Chapter 87: Memories from 30 Years Ago (2)
TL: Hanguk
It was early March, just after a spring rain had passed. Overnight, fog had rolled in along the river, blanketing the vast vineyard in white, and the vines stood half-submerged in the mist, their bare branches exposed. All of it a spectacle: this was the Russian River Valley.
Two vehicles pulled up side by side where the steel trellises wound across the land. One was a sedan, the other an old pickup truck. Dad and I climbed out of the pickup that had followed behind, and Christopher stepped out of the sedan in front.
He pointed toward the farm's entrance and said,
"This right here is Grendel Hill Vineyard. The highest-quality Independent Vineyard (a vineyard that doesn't make its own wine but sells its harvested grapes to multiple wineries) in the Russian River Valley."
There might be some question as to why a place that produces such excellent grapes wouldn't make its own wine, but there are several reasons.
First, wine production isn't agriculture so much as a manufacturing and branding industry, which makes it a risky, challenging venture for someone whose entire expertise is farming. From equipment investments running in the hundreds of thousands to over a million dollars, to the winemaker who's the heart of the operation and all the supporting staff, plus building a brand on top of all that...
It's hardly an easy undertaking.
Second, the cash flow is slow. Selling grapes turns into cash right after harvest, but making your own wine means the whole process, from fermentation through aging (one to two years), bottling, marketing, and sales, takes anywhere from two to five years or more. Not many farms have the financial muscle to weather that.
Third, there's the wine itself. To begin with, making wine is no easy task, and even places that do it well still have to consistently deliver a certain level of quality every year. A single slip can ruin an entire year's harvest, and that happens often enough.
For all these reasons, farms that can secure steady annual income just by selling grapes don't bother trying their hand at the winery side, and instead operate purely as suppliers like this.
"And the farm owner's name?"
"Elias Grendel. Notoriously particular, won't even sell a vine he hasn't personally tended, or so they say. Well, that's mostly just talk these days. He's gotten on in years, and apparently he's turned everything over to his kids."
"Still, sounds like he's pretty fussy about his grapes, then."
"There was a time people called him a man obsessed with Pinot Noir. And even now, Grendel Hill grapes are recognized as truly the best. They carry the very aroma of the Russian River."
Just then the door of an old shed swung open with a clatter, and a man appeared. Silver hair gone snow-white, a lean frame. In his hand he held leather gloves etched with the marks of years.
Sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up, he regarded us with a heavy gaze.
"You're... the visitors from Redwood?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Come in."
His speech was clipped, his gaze sharp. He led us into the shed. Empty oak barrels lined the walls in long rows, and the air carried a mingled scent of aged wood and damp earth.
A bottle of wine already sat on the table, one so familiar to Dad and me that we exchanged startled glances.
Elias picked up the bottle and poured as he spoke.
"This is that famous Sylphide, isn't it? Got it from this fellow here. Quite impressive. Have a seat."
Dad and I sat across from him, while Christopher perched himself half on the windowsill beside the table.
"Yes. It's a Pinot Noir made from Russian River grapes."
When Dad answered, he inhaled the Sylphide's bouquet and asked,
"Whose farm?"
"Hart Farm."
"Ah! That fellow Steven Hart?"
"That's right."
"His grapes are pretty decent."
He nodded, then threw out an unexpected question.
"His place is close to the river so the fog rolls in heavy. How'd you get this kind of structure out of it?"
Caught off guard, Dad turned to me. When the one who should have been answering suddenly looked my way, Elias and Christopher's gazes followed.
"Hmm... I did the destemming a little differently."
Slightly taken aback that the answer had come from such a young man, Elias leaned his upper body forward and asked,
"Differently, you say? How?"
"I can't really tell you that."
"...You fermented with some of the stems left in, didn't you?"
"......"
"Don't worry. I'm not going to make wine out of it. I asked purely out of curiosity. Things from Hart's place have always led with this deep fruit aroma, but this one was a bit different. Caught me off guard. How does something like this come from a single vineyard, with no blending? I was very curious. Now I understand where these herbal and floral notes came from."
"I see."
He looked at Dad and gave a slight smile.
"You've raised a fine son."
"Haha... thank you."
He set down his glass and met my eyes.
"My farm isn't like Hart's. People who don't know any better just say the Russian River Valley is the best Pinot Noir region, but even within it, the character varies. You know that, don't you?"
"As you said, sir, Hart Farm has a low average temperature and a wide diurnal swing, and the fog lingers there, so ripening is slow. Naturally the harvest comes late, and the grapes have high acidity and low sugar, with thinner skins than is typical even for Pinot Noir. But your farm sits a bit further inland, so the fog doesn't roll in as much as at Hart's. Which means more sunlight, of course, so your grapes would have higher sugar and lower acidity than Hart's Pinot Noir."
"Heh heh heh... exactly so. So what do you mean to do with them? Blend?"
"Sylphide ended up as a single vineyard because circumstances made it so. If you're willing to give us your grapes, then naturally..."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Watching him cut me off with a flat refusal before I'd even finished, I was thrown off guard. His expression left no room for argument.
"No. If that's what you intend, I can't sell you my grapes."
It wasn't just Dad and me who were thrown off guard. Christopher, just as startled, lifted himself off the windowsill and raised his voice at Elias.
"Mr. Grendel! That's not what we agreed on! You promised you'd do the deal!"
"That was before I tasted this."
He held up the wine he'd been drinking as if it explained everything.
"What about Sylphide?"
"You made it as a single vineyard. From next year on you'd be dropping the single vineyard label, and that wrecks the brand's identity."
"Why is that your concern, sir?"
The truth was that Christopher had been a little worried about that himself, but it was also part of why he'd been looking forward to it. He was curious what a Sylphide blended from two farms would feel like.
But the steel-spined farm owner cut him off with a firm wave of the hand.
"I'm not worried, I'm telling you it's just not done! Wine is made by man and heaven together. The air a piece of land breathes out, the path of the rain, the depth of the soil, all of it goes into the bottle. That's what makes single vineyard meaningful. If you're going to mix things together just to sell product, then make a different brand from the start."
The sight of a grape grower raising objections to a winery's policy and refusing to sell his grapes was as startling as it was refreshing.
"I drank Sylphide and thought a lot about it, picturing Hart's grapes. To me, the moment you mix his grapes with mine, Sylphide is no longer Sylphide. And you want me to take part in that? Are you out of your mind?"
Christopher, who'd been blinking as he listened, seemed to remember his identity as a wine critic over that of a wine distributor, and quietly settled himself onto a small folding chair.
For my part, Elias's attitude struck me as both admirable and novel. Up to this point, wine had been an academic subject of study for me, and lately a product of my farming made for greater profit. I had never made it out of love for the wine itself.
But Elias's attitude toward wine made me see things in a different light.
"Mr. Grendel?"
"Save it. If you're going to try and talk me into blending, don't bother. You're a winemaker, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I respect winemakers, and I admire them. They make things I can't make from my own grapes. But a winemaker has to take responsibility for what he creates."
Part of me wondered if he really had to push it this far, but I decided to accept it.
"All right."
"Hm?"
"I said all right. With grapes from Hart Farm I'll keep making Sylphide as a single vineyard, just as it is."
At that, Elias's eyes widened, and a thin smile crept across his lips.
"You mean it?"
"Yes. It's not impossible. I'll just do it that way."
There was no reason it wouldn't work. Even now, the big wineries sometimes release four to six single vineyard Pinot Noirs in a single year. For a small winery like Redwood it wouldn't be easy, but with enough care it was doable.
"Then what'll you call it?"
The way his eyes lit up made it obvious he'd been steering us toward this from the very start.
"Mr. Grendel, was this because you were jealous of Steven Hart?"
When Christopher asked the question in disbelief, Elias threw up both arms and grumbled.
"Jealous, my foot. You think there's only been one or two wineries that made a masterpiece out of my grapes? I was just... curious, that's all. If they can pull this kind of flavor from Hart's grapes, what would mine taste like..."
He'd had his reason for wanting it kept as a single vineyard.
"I'll decide on the name after I've tasted it."
"So you'll harvest at the end of this year, and I won't know until late next year?"
"That's right."
"Guess I can't die before then."
Watching him say it as if regretfully, Dad and I both burst out laughing.
"Hahaha, that's true. If you go before you've tasted a single vineyard Pinot Noir made from Grendel Hill grapes, you won't be able to close your eyes in peace."
"Then I'd better exercise hard and stay healthy. Bring me the contract."
After saying so, Elias turned to Dad with a smile.
"Ah, the block I can let you have runs about 50 acres. How much are you thinking of contracting for?"
"All of it."
A 50-acre vineyard would yield somewhere between 100 and 140 tons. Considering that the cherries received from Brentwood every year for making Cerasia amounted to 100 tons, it was an enormous quantity. But Dad and I had already talked it through to a degree before we came, so there was no need to deliberate.
I'd already mentioned it to Christopher, and Redwood's attached winery facilities could now handle that kind of volume. Of course, this was only possible because we'd renovated the run-down winery facilities of the recently acquired Ironwood Cellars.
"Heh heh, smart move. I hate to brag, but if you don't lock in my farm's grapes the moment they come out, you don't get them at all."
Smiling with evident pride, he signed the prepared contract with a bold flourish.
At that, Christopher chimed in with a smile of his own.
"You chose well. Right now everyone's pointing to Redwood Winery as the hottest winery in Napa. In just two months, at the 30th-anniversary retasting of the Judgment of Paris, this young man's been picked for the invited young winemakers' session, [New Blood of Napa]."
"Oho, is that true?"
He let out a satisfied laugh.
"Hahaha! As it should be. He's worthy of getting my grapes."
"The pity is, most of the wines Redwood released last year are sold out, so my one regret is that there'll be only a handful to put out on the day of the event."
"Well, well... sounds like the one cashing in the most is you, isn't it?"
Elias pointed at Christopher and laughed teasingly. The truth was that, more than the man who farmed all year long, or the winery that had used its skill to craft and age the wine, the one making the most money out of any of them might well be Christopher, hence the remark.
"That's business for you."
"There you go... this is exactly why I don't want to marry my daughter off to a businessman. Always looking to make a killing."
"A killing? I've staked my whole life on wine."
"Well, at least your wine criticism suits my taste perfectly, that much I'll grant you. Whether your business sense is just as good, we'll see this time around."
"You won't regret it."
He gave a curious smile at Christopher's confidence, then suddenly turned to Dad and me with a serious expression.
"As a man who farms for a living, I take pride in a few things, and chief among them is Pinot Noir. But seeing wines that outsell my Pinot Noir, well, it grates on me a little, doesn't it? Let me ask a favor. With your single vineyard Pinot Noir made from my farm, never mind anything else, but there's just one wine I'd like you to beat for me."
"Which wine do you mean?"
"Harrington Noctis Ridge Pinot Noir."
Out of nowhere, the name of a winery I knew well had come up.
"Harrington? May I ask why...?"
"Don't ask. Can you do it?"
Something in his eyes hinted at a story behind it, and I nodded.
"Yes... I never did like losing, either."
"That makes two of us."
*****
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