Posted: April 2026
On April 11th, I had the privilege of participating in Night of Ideas at the San Francisco Public Library—an annual event that brings together thinkers, artists, and change-makers to explore pressing questions about our world. This year’s theme centered on radical reimaginings of culture and society, and I was honored to join a panel discussion titled “Radical Vines: Natural Wine as Protest Art.”
Sitting alongside fellow panelists—winemakers who are actively reshaping what wine culture can be—I was able to reflect on a question I hadn’t fully articulated before: How is making wine native grapes an act of protest?
Wine as a Reflection of Power
The panel moderator, Andrew Sullivan of Unfiltered @ Donkey and Goat, opened with a provocative framing: wine has historically been a bastion of privilege and exclusivity. It’s been tied to land ownership, wealth, status, and European cultural dominance. The “serious” grapes are European. The prestigious regions trace their lineage back centuries. The language of wine—terroir, appellation, grand cru—comes from Europe.
This isn’t accidental. Wine culture reflects broader power structures. And when you’re working with grapes that don’t fit into that hierarchy—American hybrids, native varieties, grapes planted by working-class immigrants—you’re inherently challenging those structures.
Domenico’s Radical Choice
I shared the story of Domenico Callegari, the Italian immigrant who planted the Baco Noir vineyard I now farm in Sebastopol. In the 1960s, when his neighbors in Sonoma County were planting Pinot Noir and Chardonnay—the prestigious European varieties that would define California fine wine—Domenico chose Baco Noir, a French-American hybrid.
Why? Not because he was trying to make a statement. Because he was a practical man who worked at the San Francisco landfill and wanted vines that would grow without expensive and time consuming inputs. He made wine to share with neighbors, not to sell to collectors or win awards.
That choice—planting a “lesser” grape for community rather than commerce—was radical, even if Domenico didn’t see it that way. And sixty years later, those vines are still thriving without a single chemical spray, while the surrounding European varieties require regular chemical sprays.
The Politics of Which Grapes We Grow
During the discussion, I was asked about how my work makes wine more inclusive and diverse. I had to be honest: I’m a white dude in an overwhelmingly white industry. The real work of creating inclusive spaces is being done by people like my fellow panelists and collaborators like Christopher Renfro at The 280 Project, Terah Bajjalieh or Terah Wine Co., and Justin Trabue of Ward Four Wines.
But I do think there’s something inherently democratic about working with resilient grape varieties that don’t require expensive chemical programs. No-spray viticulture isn’t just about environmental sustainability—it’s about worker safety and dignity. When I say the Baco Noir vineyard has never been sprayed, that means that any of the people who have ever worked in that vineyard have never been exposed to fungicides or pesticides. That’s labor justice, even if it’s not always framed that way.
And because these varieties require fewer inputs, I can price wines more accessibly without compromising quality. Wine doesn’t have to be a luxury good reserved for those who can afford $75+ bottles. It can be something you share with neighbors, like Domenico did.
Challenging Wine’s Gatekeeping Culture
One of the questions that resonated most with me was about how I cross-pollinate my other passions with winemaking to create a distinct voice. My background in cooking, foraging, and agricultural history all feed into how I think about wine and place.
But more fundamentally, I’m interested in challenging wine’s gatekeeping around what’s “serious” and what’s not. European varieties are elevated; American varieties are dismissed. That hierarchy isn’t just about taste—it’s cultural. It reinforces the idea that legitimacy comes from Europe, from tradition, from old money and old vineyards.
By applying world-class winemaking techniques to grapes that have been written off—Baco Noir, Catawba, Lenoir, wild California grapes—I’m trying to ask: If we’re willing to do whole-cluster fermentation and minimal intervention with Pinot Noir, why not with our own indigenous grape varieties? What do we discover when we treat these grapes with the same care and respect?
The Bay Area’s Unique Role
The panel also explored why the Bay Area has become such a hub for natural wine and alternative approaches to winemaking. I think it’s a combination of factors: incredible diversity, progressive food culture, proximity to world-class grape-growing regions, and a long tradition of counterculture and experimentation.
Urban wineries—making wine in Oakland, San Francisco, and other Bay Area cities—bring wine into neighborhoods where wine culture has traditionally felt inaccessible or exclusionary. When your neighbors aren’t other winemakers but artists, activists, immigrants, and people from all backgrounds, that proximity changes who feels welcome, who feels like wine is for them.
The Bay Area is uniquely positioned to redefine American wine culture because we’re not trying to replicate Napa or Burgundy. We’re creating something different—more casual, more inclusive, more connected to the diverse communities we’re actually part of.
A Vision for the Future
Toward the end of the panel, we were asked what we hope to see in the future of wine. My answer is pretty clear:
I want American wine to lead the global conversation about climate adaptation. We’re facing climate challenges acutely in California. The solutions we develop—through genetics, through farming practices, through rethinking what we grow—can help wine regions worldwide.
I hope North American Press is part of a movement that proves hybrids and native varieties can make world-class wine. That we help change the conversation from “Why would you work with those grapes?” to “Why wouldn’t you?”
But at the end of the day, this isn’t about me or any individual winemaker. It’s about expanding what American wine can be. It’s about creating more options, more diversity, more resilience in the face of climate chaos. It’s about building a wine culture that reflects our values—sustainability, inclusivity, innovation, and deep connection to place.
Wine as Protest, Wine as Possibility
Sitting on that panel at the San Francisco Public Library, surrounded by fellow winemakers who are challenging conventions in their own ways, I realized something: making wine from hybrid and native grapes isn’t just about producing a beverage. It’s about demonstrating that alternatives exist.
Every time someone tries a Baco Noir or a Catawba and discovers it’s delicious, complex, and food-friendly, it challenges the narrative that only European varieties can make fine wine. Every vineyard farmed without sprays proves we don’t need chemical-intensive agriculture to produce quality. Every bottle shared among neighbors rather than collectors suggests a different model for what wine culture could be.
That’s the art in the protest: showing that another way is possible—and that it’s not just viable, but vibrant, delicious, and deeply connected to the places where these grapes actually evolved.
Thank you to Andrew Sullivan, my fellow panelists, and everyone who attended Night of Ideas. These conversations matter, and I’m grateful to be part of them.
Until next time,
Matt Niess
About Night of Ideas: Night of Ideas is an annual international event organized by the French Embassy’s Cultural Services and Villa Albertine, bringing together artists, writers, scientists, and thinkers for late-night conversations about pressing contemporary questions. The 2026 San Francisco event was held at the San Francisco Public Library.