Royal Tioga, and M-206
A few days after the New Year, on a quiet afternoon, a black sedan glided into the front yard of the winery.
Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar face. As the car door opened, a man in a crisp, well-tailored suit stepped out with a leisurely air. He glanced at the sign reading [Redwood Winery] at the entrance and a faint smile played on his lips.
"Redwood Winery... It looks small, though..."
Even from a distance, the boundaries of the farm were visible, making it clear that this was no massive estate by Napa Valley standards. He took his time, observing the landscape as he walked. The basics—winter pruning and the planting of cover crops—were handled with such precision that he couldn't help but think the grape quality would be well above average.
"How can I help you?"
He turned to the young man of Latin descent approaching him.
"I'm here to meet the owner of the winery. I made an appointment. The name is Christopher..."
"Ah! You're that wine columnist, right?"
Christopher gave a slight nod to the visibly surprised young man.
"Well..."
"Come this way. My friend is waiting for you."
"Friend?"
"Yes. The owner is here, but honestly, my friend is the one who did almost everything to build this place. That cherry wine... my friend made it."
Though the young man was chatty, the content of his words was shockingly hard to believe. In short, he was claiming that a mere college freshman had created Serasia, with its impossibly complex structure? Breaking the conventional wisdom that cherry wine had to be cloyingly sweet, the creator had managed to craft a proper aroma and structure, much like a grape-based wine. Naturally, he had assumed the creator was someone with a profound understanding of the craft.
"Hmm... I see..."
But he wasn't the type to believe things easily. He gave a vague response, and upon arriving at the winery, he saw a young Asian man wrestling with an oak barrel.
'No way...?'
"Brian!"
The Latin youth waved and shouted, causing the Asian man to turn around and smile. Christopher struggled to hide his growing bewilderment.
'He’s actually Asian?'
In his experience, this was impossible. As far as he could recall, there was no history of an Asian person gaining recognition in the world of winemaking. And a college freshman, at that?
"Hello. I'm Brian. You must be Christopher White?"
I shook his hand with an awkward smile.
"Nice to meet you. I write wine columns, but my main profession is wine distribution. I mostly export American wines overseas."
"Ah... I see."
"Are there any other adults around?"
The way he looked around, clearly feeling awkward and searching for an adult, gave it away immediately. I realized it instantly: this man was flustered because I was Asian.
"My father? Hmm... could you wait a moment? Dad!"
I called my father from the office, and he shook hands with him, still looking visibly uncomfortable. He had clearly expected a Westerner who had married an Asian woman. Seeing my father’s face, he looked like his facial muscles were starting to twitch. He was obviously racking his brain, desperate to figure out how to react.
"Thank you so much for the praise regarding our wine. I was truly moved."
"It was an objective perspective on the wine. It was... quite surprising. I have one question, though... when did you start operating this winery?"
"Since the end of the year before last. The farm had gone bankrupt, and we acquired it."
"Acquired it? At the end of the year before last?"
"Yes."
"Then, did you start making the cherry wine...?"
"Naturally, from the middle of last year."
"...That is astonishing... Even if one has the idea to make cherry wine, it’s not easy to think of breaking away from existing wine grammar. What led you to think that way?"
When the conversation turned technical, Dad just grinned and passed the ball to me.
"I'm sorry, but I have something urgent to attend to. Why don't you talk to my son instead?"
"Pardon? No... I really should hear from the owner..."
"My son is better than I am at this, so you'll get all the answers you need. Excuse me..."
As Dad disappeared, his gaze shifted toward me.
"Shall I answer that for you?"
"...Sure, go ahead."
"My friend's family runs a cherry farm. We decided to collaborate and try making it experimentally. The existing sweet dessert wines were too predictable, so we wanted to make something proper."
"Haha... is that so...?"
I asked the flustered man, "Is there a problem?"
"No, it's just that your answer is... a bit too simple, that's all."
"Ah... did you think there was some deep philosophy about wine behind the creation of Serasia?"
He smiled lightly and admitted it honestly.
"I can't say that wasn't part of it."
I nodded and spoke to him earnestly.
"It's not that I lack knowledge about wine. But the reason I made the cherry wine differently wasn't because of some grand philosophy; it was simply to make a better wine. That's all."
"A better wine, you say..."
He nodded with an unreadable expression, then asked with a more serious look.
"Cabernet Sauvignon is Redwood's flagship variety, I assume?"
"That's right. Since you're here, shall we go to the aging room?"
I led him into the aging room inside the winery. Amidst the cold metal tanks and rows of oak barrels, he carefully sniffed the air brushing against his nose.
"The aroma is fine. No unpleasant odors, even though it's still young. Seems well-managed."
"Thank you."
"Certainly, if you can make a good cherry wine like that, I thought your understanding of traditional wine would be deeper. How do you think next year will go?"
I shrugged.
"I can't really say anything right now. As you've heard, we only recently acquired the farm, so my mindset is to maximize marketability and get it out as quickly as possible."
"Get it out quickly? It's Cabernet Sauvignon—aren't you being a bit too impatient?"
"You might think so, but once you taste the finished wine, you might find you quite like it."
He couldn't easily accept my words. In this day and age, such a reaction was perfectly reasonable.
"I don't want to meddle, but you'd be better off reconsidering. It's rare for a place in Napa to highly value a wine completed in just one year. And... the amount of wine in that stainless tank is substantial. It's not like the 8,000 bottles of cherry wine, is it? If you just hold on with loans for at least two years..."
"That's vinegar."
He looked horrified.
"What?"
"What's in that stainless tank is vinegar. The wine has already been moved to oak."
He blinked, stuttering in his confusion.
"W-what is it... made of?"
"Grapes."
"Was it low-quality produce? I heard there was a big wildfire last year... Ah! It must have been heavily smoke-tainted!"
"No. There isn't much difference in marketability."
He eventually wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Just how much is the yield?"
"It was about 50 tons last year, and we're making half into wine and half into vinegar."
Christopher burst into laughter, as if it were absurd. But there was a mix of shock and anger in that laughter.
"You're using such high-quality grapes for vinegar? Are you out of your mind? Napa Valley Cabernet, and half of it for vinegar?"
Since I understood his confusion, I answered calmly.
"Yes, that's what we did."
He tapped the notebook in his hand and raised his voice.
"I've been selling wine for decades, but I've never seen such a foolish decision. Tell that to overseas buyers. 'Our winery made half of our high-end Cabernet into vinegar.' From that moment on, this place will be treated as a joke."
I leaned my back against the wall, next to an oak barrel, and spoke to the agitated man.
"I think you and I think differently because you're a wine columnist."
"How so?"
"I am a farmer. Even if I've grown it with all my heart, if it doesn't make money, a farmer plows it under. I don't want to keep taking out loans to make more wine just to scrape by. Neither does my father."
"No, even so..."
He shook his finger as if he still couldn't understand.
"Making Napa Valley Cabernet into vinegar is a waste bordering on a crime."
"I don't think so. I think it's the best way to survive. We made and sold vinegar to get some breathing room, and thanks to that, we can challenge ourselves again next year. I'm grateful for the vinegar. It allows the winery to prepare for the next year."
He glared at me, momentarily speechless. It was a look as if he were trying to drag a different answer out of me. But I didn't waver.
"...If you truly mean that, then you're just a farmer, not a wine artisan."
"I have no intention of driving this farm into a crisis just to be called a wine artisan. And do you know how many housewives are waiting for our vinegar..."
If we hadn't earned over $100,000 from vinegar last year, the farm's operation would have been in serious trouble. Especially without the vinegar, it would have been impossible to secure over 40 tons of Pinot Noir. Christopher, unaware of these circumstances, only saw it as short-sightedness, unable to grasp why we would make vinegar from grapes grown on such expensive land.
"Fine, we'll see. When this Cabernet is released as wine, I'll judge it again then."
He closed his notebook and turned away. He seemed to misunderstand, thinking this was a farm distracted by other things while missing the important stuff, but I didn't bother trying to convince him. Once the wine was released, it would be judged coldly on its own merits anyway.
"I was going to offer you a glass of Pinot Noir... but ask for it later."
After Christopher, who seemed a bit disappointed at the end, disappeared, I drove toward Brentwood. I noticed Frederick having a serious conversation with someone at the farm entrance.
As I stepped out of the car, Frederick saw me and waved his hand high.
"Oh! Brian!"
The man he was talking to turned to look at me as well. He was quite old, and his belly was so impressive that his body was shaped like a rhombus. With such a physique and a small face, I couldn't help but think that Western bodies were truly mysterious.
"Say hello. This is William Hartford, the president of the Brentwood Cherry Growers Cooperative."
I greeted him, caught off guard.
"Ah, yes. Hello. I'm Brian, running Redwood Winery in Napa Valley."
"A winery in Napa Valley? Chloe's boyfriend?"
"Excuse me?"
When I made a strange face, he turned his head back to Frederick and said,
"You aren't thinking of an Asian son-in-law, are you?"
"Don't talk nonsense."
"Fine. Anyway, I only want one thing. Are you going to miss out on Safeway? It's a five-year supply contract. Just sign the contract, and you can sit back and count your money every year without a worry. Do you understand me?"
It seemed Safeway, a large supermarket chain in California, had offered a long-term supply contract to the Brentwood cherry farmers. But Frederick looked troubled.
The reason was obvious. He was spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to plow the land using the method I had proposed, so he was naturally reluctant to hand everything over as a single Brentwood commodity.
As Frederick hesitated, the man named William tapped Frederick on the chest and said,
"What on earth are you worrying about? You aren't actually thinking of making cherry pizza or something, are you? Wake up. This is a contract for the entire cooperative; if you guys drop out, the unit price will drop!"
At this point, I couldn't watch anymore and intervened.
"Uh... I don't think that's possible because he's changing his varieties..."
William Hartford immediately frowned.
"Changing varieties?"
He glared at Frederick, who looked flustered and glanced at me. But soon, he spoke to William with a look of regret.
"I'm sorry, but I'm planning to change the varieties. So I don't think we can join you."
"Why change the varieties?"
"......Just because."
"Whaaat?"
"Anyway, please count us out. We can't do it."
Since he said the varieties were different, William couldn't do much else. He scowled deeply and immediately got into his car to leave the site.
Watching him leave, Frederick asked,
"Change the varieties?"
"You looked like you were in a tough spot, so I improvised a bit. You don't have to change them right now. It's fine to switch varieties after you get some profit this year and gain confidence."
"Hmm..."
"But there is one thing. We're doing irrigation work right now, and if you do decide to change varieties, you'll need to redesign the irrigation system."
"So it means extra money?"
"It's just better to do it all at once if you're going to do it. But as I said, changing varieties is expensive, so I thought you should earn some money from this year's harvest first."
"What varieties are we changing to?"
"Three types."
"Three?"
"Each has a different harvest time. So the weather risk is diversified. They also have slightly different characteristics. But compared to the Bing cherries you're growing now, I guarantee they will taste far superior. The profits won't even be comparable. By the way, that man earlier, he must be quite rich, right?"
"Indeed. He's a large-scale farmer who owns 300 acres of cherry orchards alone, and if you add his other farms, he owns 1,000 acres."
"I guarantee you, even without changing varieties, you'll get more profit than he does from his 300 acres. If you change varieties, at least double?"
"......"
"Maybe 200 acres could show profits equivalent to 1,000 acres...?"
Frederick’s pupils wavered, and he immediately led me inside the farm.
"Let's go inside first. Let's go in and talk about it in detail."