A New Flavor (1)
They say strike while the iron is hot. Thinking that I’d finally have a ride of my own—rather than that ancient pickup truck with an unknown birth year—I immediately started looking into dealerships. But the surprising thing was that before I could even find the time to head to Fairfield, Dad had already brought home a new car.
“What do you think?”
The look of pride on Dad’s face as he pulled up in a brand-new Mercedes-Benz S-Class was hard to put into words. It was as if he’d just won an Olympic gold medal.
“It’s killer, Dad.”
“Right?”
There was no denying the fact that the S-Class was a masterpiece. I’d seen the more luxurious designs from before my regression, but those weren’t *our* cars. Even if this was the 2006 model, the fact that it was ours made it look absolutely magnificent.
“Wow... a fly would slip right off that shine...”
Mom came out and made a huge fuss over the new car.
“Oh my, oh my, isn’t this car too expensive? But it’s nice... you can really tell the difference with the pricey ones.”
“Mom, are you already convinced just by the exterior design?”
“Well, it’s already bought, isn’t it? Can’t return it now. But how did you even get it so fast? You just brought it home?”
“The dealer asked what I did for a living, and when I told him I ran a Napa Valley winery, he pulled it out for me right away. He even said he’d send me a catalog every month from now on.”
“Ah...”
I suppose salesmanship isn’t for just anyone. They sniff out the wealthy and immediately start the customer management process.
There are plenty of real estate and IT moguls in LA or San Francisco, but out here in the countryside, the owners of Napa Valley wineries are the true titans of wealth. Even farmers with hundreds of acres of land couldn’t hold a candle to a winery owner.
“This is fine, right?”
He glanced at me nervously, as if he were suddenly worried he’d spent too much.
“Of course. It’s perfect.”
What’s the point of earning money if you’re just going to hoard it? We earn it to be happy, and I believed that if you’ve worked this hard, it’s good to treat yourself once in a while.
Of course, as for me...
“Ahem, so what are you planning to buy...?”
“I’m still thinking about it, but I’m planning to visit a dealership tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“BMW.”
“Oh... BMW, that’s nice. We can swap cars occasionally.”
“Exactly.”
I said that, but I had no intention of driving the S-Class. If I drove it around, I’d look like a chauffeur.
The next day, I had to drive for over two hours to get to the Deer Ridge Country Club, which was about 30 minutes away from Napa Valley by car, to pick up Chloe. She had screamed over the phone and insisted on coming along when she heard I was buying a car.
I couldn’t understand why she was so excited, but regardless, by the time I picked her up and got moving, it was already approaching lunchtime.
“I can’t believe I don’t have to ride in that beat-up pickup truck anymore...”
“Was my ride not to your liking?”
“Honestly, even the car the farmhands at our place drive is better than that.”
That, too, was an undeniable fact.
“...And what about you?”
“If I set my mind to it, I could drive a nice car, too. But you know, my hands shake when I drive. If I’d just gotten my license, Mom would’ve bought me a car at 19. What did your dad buy?”
“An S-Class.”
“Oh, my dad has one of those too.”
Well, in a family like hers, an S-Class wasn’t even that big of a deal. And I got the feeling they had more than one.
“How many cars does Mr. Frederick have?”
“Hmm... three? It’s not that many. My dad’s friends have over five, and you know that grumpy Mr. William Hartford from the Cherry Growers Cooperative? That guy even has a private jet.”
“Ah...”
America really is on a different scale. Of course, now that I’ve grown into a small-to-medium enterprise earning 6 million dollars a year, I’m not exactly envious.
After picking her up and arriving at the BMW dealership in Fairfield, it had already been over three hours since I left home.
“Which model are you looking for?”
As soon as we walked in, a salesperson rushed over with a friendly smile.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll take a slow look around.”
We walked through the showroom at a leisurely pace. On one side, the heavy, dignified sedan of the 5 Series caught my eye, and on the other, the aggressive curves of the M3. I ran my fingertips over the bodywork and muttered.
“Nice...? This is nice.”
Before my regression, I’d never bought a new car in my life; I’d always lived my life with used cars. Just being here to buy a new one made my heart race.
Then, suddenly, a car in front of the glass wall caught my eye. A low-slung body, a long hood, two leather seats...
A silver color with a vibrant luster. It was a 2006 BMW Z4 Roadster.
As I stopped in front of the car, the salesperson spoke as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
“If you drive this car, you’ll feel like the protagonist of a drama. Would you like to see the top open?”
How could I say no to that?
“Sure.”
“Then why don’t you hop in and start the engine first?”
I opened the door, sat down, and pressed the start button. The engine let out a deep breath and roared to life.
“Sounds good.”
Chloe said, tapping the dashboard with her palm. The feeling of opening the top using the method the salesperson showed me was incredible. Even if I couldn’t open it often because of the dust, it was hard to describe the feeling I had right then.
“The Z4 in Silver Metallic, no frills. The 3.0i manual combination is, in itself, a work of art for the driver.”
I smiled at the salesperson’s explanation and said,
“I’ll take this one.”
“An excellent choice. You’re in luck, sir—we happen to have this exact vehicle left in our showroom. That means you can take it home today. We’ll have your other car transported to your house. It’s a service, of course. We’ll attach a temporary license plate, so you two can enjoy a wonderful drive on your way back.”
Chloe, who had come prepared, pulled sunglasses out of her bag, put them on, and grinned.
“Let’s pay and get going.”
Today is going to be a day I remember for a long time.
No matter how much I focus on winery production, the fact that I’m a student doesn’t change. So, on days with classes, it’s standard for me to drive over an hour to commute. But today, I wasn’t commuting just for class.
We had pushed several desks together in front of the UC Davis department building, hung up a banner that read Liquor Tasting Event, and were shouting at the top of our lungs.
“Come by for a taste!”
“It’s an Oriental-style soju. Come give it a try!”
“Must be 21 or older to participate.”
Calling out to passersby, Chloe, Armando, Jacob, and I kept drawing people in.
“Hmm... what is this?”
“It’s a traditional Korean liquor, but we’ve recreated it with an American twist. Just give it a taste and fill out an evaluation form.”
Chloe explained enthusiastically to a student who asked.
“The aroma is unique, isn’t it?”
“Is there really a liquor like this?”
Compared to the various liquors commonly consumed in the West, the feel of Oriental-style soju was certainly different. Perhaps that’s why, although the students were hesitant at first, they couldn’t turn down something free. One by one, they took a sip, filled out the evaluation forms, and dropped them into the white box we’d prepared.
“The reaction seems pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“Who knows.”
Armando said positively after seeing the students’ expressions, but Jacob wasn’t so sure.
What Jacob had prepared this time was a Korean-style premium soju, primarily refined through a pot still, leaving a rich grain aroma. From my perspective, it was very familiar, and since it was a liquor I liked even more than wine before my regression, I felt good about it. But from the perspective of someone who has to sell a product, it had to suit the public’s taste.
Therefore, depending on the reaction to this premium soju, made for the first time with this year’s harvested rice, we would decide whether to launch it or stick with our current bestseller, The One vodka.
“Still, one thing is for sure: the professors love it.”
Chloe said, gesturing toward the back of a professor who had just walked away giving a thumbs-up, and I furrowed my brow.
“Ah... if only the middle-aged and elderly like it, we’re in trouble...”
Of course, having a solid customer base is a good thing, but in my experience, people in that age group don’t easily change their preferences. Many of them even avoid the latest music, so the chances of them switching the liquor they’ve habitually drunk are slim.
Why did I like it when we got the vodka into clubs and featured in Blender magazine? Because the younger generation has fast-changing trends and a tendency to accept new things easily. So, unless it’s something that already fits the existing American palate, it’s correct to target the younger generation.
“Is it not good?”
“Let’s just see it through to the end.”
I patted Jacob on the shoulder as he started to look dejected, and we continued the tasting event.
After the friends who had classes disappeared for a while and returned, we gathered in our usual hideout, the conference room on the second floor of the student union, after 5 PM.
“Everyone worked hard.”
“Haa... my throat hurts.”
Chloe slumped over the desk, and Armando, who still had energy, started by opening the white box.
“I’m sure the reaction will be good.”
The giant Jacob watched with bated breath as Armando opened the box.
“Let’s see... ‘It’s hard to compare to a single malt, but it has a strong personality. It would probably come alive more if served in a chilled glass...’ Judging by the tone, this is definitely a staff member or a professor. This one... ‘The aroma is too strange.’ Well... there are people with different tastes everywhere. This one... ‘You don’t seriously intend to sell this for money, do you?’ Hmm... sure enough, there are rude jerks everywhere.”
As Armando’s face grew increasingly gloomy, Chloe, unable to watch, jumped in.
“Let me read. ‘The aroma is elegant. It’s good.’ See? We got a great reaction right there.”
“I guarantee you, just by the tone, that’s an old person. It’s probably Professor Clayton, who gave Jacob a thumbs-up earlier.”
Armando’s sharp observation. As Chloe continued to read, her expression darkened. While there were certainly evaluations praising the Oriental-style premium soju, a significant number showed resistance to the unfamiliar and overly intense grain aroma.
“That’s strange? Didn’t the vodka also have a certain amount of grain aroma?”
To Armando’s confused reaction, I replied,
“That was at a level where the aroma was just an accent. It felt like a unique vodka because a hint of grain aroma was added to a basically colorless and odorless vodka. But this one has a *thick* aroma, so it feels too different from the liquor they were used to drinking.”
Jacob nodded.
“It seems we’ll definitely have to design this with the middle-aged and older demographic in mind. We should exclude the younger generation entirely and appeal to the elderly. There’s no need to lower the price, either.”
“That’s true, but...”
I agreed with Jacob, but I was still troubled by something. Chloe asked me cautiously,
“Why?”
“It’s just a bit of a shame. It’s not a problem to launch it as a Korean-style premium traditional soju, but I don’t think we can expect much in the way of sales.”
“But if you’re sure the middle-aged and older demographic will like it, can’t you just market it to them? Since they have high purchasing power, it might actually be better once you get the brand properly recognized?”
“That’s true, too. I don’t think that’s wrong... but I’m not a marketing expert. And Jacob doesn’t have a ton of capital, so we can’t just push it with sheer volume... It could definitely be a powerful weapon for Golden Grain Soju House, but I’m just worried it’ll be hard for it to exert much power right now...”
“Then we can just let it exert power later.”
At Chloe’s clean summary, Jacob nodded.
“Yeah, I agree with Chloe. We’re not in a rush anyway. The One is doing well, so we’re not desperate for money, and the distillery isn’t losing anything. Everything is going well.”
It’s a bit disappointing, but seeing Jacob try to curb his greed because things are going well now is definitely a positive sign.
“Yeah, well, that attitude isn’t bad, but how about this?”
“Huh?”
Receiving the sparkling gazes of my three friends, I spoke cautiously.
“We add syrup to the soju.”
“What?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Add what?”
To my friends, who were staring at me with wide, surprised eyes, I began to explain slowly.
“Syrup is just an easy way to put it; to be precise, think of it as natural flavoring—aromas extracted and distilled from fruit. It dissolves well in alcohol and water. If we do this, it becomes a fruit-flavored soju.”
At my explanation, Jacob looked completely bewildered.
“You want to make the liquor fruit-flavored? The liquor?”
“Yeah.”
“......”