Chapter 127: A Piece for Completion (1)
TL: Hanguk
A pickup truck climbing the mountain past Oakville. I was driving with the old man riding along, in the pickup we kept carefully at the farm for work and got plenty of good use out of.
The vast vineyards spreading out beyond the window made for a magnificent sight.
"The scenery really is lovely."
"I think about that sometimes. When I wonder why old Mondavi and I both lived to be this age, I figure it's because we spent our lives moving around a lot and looking at fine things. I've lived seeing scenery like this every day, so I don't regret the life I've led."
"Well, isn't that something you can say precisely because you're a legendary Napa Valley winemaker, sir?"
When I said it with a little smirk, he tilted his head.
"You think so?"
"Most other farm owners in Napa Valley probably wouldn't agree with you. They live looking at beautiful scenery too, but they spend their days under all kinds of stress. Climate change, pests and disease, sudden wildfires, loan interest... and if they run a winery, the problems with the wine itself pile on top, so every single day must be stressful."
"That's mostly because they didn't study hard enough. You think climate change, pests, and wildfires steer clear of Stag's Leap? A farm owner ought to be able to manage those risks."
It was a textbook answer.
"I think so too, but there are plenty of people who just can't do it."
"Well, that may be... Luck matters in life, sure, but what matters more is how sincerely a person put in the work. The way I see it, half the folks farming in Napa deserve to go under."
It was a savage thing to say, but I didn't argue. The truth was, just as he said, there were a fair number of people running enormous farms who barely studied and simply kept doing things the way they always had, without a second thought.
"So who are we going to meet today?"
At my question, a thin smile crossed his lips.
"Someone even worse than me. He's got plenty of problems too."
"Plenty of problems?"
"Ever since he was young, he never bothered much with studying grape growing or wine. Sure, he covered the basics well enough, but anything beyond that he pretty much gave up on entirely."
Going just by what Warren said, the man sounded like a failing grade of a farm owner. And yet, if Warren was taking me to meet him, there had to be some other reason behind it, so I listened calmly.
"Put that way, you'd think he's a stubborn fool with no talent, but the man's an even bigger genius than me."
"What? Even more than you?"
"He does everything by instinct, from the farming to the wine. That's why his winery probably won't last long once he's gone."
"Wait... but then his children must be worried about it. He doesn't care?"
"He couldn't care less. He's never been the type to fret over that sort of thing. He probably figures his kids ought to be grateful enough that they get to live in comfort off his money."
"Ah..."
"To be honest, I'm no different myself..."
Just then a question of my own came to mind, and I asked it.
"Then the money you got from selling your winery, are you holding onto all of it yourself, sir?"
"That? I set up a separate corporation of my own and left it for the kids to run. Split the shares among them too."
"Still, you gave them a generous share in advance, thinking of your children."
"Thinking of my children... well, I wouldn't say that's necessarily true."
"Why not?"
He hesitated a moment, then spoke in a low voice.
"When I was young, I figured the more I left to my kids, the better, no question about it. But as they grew up and I watched how they turned out, I didn't like it one bit. I realized it later. Rather than raising them to do whatever they pleased, I should have forced them to struggle, even against their will, and made them learn the value of the land."
"......"
"There's no undoing what's already done. They're all grown now, and there's no chance they'd listen to me at this point, so I figure I'll just settle things one piece at a time and hand it over as cash."
This was something I'd already heard before.
"Someone I know was about to do the same thing, but his kids had a change of heart and threw themselves into farming for real, so in the end he didn't sell the farm and passed it down to them instead."
"Is that so? Whoever that is, I sure envy him. These kids of mine, all they can think about is taking the money from selling the winery and making an easy buck off real estate development."
"Real estate? At a time like this?"
"Whatever the timing, that's all they've got in their heads, so I figure I'll just hand it over and stop caring whether they sink or swim."
Of all things, the fact that it was real estate worried me.
"And what if they lose the whole fortune doing that?"
"It'd be a terrible thing, but there's no guarantee it won't happen. Still, what can you do? Better they go under while I'm still alive. If they go bust after I'm dead, then what?"
Was this why people said raising children was so hard? It seemed that fretting over one's children even after death was simply the nature of a parent's heart.
"Ah... real estate, of all things..."
"Why? Does real estate look that bad to you?"
"Tsss... if it's real estate..."
Knowing just how massive a shock the subprime mortgage crisis would send through the entire world, I felt a pang of dismay that, of all things, his children meant to pour the winery money into real estate.
"Is it really that bad?"
"Tsss... haah..."
"Ahem... I suppose I'll have to go tell them to look into it carefully."
"You really should. They need to look into it very carefully indeed."
"I'll do that."
After climbing some twenty more minutes along the ridge that bordered Napa on the right and Sonoma on the left, a low mist hung over everything. The vineyard set high on a mountain at an elevation of 600m looked mysterious in its own right.
"Can you tell what's distinctive about this terrain?"
"Thanks to the elevation, the grapes get intense sunlight during the day, and at night there'd be a sharp drop in temperature. Naturally, the balance between sugar content and acidity would come out very well. Cabernet Franc depends on slow, even ripening, and this climate would be a perfect fit for that. What's more..."
"What's more?"
"The cool Pacific currents blowing in from the west, off the Sonoma coast, would rise all the way up to the ridge, so the rich herbal notes Cabernet Franc carries, along with the blueberry and violet aromas, would steep into it deeply, and it'd help hold the acidity too. You said he relies entirely on instinct rather than data, and now I can see why you call him a genius. On climate alone, this is the ideal place to grow Cabernet Franc."
"Heh heh..."
He was impressed. Warren hadn't told me a thing in advance; he'd only given me the location and had me drive, and yet from the terrain alone I'd grasped the very heart of this place's terroir at once.
While he was still marveling at it, we arrived, before I knew it, at the quiet entrance to the farm.
"I gave him a heads-up beforehand, but he may well have forgotten. He's a bit cantankerous, so don't pay it too much mind."
"Of course."
When it came down to it, the remarkable one was Warren, who at his age and after such great achievements remained free of prejudice and humble; for any other farm owner of that generation, a little cantankerousness was something I could readily understand and accept.
The moment I stepped out of the truck, the smell of earth hit my nose. Right from the scent, a mix of red clay and iron, it was a little different from down below. Being at the mountain's summit, the very quality of the soil had to be different.
Then, from far off, an old man approached, with a bushy beard, frayed suspenders, and brown boots worn white and ragged at the ankles. Warren called out first.
"Eddie! Still out here doing the shoveling yourself? Mess up swinging a shovel at your age and you'll throw out your back and never get up again!"
The old man's eyes narrowed.
"Goddammit, if you came to nag, then get lost. Say that one more time and I'll put a hole in your truck tires, Warren."
Warren cackled and nudged me forward by the shoulder.
"Let me introduce you. This here's the young Asian fellow I told you about. And that old geezer is Edward Grant, the owner of this place."
Edward Grant, the old man, looked me up and down. It was a gaze so frank it was almost rude.
"So you're the one from that sensational article. The one in that ridiculous story about Warren going in to learn your techniques. You're not about to tell me that bullshit's actually true, are you?"
I gave a smile.
"Warren exaggerated a little."
"So it's not total bullshit, then?"
I smirked and shrugged, and Warren grabbed Edward by the shoulder and steered him inside.
"Let's just head in. No point standing around chewing the fat. Oh, and I brought a present for you, so come have a look at that too."
The surly look on his face softened at the word 'present.'
"A present?"
"That's what I said..."
After Warren had pushed us all the way into the winery office, I held out the wine I'd prepared. It was an Echelon, nestled in a case of fine wood.
He gave me and Warren a quick glance, then opened the case, ran a slow eye over the Echelon, and gave a faint nod.
"I've heard of its reputation. I'll enjoy it."
Warren frowned at once.
"What, you're not going to open it right here?"
"Goddammit, why would I open it here? I'm going to drink it alone."
"Greedy old man, that's what you are..."
"Hmph! Look who's talking... If you're going to make a show of handing me some wine, you could at least bring a Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon."
"Why, you... greedy old man, do you have any idea what that costs?"
"It's got to be at least that good before you've earned any bragging rights."
Having blustered like that, Edward turned to me and asked,
"So, why'd you come?"
"I came because I heard you make the best Cabernet Franc in all of California."
At my words, the corners of his eyes softened once again.
"It's not a wrong thing to say. But you mean to use Franc for blending? Any kid Warren brings along ought to know the basics, so..."
Up until now, whenever Cabernet Franc was used in a blend, it served only to lend a touch of its piercing herb, lilac, and berry-family aromas to lock in structure. A kind of bit player, in other words.
Single-varietal Franc, or blends with a high proportion of Franc, were mostly looked down on as too light, too herbaceous, or too dominated by green notes; and since the great majority of high-scoring wines were dense, powerful, and built around body, the delicacy of Franc wasn't considered all that important.
So rather than going to any trouble to seek out the finest Franc, people focused first and foremost on raising the quality of their Cabernet Sauvignon, which made it perfectly natural for him to ask about my intentions first.
"Personally, I think the herb and spice family of aromas in Cabernet Franc actually brings out its elegance."
"Oh ho, is that so?"
Up until roughly 2010, Cabernet Franc had remained a supporting player in blended wines, but from the 2020s onward it would rise to leading-role status, making up twenty to forty percent of blends, and its price would climb as high as one hundred to three hundred dollars.
And the decisive factor was that I preferred a delicate flavor to the heavy-handed blended wines of the past, so I wanted to bring this kind of character to my first Cult Wine.
"Does that seem strange?"
"Strange, nothing. It's just a surprise that for once Warren brought along someone who actually knows what he's talking about. Americans still don't properly understand the charm Franc has. They're all idiots with no palate, the whole lot of them."
He spat out venom enough to fluster whoever was listening, then rose from his seat.
"You've earned the right to taste some Franc, so follow me."
As he stood, Warren shot me a wink. It was his way of conceding that, for now, my words had landed with the old man.
As we descended into the underground aging cellar, cold air rushed in at us. The humidity was high, and the scent of wood and stone soaked the air. Barrels were lined up in a row along the wall, and Edward gave the second barrel from the left two taps, tap-tap.
"This one's the best I've got this year. A year in a new French oak barrel, then eight more months held down in a reused one. The trick is stabilizing it at low temperature."
Warren raised his eyebrows.
"That trick again? The very method everyone waves off, saying it kills the aroma."
"Which is exactly why none of them can keep up with me. There's no better way to turn a sharp aroma into a clear, transparent depth."
Edward stuck a wine sampler into the barrel and poured out samples into glasses. The wine swirled thin inside the glass. Taking in the aroma first, I caught a clear note of raspberry, with the scent of bell pepper lingering richly around it.
The moment I sensed the true identity of a proper Franc, a smile rose to my lips before I knew it.
"The real deal, isn't it? Go on, taste it."
"Yes."
When I held a mouthful of it, the acidity sparked lightly up front, and from the mid-palate on, the texture carried through cleanly. There was no bitterness from the skins, and the finish was clean. The very essence of a truly pristine wine, I suppose?
Without thinking, I spoke in admiration.
"How much of this could you spare me?"
"You want some?"
"Absolutely."
*****
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