Pieces for the Masterpiece (1)
The pickup truck climbed the mountain road, passing through Oakville. It was a vehicle I kept well-maintained at the vineyard for work, and it served me quite well as I drove, with the old man sitting in the passenger seat.
The vast vineyards unfolding outside the window were a spectacular sight.
"The scenery is truly magnificent."
"I think about that sometimes. If I wonder why I’ve lived this long—Robert Mondavi included—I think it’s because I’ve stayed active and spent my life looking at beautiful things. Having lived while seeing scenery like this every day, I have no regrets about my life."
"Isn't that something you can only say because you're a legendary winemaker of Napa Valley, sir?"
I chuckled as I spoke, and he tilted his head.
"Is that so?"
"I doubt other vineyard owners in Napa would agree with you. They live with beautiful views too, but they live under constant stress. Climate change, pests, sudden wildfires, loan interest... and if they run a winery, the problems with the wine itself add up. Every day must be a struggle."
"That’s largely because they haven't studied enough. Do they think climate change, pests, or wildfires just avoid Stag's Leap? A vineyard owner must be able to manage those risks."
It was an answer straight out of a textbook.
"I think so too, but there are many who simply can't."
"Well, that may be... but while luck is important in life, how sincerely you put in the effort matters more. In my opinion, half the people running farms in Napa deserve to go bankrupt."
It was a brutal, scathing remark, but I didn't argue. In truth, as he said, a significant number of people operated massive farms without much study, just mindlessly following the same old routines.
"What about the person we're going to meet today?"
At my question, a faint smile traced his lips.
"He's even worse than I am. That guy has plenty of problems, too."
"He has problems?"
"He didn't study much about grape cultivation or wine since he was young. Of course, he did the basics, but he pretty much gave up on anything beyond that."
Judging by what he said, the man sounded like a failure as a vineyard owner. But since he was taking me to meet him, there had to be another reason, so I listened calmly.
"Listening to me, he sounds like a stubborn, incompetent fool, but that guy is an even greater genius than I am."
"Pardon? Even more than you, sir?"
"He does everything, from farming to winemaking, based entirely on instinct. That’s why, when he dies, his winery probably won't last long."
"No... then his children must be worried. Doesn't he care about that?"
"He probably doesn't care. To begin with, he’s not the type to worry about such things. He likely thinks it’s enough for them to be grateful that they're living in luxury on his money."
"Ah..."
"Actually, that’s the same for me, so..."
At that moment, a question I had for him came to mind.
"Then, do you keep all the money you received from selling the winery for yourself?"
"That? I set up a separate corporation and let my children manage it. I even gave them shares."
"Still, you thought of your children and gave them a lot in advance."
"Thought of my children... well, I don't necessarily think so."
"Why is that?"
He hesitated for a moment before speaking in a low voice.
"When I was young, I thought it would be good to leave as much as possible to my children. But as they grew up, seeing how they acted, I wasn't pleased at all. I realized it later. I should have made them suffer a little, even if I had to force it, and taught them the value of the land, rather than just letting them do whatever they wanted."
"......"
"What's done is done; I can't turn back time. They're grown adults now, and they won't listen to me, so I’m just settling things one by one and giving them the money."
This was a story I had heard before.
"Someone I know was going to do that, but their children changed their minds and jumped into farming with sincerity, so they didn't sell the farm and handed it over instead."
"Is that so? I don't know who that person is, but I'm quite envious. These kids of mine, they only think about making easy money through real estate development with the money from selling the winery."
"Real estate? In this climate?"
"Whatever the climate, that's all they think about, so I’ve decided not to care whether they fail or not after I hand it over."
It wasn't anything else, but the fact that it was real estate made me feel anxious.
"What if they lose all their assets doing that?"
"It's a terrifying thought, and there's no guarantee they won't. But what can I do? It's better for them to fail while I'm still alive. If they fail after I die, what am I supposed to do about it then?"
Is this why they say raising children is difficult? It seemed to be the heart of a parent to worry about their children even after they were gone.
"Ah... of all things, real estate..."
"Why? Does real estate look that bad?"
"Hmm... if it's real estate..."
Knowing what a massive shock the Subprime Mortgage Crisis had caused the world, I felt a sense of pity that his children were investing the money from the winery into real estate.
"Is it really that bad?"
"Hmm... sigh..."
"Ahem... I'll have to go and tell them to look into it carefully."
"You should. You really must look into it very carefully."
"I will."
After driving for another 20 minutes up the ridge on the border of Napa and Sonoma, a low fog was spread out. The vineyard formed on the mountain at an altitude of 600 meters looked mysterious in itself.
"Do you know the characteristics of this terrain?"
"Thanks to the altitude, it will receive strong sunlight during the day, and rapid cooling will occur at night. Naturally, the balance of sugar and acidity will be excellent. Cabernet Franc requires slow and uniform ripening, and this climate would be perfect for that. Furthermore..."
"Furthermore?"
"Since the cool breeze of the Pacific cold current coming from the Sonoma coast to the west will reach the mountain ridge, the rich herbal scents, blueberries, and violet notes inherent in Cabernet Franc will be deeply infused, and it will also be advantageous for maintaining acidity. You said you rely entirely on instinct rather than data, but now I see why you call him a genius. Just by the climate alone, this is the optimal place to grow Cabernet Franc."
"Haha..."
He was impressed. I hadn't been told anything in advance, only given the location and asked to drive, yet I had grasped the core of the terroir just by looking at the terrain.
While we were admiring the view, we arrived at the entrance of a quiet farm.
"I told him in advance, but he might have forgotten. He's a bit eccentric, but don't pay it too much mind."
"Of course."
In fact, when you think about it, Warren, who achieved such great accomplishments at his age without any prejudice and with such humility, is the truly remarkable one. For any other vineyard owner of that age, eccentricity is something I can fully understand and accept.
As soon as I got out of the truck, the smell of soil hit my nose. The scent, a mixture of red clay and the metallic tang of iron, was slightly different from the ones below. Being at the top of the mountain, the quality of the soil must be different.
Then, from afar, an old man approached, wearing a shaggy beard, worn-out overalls, and brown boots with frayed, white-worn ankles. Warren shouted first.
"Eddie! Are you still doing the shoveling yourself? If you shovel wrong at that age, you'll throw your back out and won't be able to get up!"
The old man's eyes narrowed.
"Damn it, if you came to nag, get lost. If you say that again, I'll put a hole in your truck tires, Warren."
Warren chuckled and pushed my shoulder.
"Let me introduce you. This friend is the young Asian man I told you about. That old geezer is Edward Grant, the owner of this farm."
The old man, Edward Grant, scanned me from head to toe. It was a gaze so honest it was almost unpleasant.
"You're the protagonist of that noisy article. The one with the absurd claim that Warren went in to learn your techniques. You're not going to tell me that bullshit is true, are you?"
I smiled.
"Mr. Warren exaggerated a little."
"So it's not complete bullshit, then?"
I chuckled and shrugged, and Warren grabbed Edward's shoulder and led him inside.
"Let's go in first. What's the point of exchanging useless words? Oh, and I brought a gift for you, so look at that too."
The old man, who had a surly expression, softened his gaze at the mention of a gift.
"A gift?"
"That's right..."
After pushing our way into the winery office, I handed him the wine I had prepared. It was Achelon, contained in a luxurious wooden case.
He glanced at me and Warren, opened the wine case, examined the Achelon, and gave a slight nod.
"I've heard of its reputation. I'll enjoy it."
Warren immediately frowned.
"What, you're not going to open it here?"
"Damn it, why would I open it here? I'm going to drink it alone."
"You greedy old man..."
"Hmph! Look who's talking... If you're going to act like you're doing me a favor just by giving me some wine, you should have at least brought a Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon."
"My goodness... you greedy old man, do you know how much that costs?"
"That's the least you should bring if you want to act like you're doing me a favor."
Edward, having made such a fuss, looked at me and asked.
"So, why did you come?"
"I heard that you make the best Cabernet Franc in California, so I came to see you."
At my words, the corners of his eyes softened once more.
"That's not a lie, anyway. But are you planning to blend with Franc? If you're someone Warren brought, you should know the basics..."
Until now, when Cabernet Franc was used in blending, it was used to provide structure by adding a little of its piercing aroma of herbs, lilacs, and berries. It was, in a sense, a sidekick.
Single-varietal Franc or blends with a high proportion of Franc were mostly disliked for being light, having excessive herbal scents, or having prominent green notes. Most high-scoring wines were dense, powerful, and body-oriented, so the delicacy of Franc was not considered that important.
Therefore, since I had focused primarily on raising the quality of Cabernet Sauvignon rather than looking for the best Franc, it was natural for him to ask about my intentions.
"I think the herbal and spice-family scents of Cabernet Franc actually highlight elegance."
"Oho, is that so?"
Until about 2010, Cabernet Franc remained a supporting role in blended wines, but after the 2020s, it rose to a leading role, accounting for 20-40% of blends, and its price reached as high as $100-300.
And decisively, because I preferred delicate flavors over the existing overly heavy blended wines, I wanted to add this feeling to my first Cult Wine.
"Is it strange?"
"Strange? It's just surprising that Warren finally brought someone who knows what they're doing. Americans still don't properly understand the charm of Franc. They're all idiots who don't know taste."
He spat out such a scathing remark that it was embarrassing to listen to, then stood up from his seat.
"You're someone worthy of tasting my Franc, so follow me."
As he stood up, Warren winked at me. He was acknowledging that my words had gotten through to him.
When we went down to the underground aging cellar, cold air rushed in. It was humid, and the smell of wood and stone was infused in the air. Barrels were lined up along the wall, and Edward tapped the second barrel from the left twice.
"This is the one I consider the best this year. I kept it in a new French oak barrel for a year, then another 8 months in a reused barrel. The point is to stabilize it at a low temperature."
Warren raised an eyebrow.
"That method again? The very method everyone waves their hands at, saying it kills the aroma."
"That's why they can't keep up with me. There's no better method than this for turning sharp scents into transparent depth."
Edward inserted a wine sampler into the barrel and poured samples into glasses. The wine swirled thinly in the glass. When I smelled it first, the raspberry felt clear, and the scent of bell pepper lingered deeply.
As I felt the proper identity of Franc, a smile spread across my lips before I knew it.
"It's proper, isn't it? Go ahead and drink."
"Yes."
As I took a sip, the acidity popped lightly at the beginning, and the texture continued cleanly from the middle. The bitterness of the skin was not felt, and the finish was clean. Should I call it the essence of a truly clean wine?
I exclaimed in admiration before I knew it.
"How much of this can you give me?"
"Do you want to have it?"
"Of course."