The First Harvest of Success
I returned home and printed out the label image Rachel had sent, showing it to Mom and Dad.
“What do you think? Take a look.”
“Oh my, it looks so professional!”
“Hmm... I suppose it’s not bad...”
The label featured a grapevine with deep purple clusters, and the words Redwood Reserve Vinegar were inscribed in a clean, elegant serif font. Below that, the phrase Premium Handcrafted Grape Vinegar was printed with a soft, blurred effect that added a touch of sophistication.
“Now we need to match the bottles, caps, and labels. Let’s go.”
“Let’s do it.”
We headed straight for the city. The bottle manufacturing plant, located a good distance from downtown Napa, looked like a renovated old warehouse from the outside, but inside, it was lined with polished stainless steel equipment and orderly packaging lines. The plant manager pulled out a few sample bottles and spoke.
“We have the 750ml Bordeaux style, the 500ml slim, and this 375ml flint type. For vinegar, 500ml is usually the standard.”
“This is the one.”
I held up the slim 500ml bottle. I could already picture the deep purple vinegar filling the clear glass.
Dad asked point-blank, “What’s the unit price per bottle?”
“Can you handle an order of over 5,000?”
“Start with 20,000.”
When I mentioned a quantity much larger than he expected, his eyes widened. He showed us the unit price on the order sheet and said, “In that case, it’s 60 cents. That includes the cap and the shrink wrap.”
Dad frowned immediately upon hearing this.
“That’s too expensive.”
“I have to charge 60 cents.”
“This is our first transaction with you, and if you give us a good deal, we’ll be ordering from you consistently... please, could you lower it a bit?”
At Dad’s hesitant request, the plant manager told us to wait a moment. He disappeared for a long while before returning, smiling bitterly as if he had no choice.
“I’ll give it to you for 55 cents. I can’t go any lower than that.”
“Understood. I suppose we have no choice. Let’s sign the contract at 55 cents.”
Dad nodded and signed the contract. The first order was for 20,000 bottles. We meticulously checked the label specifications, placement, and print quantity.
That evening, the winery was bustling. The vinegar, having finished aging in the fermentation tanks, was filtered and moved into bottles along the stainless steel line. Dad stood by, watching the bottling process and clicking his camera shutter repeatedly.
He had been studying by reviewing the videos and photos he’d saved on his own, constantly striving to ensure he could manage things himself even if I weren’t around.
“If your mother saw this, she’d faint. It’s hard to believe all this came from our farm.”
“We’ll make her believe it now. Oh, I need to contact Mr. John.”
“John? You mean the former owner?”
“Yes. We agreed he would handle the grape distribution for two years.”
“Ah, right.”
He wouldn’t know that we were making vinegar out of grapes that lacked marketability. If I wanted to, I could have bypassed him and sold it secretly, but that wasn’t my intention.
A promise must be kept, and besides, my parents and I had far too much work to do to handle the distribution ourselves.
A few days later, John Anderson arrived at the farm early in the morning. The first thing he noticed was the sour, grape-filled scent permeating the winery, and he looked visibly shocked.
“What is this? Are you making vinegar at the winery?”
Meeting him after all this time, I noticed he had gained a little weight since he sold the farm. I could only imagine the mental anguish he had suffered when the farm was failing. Now that he seemed to be doing better, his expression looked much more at ease.
“Yes. And it tastes great, too.”
“I wondered why you called me here...”
His pupils trembled at the scent of grapes filling the winery. He had thought the farm was a lost cause with no hope, and the fact that we had created something out of those low-quality grapes clearly stunned him.
“Would you like to try some?”
“I would.”
I poured a little directly from the stainless steel tank and handed it to him. He smelled the aroma first before bringing it to his lips.
“Hmm...”
Closing his eyes for a moment to savor the flavor of the vinegar, he looked at me with a gaze of pure astonishment.
“Did your father make this?”
“I made it.”
“You? This?”
“Yes.”
“You operated all these facilities yourself?”
“Of course.”
He found it hard to believe. If the process were this easy, why would he have given up the farm? He had suffered greatly due to the disasters that had struck over the past few years, but what hurt more was his inability to produce a decent wine. If he had succeeded even once, there would have been no reason to abandon this goldmine of a farm.
Yet, a teenager who hadn’t even entered college had produced such excellent vinegar—not wine, perhaps, but something remarkable enough to shake him.
“So, how much do you plan to sell this for?”
“We intend to supply it to you, Mr. John, at 7 dollars a bottle.”
“7 dollars to me?”
“Yes. After that, I don’t care how much you charge for it.”
“Have you gotten permission from your father?”
As I shrugged, Dad appeared through the winery door.
“Mr. John, you’re here. Sorry, I was just cleaning up...”
After shaking hands with Dad, John looked back and forth between us and asked, “Is it true that your son really made this?”
“That’s right. Isn’t he something?”
“My goodness... I’ve heard that Asians are geniuses when it comes to accounting or medicine... is farming the same way?”
Dad just laughed bashfully at the praise for his son, and I didn’t feel the need to respond. I focused on getting ready to leave, loading the vinegar into the car and grabbing the lab analysis reports I had prepared, along with various other documents.
“Let’s go. We need to leave early.”
“Let’s do that.”
John Anderson followed us down from the farm with a complex expression and climbed into the car. I could see exactly what he was thinking. He was likely regretting that he had given up on the farm too soon.
“How many bottles have you made?”
Sure enough, he was already running the numbers in his head.
“There’s about 10,000 liters in the tanks for now.”
“20,000 bottles?”
“Yes.”
If 20,000 bottles were sold out at 7 dollars each, that would be 140,000 dollars. He had sold the farm for 800,000 dollars, and in reality, this Asian immigrant had only spent about 40,000 dollars to acquire it. And now, in less than a year, he was set to earn 140,000 dollars?
His face twisted as if he were feeling sick to his stomach. But he quickly straightened his expression and said, “I will do my best to sell them.”
“Thank you.”
He had avoided the pressure from investors by selling the farm, but he clearly needed a new source of income, so he was undoubtedly looking to make a profit here. As long as he worked hard to sell them, the vinegar from our farm would move, so neither I nor my parents had any complaints.
“By the way, where are we going first?”
“Carson, California. To the Bristol Farms headquarters.”
As I answered while getting into the car, John Anderson stopped dead in his tracks.
“You want to go to Carson from here? Do you realize that’s a four-hour drive?”
“That’s why we’re leaving in the morning.”
“There’s no reason to go all the way there to sell vinegar!”
He was absolutely right. There was no reason to travel that far to sell vinegar that would likely retail for 12 or 13 dollars at most. Nevertheless, there was a reason for going to the Bristol Farms headquarters. They were a supermarket chain that operated about ten stores in the California region and handled high-end ingredients.
If we could make a good impression here, it wouldn’t be a stretch to get our vinegar and wine into the Bristol Farms located inside the Macy’s department store at South Coast Plaza.
“We aren’t just making this vinegar and stopping. We’re going to sell the wine we produce next year there too, so it’s good to get to know the Bristol Farms MD in advance. That goes for you too, Mr. John.”
I told him it would be good for him since he would be in charge of distribution for the next two years, but John Anderson looked deep in thought. Still, once he climbed into the car and buckled his belt, he said, “Let’s just go.”
Since we were already fully prepared, Dad and I had a hearty breakfast and set off for Carson. We stopped briefly at a supermarket for John on the way, but we didn’t linger.
With 300 bottles of vinegar loaded in the back of the truck, we drove for over four hours and finally arrived at the Bristol Farms headquarters. Meeting their food MD wasn’t difficult. We had already secured a meeting appointment via email, and surprisingly, he was someone John Anderson was acquainted with.
“Who is this? Is that Mark?”
“Good to see you, John. How have you been?”
“You know how it is. My situation isn’t great. This friend here is Mark Davis. We’ve known each other since my father was supplying wine. And this is Woody Choi, the owner of the farm.”
“Nice to meet you. It’s good to see you after all this time. Please, sit. But you’re here to sell vinegar, not wine?”
It was a fact John Anderson had only learned that morning, but having received plenty of “education” from me on the way, he was able to explain it quite naturally.
“Let’s put the explanation aside for a moment—why don’t you taste it first?”
Seeing the skeptical look on the MD’s face as he looked at the Asian father and son, John immediately opened a sample bottle. Mark picked it up with a dubious expression and scrutinized the label.
“Redwood Reserve Vinegar...”
The vinegar poured into the glass caught the light, its purple hue glowing faintly like an amethyst. Mark brought it to his nose, and the moment he smelled it, his eyes changed. He carefully took a sip, then looked at us with a slightly surprised expression.
“Did you make this, Mr. John?”
“No. I’m the one handling the distribution for those who made it.”
“Ah... this is surprising. The aroma of the vinegar is one thing, but such a deep, lingering aftertaste... I believe it truly deserves the name ‘aged vinegar.’”
“Doesn’t the taste speak for itself?”
“Honestly... I have to admit it. Where are the documents I requested?”
I immediately handed over the necessary paperwork, including the lab analysis reports and the farm contract. He checked the documents meticulously, made copies, and returned them to me.
“What price have you set for supply?”
I turned my gaze to John. John looked straight at Mark and said firmly, “I’ll set it at 9 dollars.”
Since he had taken it from me at 7 dollars a bottle, he was making a 2-dollar profit. Mark’s face twisted immediately.
“9 dollars? Hmm... isn’t that a bit excessive?”
“It’s absolutely not excessive. If it’s an aged vinegar with such a rich grape aroma, surely it can be sold for 13 dollars or more, can’t it?”
“The brand is weak.”
“I know. But I don’t think it’s impossible to sell if we put our minds to it. If we show the consumers the taste through promotional events, it will sell like hotcakes.”
“Hmm...”
He crossed his arms and pondered for a long time before staring intently at the vinegar label and asking, “Are the aroma and taste consistent?”
Dad answered, “Of course. You will experience the same taste no matter which bottle you open.”
“What is the production volume?”
“A total of 20,000 bottles, and we brought 300 bottles today.”
“Phew... alright. Then we’ll contract for the 300 bottles, and as we see how they sell, we’ll request more.”
“You made a good choice.”
John immediately shook hands with Mark and finished the related paperwork in an instant. After unloading the 300 bottles of vinegar, we left and headed home. By the time we arrived, it was already dark.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
John’s face, which had been dark when he first saw the winery, was now shining with hope.
“That man looks excited.”
“I guess it’s because he sees hope now.”
“I suppose so. Dad understands how he feels.”
“Anyway, we earned money with our own hands for the first time. 2,100 dollars. It’s a small amount for a down payment, but the first transaction wasn’t bad, right?”
“That’s for sure!”
Seeing Dad’s beaming face, I realized he wasn’t the only one filled with hope.
The next day, John appeared with his pickup truck early in the morning and left with 100 bottles. He was going to promote them to every store in the Napa area. This was exactly why I had hired a distributor. I needed someone to go around in person to promote and handle the sales. There was a reason even the massive wine farms hired separate distribution companies.
And that very day,
“Hahaha, I’ve already contracted for 2,000 bottles! They’ll pay me as soon as I deliver the goods!”
The phone call from John made Mom, Dad, and me ecstatic. 2,000 bottles in a single day... but that wasn’t the end of it. By evening, John’s excited voice hit the phone again.
“I got a call from Bristol Farms. They said all 300 bottles sold out! Hahaha! They’ve already requested 5,000 more!”
Dad, having taken the call, turned to Mom and me and said, “I think we’re going to be rich!”