It's alarming to think of how just fifteen years back we were smelling the first Seven Acre, in all its bouncy brash youth. It was floral, and bright.  Effusive. Now we see an infinitely more complex, surly, adult wine that seems to want to weather the hot years without anybody looking.  This wine has gnarly grumpiness. It is obviously a wine from vines which have their feet deep in tough ground, which is exactly what those ancient quartzites and dolomitic siltstones are.  Tough.  But they must retain smidgeons of moisture, because when you contemplate this wine you can almost feel those roots hanging onto their mean old rocks like there was no tomorrow.  They're the only ones they've got.  So they squeeze out what they can.  Beautiful sweet sweaty syrups are the heart of this evaporated wonder.  There are no pretty bits; just the slinky syrup.  The essence.  Briar and leather and fig are all squeezed in, prune, juniper, ripe blueberries and beets.  The palate is strapping, lithe and sluggish: it settles into the mouth with sublime arrogance, like a shiny black panther, licking its shoulder in magnificent recline.  Its tannins are finer than usual: not as confronting as in the 08 Cabernet or 08 Cornerstone Grenache.  93+++ points Philip White