No wine grape gives less of a fuck than Cabernet Franc. If Cab Franc were a person, she’d be named Cab Franc, and everyone who ever met her would describe her as being “effortlessly cool,” a natural athlete, and very good at math.
Eventually and/or inevitably, Cab Franc becomes the black-eyed bass player of a hypothetical late-seventies UK punk band somewhere along the lines of The Raincoats or The Slits—The Bordeaux Blend, they’re called (STEAL IT! STEAL THIS BAND NAME!) and they get really famous, like Sex Pistols-level famous.
But Cab Franc, of course, could not care less.
After putting up with the questionable antics of her more flamboyant bandmates Cab Sauv and Merlot for far too many international tours, Cab Franc quits the band following the release of their mediocre third album, [Insert Terrible Wine Pun Here], the Bordeaux Blend’s equivalent of The Clash’s crappy Cut The Crap, and move to a tiny cottage in the central Loire Valley: the only place where she ever truly felt at home.