a region that’s often overlooked by coastal critics.
Think about that. Before Napa, before Sonoma, before the AVA system became a badge of honor, Missouri was already setting the standard. That’s not just history—it’s legacy.
🍇 I’ve Been to Napa. It’s Great. But It’s Not the Whole Story.
I’ve tasted my way through Napa, Sonoma, Alexander Valley, and Temecula. I’ve had wines that made me pause mid-sentence (at Charles Krug and Stags Leap Wine Cellars) and wines that made me rethink what I thought I knew - most wines from the Alexander Valley. California has earned its reputation—but it’s not the only player on the field.
In blind tastings, I’d wager that wines from the Midwest, the Finger Lakes, Texas Hill Country, and even Arizona could hold their own. Not because they mimic Napa, but because they don’t. They bring their own grit, their own climate, their own story.
And isn’t that what wine is supposed to be? A reflection of place, not prestige?
🛑 The Problem with Wine Snobbery
Wine homerism isn’t just annoying—it’s limiting. It tells consumers that greatness only comes from one zip code. It discourages exploration, stifles innovation, and erases the contributions of regions that don’t have billion-dollar corporate marketing budgets.
It’s the same behavior the French once aimed at California. Back then, California was the scrappy underdog. Now it’s the gatekeeper. The irony is rich—and so is the wine coming out of places like Hermann, Augusta, New York State and dozens of other towns that don’t make the cover of Wine Spectator.
🥂 Let’s Toast to the Whole Map
American wine is a mosaic. It’s built on the backs of immigrants, farmers, scientists, and stubborn dreamers who refused to let geography define quality. I've seen people sweat and pray and I've heard about those who looked at the sky some years and cried.  From the limestone hills of Missouri to the volcanic soils of Oregon, every bottle tells a story worth hearing.
So next time someone says “Napa is the only good wine,” smile and pour them a glass of Old Vine Norton. Tell them about George Hussmann. Show them a map. And remind them that wine, like grit, doesn’t care where it comes from—it just needs good soil and a story worth telling.