Chapter 110: Decanter World Wine Awards (1)
TL: Hanguk
London Heathrow Airport. The moment the arrivals door slid open, cold, damp air seeped into his lungs.
Christopher White was walking along checking his wristwatch, with a staff member behind him pushing a luggage cart stacked with several trunks lined up one after another. Inside those trunks were half a case each of "Echelon 2005" and "Sylphide 2005."
Thomas, the staff member hauling the luggage cart, spoke up half-jokingly.
"I can't wait to see everyone's faces when they taste this wine."
But Christopher only gave a small chuckle. He didn't share the same excited look Thomas wore.
"Don't get your hopes up too high. Our goal is to promote the wine."
"Still, a wine of this quality, that's something to be proud of, isn't it?"
"Sure it is. It's an excellent wine for the price. But if you expect a high score, the letdown is bigger. And we don't have the volume to sell anyway. Just think of it as building Echelon and Sylphide's track record."
The reason he'd gone out of his way to bring Echelon rather than just Sylphide was that he wanted to build a good long-term relationship with Redwood. In particular, Brian had once mentioned cult wine, and on top of that, Christopher expected another Pinot Noir besides Sylphide to launch later this year, so for his part he absolutely had to win Redwood over.
This business trip to London was less about scoring some enormous triumph with these wines and more about showing just how hard White & Company Wine Trading was working for the Redwood brand.
"Even so, I've got a feeling the results are going to be good."
"Heh, that would be nice."
The air outside the airport was heavy and gray.
"This weather is just..."
"England's always like this."
"This is exactly why I don't like England."
The two of them flagged down a taxi and loaded their luggage in the back.
"Where to?"
"The Conrad St. James hotel, over by Westminster."
The driver pulled straight out onto the road.
"Here on business?"
"We came to take part in a wine competition."
"Wine, eh? London's not really the place for that. We're still a nation getting by on beer."
Christopher laughed quietly at the driver's joke. There was truth to it, but only as far as the ordinary working class went; from the thirteenth century onward, England had been the world's foremost wine-consuming nation.
Though its climate made it ill-suited to traditional wine-grape growing, England had become a gateway for wine, with French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian wines traded through the Port of London, and it had established itself as a center of judging, distribution, and evaluation.
In particular, "Decanter", a British wine magazine founded in 1975, was a publication that had effectively driven the world's wine evaluation standards, and when that very magazine launched a competition called the Decanter World Wine Awards (DWWA) in 2004, it immediately became a wine contest of global authority.
"England is where a world-class wine competition is held. You're allowed to take some pride in your wine."
"Oh, is that so?"
Christopher turned his gaze back out the window. He'd told his employee Thomas not to expect anything, but the truth was he couldn't help feeling a little anticipation of his own. So he was forcing that feeling back down.
The next morning, the hotel lobby was already bustling.
【Decanter World Wine Awards】
Banners printed with the names of wineries from sixty countries around the world hung all the way up to the lobby ceiling. Beneath the posters, participants from every nation were moving crates of wine. Bordeaux, Barolo, Malbec, and Napa... different aromas and colors mingling in a single space.
Christopher held out his documents at the registration desk.
"Redwood Winery. California."
The woman behind the desk nodded and checked the list.
"It says you're entering two types of wine?"
"Echelon, and Sylphide."
"Same vintage year?"
"Same year, same winemaker, but they're different varietals, so they're wines of completely different character."
Once he'd finished registering, Christopher slowly took in the hall. The French booth was already crowded with reporters. One French winemaker spoke in front of a microphone.
"French wine is a conversation between earth and time. The terroir that only France possesses produces the most special wine in the world. On top of that, techniques steeped in long history elevate its refinement."
But at one reporter's question, his face stiffened.
"That was just the tide of the times. People are always drawn, at least once, to a new and intense flavor. But in the end, they come back. A soft, lingering finish and a refinement that can't be imitated. That's the place French wine holds."
The words, brimming with pride in French wine, lodged clearly in his ears.
And right beside him, the representative of some Italian wine distributor was pouring wine for reporters. The aroma of Barolo spread through the air.
"Now, this is Barolo, the heart of Piedmont, grown in the soil where Europe's most expensive grapes are cultivated. This land is rich in limestone, and the wind blows only from the northwest. That's why Barolo is firm, yet its aroma is long.
You're saying American wine is the trend right now? Yes, it's young and full of strength. But this is different. Age it ten years and the cherry notes turn to spice, then to truffle. That's a transformation no machine or technology can create.
I export only forty thousand bottles a year. The reason? The answer won't come from me, it'll come from this wine instead. Here, take a smell. This is a wine you drink not with your mouth but with your nose."
Everyone who'd come here promoted their wines passionately and put their pride on full display. Listening to their stories was enough to make a person reach for their wallet, ready to gladly pay for the wine in front of them.
In the afternoon, a preliminary meeting was held. Judges from every country sat around a long round table.
England, France, Italy, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand... all of them people one would recognize from wine magazines just by their names.
"This year we're prioritizing balance over aging."
"Minerality is the trend. A strong oak character makes it hard to score well."
"These days light reds are the way to go."
On the surface their conversation was peaceful and composed, but an unmistakable tension ran beneath it.
In the midst of it, Christopher quietly took out his phone. A message had come in from Brian back in America.
[How's London?]
He wrote back a short reply.
[Maybe because it's the heart of the battlefield, it's fiercely competitive here. It would've been a great experience for you to come along and feel the atmosphere. A shame, really.]
He spent the time on edge, wondering just what sort of word he'd end up sending.
While Christopher was spending his tense hours in London over the wine entries, I found myself in a completely out-of-nowhere situation.
"Ah... this feels like déjà vu. Haven't we been through something like this before?"
Sitting in the passenger seat beside me as I drove, Armando fixed his hair in the sun-visor mirror as he spoke.
"We have. I regret not making a serious move on Christina back then. I wonder what she's up to now?"
"Probably dating some other guy and doing just fine."
"Cold-hearted bastard..."
I'd picked Armando up at the Laguna Creek winery in Alexander Valley and was on my way to Healdsburg. Astonishingly, Sienna had invited me to her birthday party.
I'd meant to decline because I was busy, but somehow Armando had found out and insisted we go together, so I'd suddenly ended up headed to a birthday party.
"So do you really like Sienna? Look at her eyes, they're no joke."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... you don't get it. A woman like that is exactly the type who's drawn to a strong man. My ex-girlfriend told me so."
"That reporter?"
"Yeah. Maybe because she was three years older than me, she taught me all kinds of things. I guess that's why they say your first woman should be an older one."
"......"
"Well, none of it applies to you. Anyway, did you tell Chloe?"
"No. Why would I?"
"See? This is exactly why I like you. A man who lets a woman lead him around is no good. Every now and then you've got to slip out of her grasp and make her sweat for it."
"What are you even talking about..."
When I arrived at the white mansion where Sienna lived, I was inwardly dumbfounded by its grandiose scale. Chloe was a big shot of a rich kid in her own region, yet seeing Sienna's mansion made it clear the gap between them was beyond words.
"Wow... this is insane, huh?"
"You don't like Sienna for her money, do you?"
Armando answered firmly.
"Of course not. But I think I'm about to fall for her even harder."
"You're nuts..."
When we reached the mansion, balloons and the like were already stuck all over the house for the party, and a crowd of kids who'd arrived ahead of us were wandering around with wine glasses in hand, chatting.
Loud pop music, drinks, and young men and women throwing themselves into a heated swimming pool... at all the steamy, sexy sights, Armando swallowed hard.
"Unbelievable, it's unbelievable."
"Bet you're thrilled. Go find Sienna first."
"Huh? There she is."
Armando spotted Sienna surrounded by friends at the center of the party and walked over.
"Good to see you."
"Oh, hey."
Since Sienna now had memories of having exchanged greetings with him a few times, she didn't tilt her head in confusion at the sight of Armando. If anything, the seemingly pleased look on her face was a little jarring. Then she glanced back and forth between Armando and me, who'd followed him over, and said,
"Enjoy the party. If you brought a swimsuit, feel free to swim. Oh, Brian, my dad's looking for you, could you spare him a moment?"
"Your father?"
"Yeah, he asked me to let him know when you arrived."
"Sure."
She immediately placed a call on her cellphone and let him know I'd come. The fact that she summoned him by phone rather than getting up and going to him, since the house was so big, made it clear from the start that this household was on a different level.
As I was about to just stand there blankly,
"By the way, you're not going to swim?"
"Me? Why?"
"Just... I think a swimsuit would suit you well."
I muttered "crazy bastard" under my breath behind him, but absurdly, Sienna flicked her long hair back and said with a strange look in her eyes,
"It would suit you, yeah."
"I figured. Your place is really nice. Think you could show me around?"
"Should I? Hang on a sec, everyone."
I gaped as I watched Sienna lead Armando away into the distance.
"What the? Is this some hidden-camera prank?"
I clung firmly to the belief that surely I couldn't be right. For the sake of justice in this world, that bottomless, baseless flirting could not be allowed to work.
Just then, a deep, dignified voice came from behind.
"Oh, Brian?"
When I turned around, a handsome middle-aged white man was smiling brightly and extending his hand. Shaking it, I said,
"Hello. You were looking for me?"
"That's right. Sienna told me she'd invited you, so I asked her to be sure to let me know when you came. Thanks for making the trip all the way out here. Wine...?"
"I'm fine, I drove here. I'll just have something nonalcoholic."
At a party of people in their early twenties, the drinks would normally be something like RTDs rather than wine, but these were unmistakably kids from well-off families, and above all children of a winery dynasty, so there wasn't a single cheap cocktail in the mix.
Even the wine right in front of me was a Pinot Noir retailing for over ninety dollars, and they seemed to be putting it out casually only because their own winery had made it.
"They say Asians are restrained, and it turns out it's true. The kids here treat drinking as drinking and driving as driving. It's noisy out here, so shall we head somewhere quiet?"
"Sure."
Sienna's father, Mark Harrington, led me down two levels to the basement. There was a billiard room there along with a small, nicely appointed bar, and I could tell it was where he talked with his guests.
"This is nice."
"Right?"
He poured juice from the bar's little refrigerator and slid it in front of me. Then he settled into the host's seat behind the bar and spoke.
"To tell the truth, I'd actually been thinking I ought to pay a visit to Redwood at some point."
"For what reason...?"
"I heard you source your grapes from Grendel Hill Vineyard."
It was a topic I hadn't expected.
"Yes..."
"This time, some of us California wineries are planning to make a special wine to commemorate winning the thirtieth-anniversary re-tasting of the Judgment of Paris. How about Redwood Winery joining in? The state of California is giving these wines special support and even promoting them. It'd be a good opportunity."
The glint in his eyes as he made an offer that would tempt any winery shimmered strangely.
*****
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