Chapter 150: Astra Vale (4)
TL: Hanguk
About ten days later, an evening at Redwood Winery.
On this peaceful hill, where the cool, cold November wind swept across the farm, an unusual bustle hung in the air. Dozens of torches flickered, pushing back the chilly night air, and at their center stood a rough-hewn wooden table set with twelve glasses.
"Hmm... I figured that since they're VIPs, we might do the tasting somewhere a bit fancier, but torches and wine... you know, now that it's all set up, it actually looks pretty impressive."
I straightened my tie, impressed. Warren Winiarski, who had orchestrated the entire setup, seemed thoroughly unimpressed with my getup and flicked at my collar as he replied.
"You've still got a long way to go. The more money a man's drowning in, the more he goes crazy for the smell of dirt over a marble floor. Only when there's a bit of Napa soil stuck to the soles of their shoes do they think, 'Ah, I'm really standing at the heart of wine', and open their wallets."
"So you're good at marketing too, huh?"
"Hardly. I just know a little something about how rich bastards think, that's all."
Warren chuckled and fixed his gaze on the headlights approaching in the distance. Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and unidentifiable custom sedans were climbing the hill in a line. Christopher came hurrying over and stood beside me. He normally kept a flawless poker face, but tonight beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
"Brian, you're ready, right? About thirty minutes ago I got word that Viktor Karlov had just stepped off his private jet and was heading straight here, so he should arrive any minute now."
"You seem even more nervous than I am."
"Ha ha... I've never dealt with a whale this big before. It really makes me appreciate all over again just how remarkable Warren is."
A moment later, the car doors opened and, one by one, the figures began to step out.
The first man out was Edward Miller, lean of build with a sharp, piercing gaze. Known on Wall Street as the "man-eating shark", he walked straight up to Warren without so much as glancing around and gave him a brief embrace.
"You old fox. Still alive and kicking, I see."
"I'm not dying until you've drunk every last bottle of my wine, Edward."
Next, Ken Satomi, who had come from San Jose, offered a courteous greeting, and Isabella Rossi, called the queen of the perfume world, wore an inscrutable smile as she fixed on me with a meaningful look.
The rest of the guests who embraced Warren as they arrived were, each and every one, formidable people. There was Charles Gordon, LA's top private banker; the Olson Brothers, who dominated California's premium furniture market; Mark Chen, the security software founder hailed as the rising star of Silicon Valley; and more besides. Twelve moguls from every walk of life, the kind whose names alone commanded recognition, filled the torch-lit hilltop wall to wall.
The last to arrive, Viktor Karlov, the youngest son of a Russian steel dynasty, left his bodyguards at a distance and studied me with curious eyes. I'd assumed that "youngest son" meant someone young, so I was a little thrown to find a balding, middle-aged man instead.
"So this is him? The monster who dragged Warren Winiarski back into the field."
Warren clapped me on the shoulder and made the introduction.
"This is Brian Choi, my partner and the heart of Redwood. Others won't believe it, but I call this man Master."
"That's absurd... well, we'll take your word for it, for now."
I gave a light bow and led them to the table. Come to think of it, just as Warren had said, there was no need for lavish decoration. These were people who had already tasted every rare thing the world had to offer, so I had to win them over with substance, not clumsy marketing.
I picked up the Astra Vale I had opened in advance. The wine, having breathed fully through decanting, flowed into the glasses. Beneath the pitch-black night sky, the flicker of the torches reflected off the ruby-colored liquid.
"Its name is Astra Vale. It was crafted around the finest grapes here at Redwood. It's the product of Warren's advice mixed with my own stubbornness."
Ken Satomi lifted his glass and held it up to the light. His movements were as careful as if he were handling a precision instrument. Isabella Rossi buried her nose in her glass and, for a long while, did not stir.
Edward Miller was the first to empty his glass. He rolled the wine over his tongue, savoring its structure, then let out a low murmur of admiration and spoke.
"Mmm, remarkable, isn't it? Napa Cabernet is usually all brawn. Like an athlete with plenty of muscle and nothing upstairs. But this is different. There's a taut tension that grips the whole mouth, and it isn't unpleasant at all; it's like listening to a finely tuned string ensemble. I took it for a rough, wild stallion, but there's an aristocratic grace to it. Brian, was it?"
"Yes, Edward."
"What on earth did you do to this wine? This isn't farming, it's architecture. A structure like a meticulously calculated skyscraper."
Perhaps because he was a man who had tasted countless blended wines, his descriptions were on par with a professional critic's.
The truth was, for all his old-fashioned metaphors about string instruments and aristocrats, the precision he had tasted came down to rigorously calculated numbers.
The tension he had admired was, in fact, owed to the exquisite balance of a titratable acidity (Titratable Acidity) that had been dialed in by a difference of no more than a few days at harvest, and the pH level. And the fact that the tannins felt not rough but silken was likewise nothing more than the result of controlling the aging temperature in increments of a tenth of a degree, in order to suppress the low-degree-of-polymerization (the process by which small molecules bond together into long chains, describing how tannins mature) catechin (a natural phenolic compound found in abundance in grape seeds, stems, and skins, a very small molecular unit responsible for the rough, bitter taste in wine) content while stabilizing the structure of the high-molecular polyphenols.
"Thank you. I'm honestly amazed that you picked up on exactly what I was trying to express."
I offered a grateful smile at his florid praise.
"This was only possible because Warren helped, wasn't it?"
Before I could answer that question, Warren cut in.
"Ah... I figured people would jump to that very conclusion. But you mustn't forget that I only joined this winery in early summer this year. It was Brian here who laid down this structure first, I'm telling you. And this blending structure isn't my old method. There's a reason I call this man Master."
At that, Edward's face filled with disbelief.
"So you're saying... right now a talent has emerged in Napa Valley who surpasses even you?"
"If that weren't the case, why do you think I would have come here at all?"
"Ha ha... this is news that'll have wine lovers around the world going out of their minds."
With him making such a fuss, the others, their curiosity piqued, quickly brought the wine in their hands to their lips. And as they each set down their glasses with astonished expressions, they all had something to say, and the first to pipe up, eyes sparkling, was Isabella Rossi.
"The layering (Layer) of the aromas is fantastic. At first blackcurrant and graphite come surging out, and then, as time passes, wet earth and dried rose rise up. It's as if it's telling us what the land of Napa Valley itself smells like."
Next, Ken Satomi turned his earnest gaze toward Warren.
"Warren, when I heard you'd come back, I worried a little. I feared it might be a wine like the memoir of an old soldier trapped in past glories. But this... this is almost brutally modern."
"Hey, didn't I just say? I didn't make this; I only lent a little help."
"Ah... my apologies."
"But I did draw a great deal of inspiration from it. That's why I'm preparing a new wine, one that'll be a bit different from anything before."
The moment Warren mentioned a new wine, everyone's eyes lit up.
"Oh? What kind...?"
"That, you'll find out later."
Since Warren was unwilling to say any more, the guests in attendance did not press him further either. Ken Satomi wore a disappointed look for a moment, then spoke.
"In any case, it's been a long time since I've had a wine with such a firm central axis. I can see why Edward called it a structure like a meticulously calculated skyscraper."
Warren laughed heartily beside him, patted Satomi on the shoulder, and pointed at me as he spoke.
"Satomi, that fellow Brian fusses over numbers more finely than your audio equipment does. The other wineries would probably be stunned if they saw Redwood's aging room. It's like looking at a chemist, not a winemaker."
As everyone marveled in admiration, Viktor Karlov set his glass down with a clunk, lumbered over with his bear-like frame, and gripped my shoulder as he asked.
"Enough with all the complicated talk, eh? I can't stand convoluted expressions I don't understand. It's just... one hell of a wine. How much of this precious stuff did you make? About a hundred cases? I'd like to buy the whole lot myself."
At his question, I played the business card I had prepared. My reason for gathering these people was not merely to sell a few boxes, but to use their voices to lodge the brand called "Astra Vale" firmly at the very pinnacle of the market.
"I'm afraid selling you the whole lot won't be possible. This vintage produced roughly 3,500 cases."
"Thirty-five hundred cases? That's not a small amount."
Edward Miller's eyebrow twitched. To produce thousands of cases while positioning it as a cult wine might have looked like a misstep that could undercut its scarcity. But I pressed on.
"Yes. But I intend to give priority allocation to everyone present here today. The remaining stock will be released only through the premium channel Christopher manages, in very small quantities and under strict control. By next week, sommeliers in New York and London will most likely be frantic to get their hands on this wine."
Beside me, Christopher nodded meaningfully. Thirty-five hundred cases was no small number, but once the world's moguls caught wind of it and came rushing in, it was a quantity that would evaporate in an instant.
Viktor, slightly surprised, as if he hadn't expected that answer, soon curled up one corner of his mouth.
"All the better, then. The moment you drink this, your blood runs hot. Thirty-five hundred cases, you said? Good. To stock my yacht and my villa in Moscow, you'll have to set aside at least a hundred cases as my share."
He gripped my shoulder hard enough to crush it and went on.
"Money is no object. But I have one condition. You must come in person, with this wine in hand, to my sixtieth birthday party next year. I want to show off the face of a young Asian genius like you to my friends."
I winced slightly at his grip and asked.
"Do I have to carry the wine all the way to Moscow, by any chance?"
"Hahaha! No, no. New York is home for me."
"In that case, no problem at all."
At that, he nodded with satisfaction and soon picked up the wine bottle to examine it.
"The label is quite striking. A valley where the stars come pouring down... hm? But there's no mention of Napa Valley here."
"That's because this wine's blend includes Petit Verdot from Columbia Valley. If you read the text on the back, it's all explained there."
He looked at the back of the bottle and slowly read it aloud.
"Upon the solid structure of Cabernet Sauvignon, we have layered the softness of Merlot and Cabernet Franc and the delicate grain of Columbia Valley Petit Verdot. Astra Vale, a peerless blend born beyond the boundaries of region. Hm... I see. Impressive."
He nodded and immediately crooked a finger toward Christopher.
"Bring me an order form."
Christopher, forcibly holding back the corners of his mouth from rising, brought over an order form that was as good as blank, and Viktor wrote down a hundred cases and held out a check.
"You fill in the amount."
"Yes."
Astonishingly, Viktor gave a quick glance at the payment figure Christopher had written, $540,000, and signed it just like that. That was the beginning. The VIPs in attendance raised their hands one and all, and Christopher scurried from one to the next like a restaurant server, taking down orders.
The wine sold over the course of that single day came to a staggering 870 cases, recording sales of nearly $4.6 million.
It was, in effect, the opening shot that announced Redwood Winery's rise to major-player status in Napa Valley.
*****
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