Chapter 74: Sylphide (4)
TL: Hanguk
LA, White & Co. Wine Trading.
Christopher's company, located on the tenth floor of a fairly large building, was one of countless wine distribution companies based in California, and at present it was recognized as a mid-tier player.
One might think having a wine critic for a CEO would be an advantage, but because he couldn't distribute wines he had reviewed, the pace of the company's expansion was surprisingly slow. The wines he distributed ranged in entry price from low to high, and if anything, the company's strength was the reputation that the high-end wines carried by White & Co. were trustworthy.
"Sorry I'm late."
Christopher White pushed open the door and walked into the conference room. In his hand was the contract he had just brought back from Napa.
"Everyone, please have a seat."
The department heads quickly settled into their chairs. Mark, the sales team leader; Helen, the logistics manager; Andrew, the marketing manager. Every face was tense as they watched Christopher's lips.
He laid the contract on the table and spoke quietly.
"As I told you beforehand, this is the contract granting us exclusive distribution rights for Redwood Winery's wine. The product name is Sylphide. A Russian River Valley Single Vineyard Pinot Noir."
A murmur rippled through the room. One of the sales reps, a former sommelier, widened his eyes and muttered.
"Huh? Redwood, isn't that the same place that made Echelon, the wine you reviewed not long ago?"
"That's right. It was a pretty shocking wine. They woke up the firm structure and deep aromas that a Cabernet should only show after years of aging, and they did it in just one year. Unfortunately, I already put Echelon up in a review, so we can't touch it. But this one is different."
Since the CEO himself, a wine critic no less, had tasted and chosen it personally, the staff couldn't argue. Nor did they even think to question the CEO's choice. At least in the mid-entry range and above, Christopher's picks had never once been wrong.
"Alright, what we need to do now is simple. We're going to spread this wine across the entire East Coast. But we don't need flashy advertising. What we need is to get it onto the best tables."
He pointed his finger at several spots on the map of the United States mounted on the wall and continued.
"Mark, sales team, get me a list of the top fine-dining restaurants in New York. You need to put tasting samples directly into the hands of the chefs at Per Se, Daniel, and Eleven Madison Park. We need them talking about it first."
"Yes, understood."
"Helen, for logistics, send two hundred cases from Napa, California by air freight to JFK Airport in New York as a priority. At the same time, work out a ground trucking schedule for Boston and Philadelphia. They absolutely have to arrive before the fall banquet season starts."
From late October into November, corporate events, banquets for politicians and lobbyists, museum events, operas, and charity galas would begin lining up one after another. Christopher's orders were a strategy to concentrate the promotion of Sylphide in that window.
"Yes, I'll get on it right away."
"Andrew, on marketing, don't advertise directly. Instead, quietly drop the message through the critics' network and the sommeliers' association that this is 'the wine Christopher White chose'. The fact that there's no official review will actually stoke their curiosity."
The marketing manager nodded.
"Understood. So you're saying, don't tell them outright, but make them curious."
"Exactly. People worship the wines they feel they discovered themselves more fervently. Remember, this wine must not look like some clumsy Pinot Noir from a new winery. The value of Sylphide will rise or fall depending on how we handle it on the East Coast."
"Yes!"
Once the staff filed out, Christopher was left alone, studying the map. The quantity was far too small for the company to climb any higher, but he was certain this opportunity would let him push their market share up another notch.
The autumn sunlight in Alexander Valley lay low over the land, yet it was still warm. The vineyard at Laguna Creek Farm was entering the harvest of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. At this most critical moment, Armando was waiting for me at the freshly cleaned winery.
"Cost me money again to clean it up. Money to spend everywhere I turn."
Already, the way he talked had the unmistakable whiff of an owner.
"So now you understand how I feel."
"Tell me about it."
When we opened the warehouse door, the rich scent of fruit poured out from the harvest bins brimming with freshly picked grapes. I immediately pulled on gloves and rested my hand on top of the heap of grapes.
"Good, let's get started. Where's the camera?"
"Got it, this camcorder right here. But this cost money too."
"......"
My dad had told me to prepare things in advance, the same way he'd recorded my lessons on camera when I first learned from him so I wouldn't forget. But Armando was already making a face over the money he'd spent. I knew exactly how he felt, so I just nodded.
"Don't worry too much. Once we start selling the vinegar, you'll recover all the huge expenses from along the way."
"I should. I believe we can."
Armando's eyes widened as he nodded. A few stainless steel fermentation tanks sat around us, and on one side, a small tank we had prepared was the stage for today's work.
First step: crushing. When the workers tipped the grape clusters into the crusher-destemmer, the stems, seeds, and skins were all pulped together, and the pulpy grape juice flowed out. As the red liquid filled a dipper, I spoke to Armando.
"When you're making wine, you have to be careful about the astringency from the seeds and skins, but vinegar is different. Even that bitterness becomes part of the flavor. We're going to pour this grape juice into the tank and run the primary fermentation. Here we need to produce alcohol, so we have to add yeast."
I pulled out a small packet and held it up. Saccharomyces cerevisiae, the most common and reliable yeast used in winemaking.
"The regular vinegars on the market are fermented quickly by natural fermentation or by large-scale continuous methods (industrial systems that pump in oxygen), so the flavor comes out simple and sharp. But we're using wine yeast, and we're not using leftover grapes of poor quality, we're using marketable, wine-grade grapes. The flavor can't help but be different."
"Ohhh-"
"The temperature has to stay between 22 and 25 degrees. Too hot or too cold and the yeast dies or the flavor turns muddy. You have to keep checking this temperature sensor I've stuck on here, and if needed, run water along the outer wall of the tank to cool it."
Armando peered at the sensor and murmured.
"22 degrees... so I need to keep watching this. Got it."
Once the yeast was sprinkled in and the lid closed, bubbles began slowly rising from inside the grape juice. A distinctive sweet, tangy aroma spread through the air.
"Now in just a few days alcohol will form. And after that is where the real heart of it begins."
I lifted up a glass jar I had brought from home. Inside was a clear culture liquid, with a cloudy, fine film spread across the surface.
"Acetobacter. Acetic acid bacteria. These little guys are what turn alcohol into vinegar."
Armando raised an eyebrow.
"So after the yeast, I add this in?"
"Right. But there's something to watch out for. With wine, you have to block out oxygen, but vinegar is the opposite. Acetobacter feeds on oxygen to grow, so you have to expose a wide surface. That's why for vinegar, we use a shallow, wide fermentation tank like this."
I explained as I pushed back the lid of the empty tank halfway.
"Temperature should be between 28 and 30 degrees. A bit warmer and the bacteria become more active. But if it goes over 35, the bacteria die, so be careful."
Armando nodded while holding up the camcorder, and I pointed my finger into the tank as if picturing what it would look like a few days later.
"Now instead of the smell of alcohol, a sour aroma will start rising. That's the signal that acetic fermentation is underway. But if you stop here, it's no different from ordinary table vinegar."
I brought over a sack of oak chips that was piled in the corner of the warehouse. The finely split French oak pieces gave off a heavy aroma.
"If you add these during the aging process, the aroma changes. Like with wine, the wood and fruit scents blend together. You have to wait at least six months. The longer it sits, the rounder the acidity gets, and it becomes not just a sharp, stinging vinegar, but something worth using in a high-end restaurant as the base for dressings or sauces."
Armando picked up an oak chip, held it to the tip of his nose, and inhaled deeply.
"Ohhh- it smells sweet, like wood with vanilla and a faint note of coconut layered over it. Just like wine."
"Right. It's not that different from wine. The only difference is whether it can hold out to the end."
As we poured the grape juice into the tank and prepared the yeast and the acetobacter in sequence, we were both drenched in sweat. When the work was done, the tank was already full of red liquid, and small bubbles were popping and moving like something alive.
I pulled off my gloves as I spoke.
"Now the waiting begins. A few months from now, the first vinegar to bear your name will be born from this tank."
Armando stared at the grape juice clinging to his fingertips. The sticky red liquid gleamed in the sunlight. He smiled and murmured softly.
"My heart's pounding so hard it feels like it's going to burst."
I nodded.
"That's how it is now. Don't forget what I told you."
"Of course not."
"Alright, let's head out."
When we stepped outside the building, the workers were still hard at it in the vineyard. I walked slowly with Armando, watching the workers as they labored.
"So? Running pretty well, huh?"
Armando's voice was full of anticipation and excitement.
"Yeah, it's running better than I expected."
"I've been training the workers a lot. I pay them a bit more per day on purpose so they don't keep turning over, and I feed them well too. Some of them came from my hometown, so I've even got workers who come out of their way just to work here. My mom's a great cook, too."
"Oh, so your mom's helping you out a lot?"
"She is. Before we took over the farm she was worried sick, but now she's doing everything she can to help."
"I'd imagine so."
Armando, who had been gazing vacantly out at the farm, stopped walking and slowly ran his hand down one of the vines.
"Uh... America's a country of immigrants, but I always felt like I was floating somewhere in between. I was always just a laborer. You know what the best thing my mom ever did for me was?"
"What?"
"She sent me to school. It was a public school so there was no tuition, but she still sent me to Vintage High School, which is actually considered a pretty good school in the area, and she told me I had to focus on my studies. Honestly, I didn't study that hard, but meeting you, I feel like my life has changed."
"I wouldn't necessarily say that."
"Oh, right. Before my mom married my current dad, I didn't even have a proper green card. I was completely an outsider. But now that I've taken over the farm, it's like... it's hard to put into words, but I feel like I've been recognized as someone who's allowed to be here. Most of it's a mortgage with the bank, sure, but the name on the deed is mine, you know? You get how I feel, right?"
"... Yeah, I do. I'm an outsider too."
"Knew you would."
Leaving the vineyard behind, Armando stretched both arms out wide and beamed.
"You see that? All the way back to where you can't see the end, that's all my farm. Everything we get out of here is mine. Isn't it incredible? These vines, this soil, the grapes... and the winery too. Sometimes the hair on the back of my neck stands up and I get goosebumps."
"I know the feeling."
"A week ago I was watching Gladiator, and when this one piece of music played, I had the weirdest thing happen, my farm came to mind, you know? It gave me chills. I looked up what the song was afterward. It's called 'Now We Are Free'. I've been listening to it on repeat lately. When I'm walking through the vineyard with that music playing, it feels like the whole world is mine. And I get this feeling that someday I'm going to be the owner of some... amazing winery in Sonoma."
Armando's expression was like someone in the middle of a dream, and it put a strange feeling in me too.
"You can make it happen."
"Really?"
"Sure. Because I'm going to make it happen for myself. So you'll get there too."
"Haha, good. I'm sure you'll get there. But I know my own place. The great winery I'm talking about isn't some enormous, famous operation. Delicious grapes growing, lots of people asking for the vinegar and wine my winery makes, and the people I love by my side. The happiest winery in the world. And of course, the wife has to be pretty. That's the most important part."
"......"
"Don't tell me you'd turn that down? No way."
As Armando carried on joking around, behind him the vineyard turned red in the glow of the setting sun, and the Russian River in the distance made a backdrop as beautiful as a painting.
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