The Unlabeled Bottle

Saturday afternoon, south of the UC Davis campus. The lawn in front of the Robert Mondavi Institute was densely packed with white tents.

"Why am I so nervous?"

"I don't know. Why are you nervous?"

Armando looked around the showcase venue, clutching an icebox filled with wine, his face tense.

Banners bearing the names of alumni wineries fluttered gently in the breeze above each tent. Near the entrance, student volunteers in black aprons were checking tickets and IDs, fastening wristbands onto attendees. Carts carrying buckets and water pitchers moved through the crowd, and polycarbonate bins filled with ice held bottles of Chardonnay and sparkling wine, half-submerged.

"The wineries participating here must all be incredible, right?"

"Not necessarily. I'm participating, aren't I? Mondavi is obviously world-famous, but... there are plenty of others that aren't."

"If I'd known it would be like this, I should have majored in Viticulture and Enology like you instead of Agricultural Science."

"Ag Science is fine. If you learn the overall principles of farming, you'll be confident growing anything."

"Then I'll be good at viticulture too, right?"

"If you're not sure, you can just ask me."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. I think I made the right choice with Ag Science."

"......Is it okay to be that easily swayed?"

At that moment, a volunteer from DEVO (the Viticulture and Enology student club) pointed to my wrist.

"Here, let me see your wrist."

When I showed him my blue STAFF band, he smiled.

"Your booth location is this way. You know that only volunteers are allowed to serve the tastings today, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

"And this person...?"

"He's a current student in the department."

"May I see your ID?"

Unfortunately, Armando, who hadn't reached the legal drinking age yet, couldn't get a wristband for wine tasting and had to enter looking dejected.

Next to the table where glasses were being distributed, cheese, olives, sliced baguettes, and ham were neatly arranged. People moved freely, glass in hand, wandering from booth to booth.

"Where's the Redwood Winery spot?"

"The department chair said he'd set up a table for us next to the official booths."

"Man, that's harsh."

"It's not harsh, actually—he just really wanted to showcase our winery somehow. It's not even a finished wine, and it's made by a student. I'm actually feeling the pressure because he insisted on carving out a space for us when we could easily get criticized for ruining people's palates."

"I get it, but still..."

When we arrived at the Redwood Winery spot, all that was there was a long white table and a few chairs.

Only an information card sat on the table, the only thing indicating that this was my spot.

"It's too much."

I chuckled at Armando, who was pouting, and took a bottle out of the box he’d brought. Instead of a label, the bottle simply had the words Redwood Foundry 1 written on it.

"I'm fine with it, so why are you getting so worked up? Don't do that—just go walk around and get a feel for the atmosphere. I'll stay here."

"Why don't you go walk around instead? There are alumni here, you know?"

As Armando said, this showcase was an incredibly important event for majors. First of all, wineries owned by or employing alumni who graduated from UC Davis with degrees in Viticulture or Enology participate, and they stand at their booths to greet guests and share stories about their wines. For current students, those conversations are vital experiences.

Most importantly, a large number of students studying Viticulture and Enology participate, giving them the chance to meet potential employers or mentors before graduation. That’s why the eyes of the students walking around were sparkling, their expressions bright with anticipation.

Of course, there were wine enthusiasts and members of the general public who had purchased tickets in advance, but the stars of the show were the wineries introducing new vintages and the students themselves.

"I'm fine."

I had already drunk and analyzed every kind of wine imaginable before I regressed. Thanks to the movie Sideways, I was well aware of the hottest Pinot Noirs, like Spellbound Vineyards Santa Barbara Pinot Noir, Litorai's Vineyard Series Pinot Noir, and Rochioli's Little Hill Pinot Noir. I had tasted them long after they had matured, so I felt no curiosity.

"Really? Okay. Then I'll go take a look around."

Even if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he couldn't taste the wine, visiting many winery booths and learning about the unique characteristics of each would be helpful for Armando.

Not long after Armando left, a crowd gathered at a booth a little ways off. Looking closely, I saw Matthew among them. It was the booth for Castello Vineyards.

Because Castello possessed the same terroir as To Kalon and held as much influence as Robert Mondavi, their booth was large and flashy.

They clearly viewed Mondavi as their rival; their booth was decorated like a showroom, and a large banner featured the words [Castello Riserva Cabernet Sauvignon] in gold leaf.

"Did you bring enough wine?"

"One-third of a glass per person. Don't give them any more!"

"Check their tasting wristbands."

After finishing their noisy preparations, they began pouring wine for the gathering crowd. Then, Matthew, who was pouring wine for a student, caught my eye. Was it my imagination, or did the corners of his mouth lift subtly?

He said a few words to the student, set down the wine, and walked toward me.

"Brian? You had a booth here too? Did you request this spot? You should have asked me. I could have told the higher-ups to assign you a decent location."

"No, I'm fine."

"Right, everyone starts somewhere. If you don't get any customers, should I send some your way?"

He spoke with great kindness, but I could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clearly feel the subtle sense of superiority radiating from his eyes.

"That won't be necessary. You seem to have a lot of visitors—shouldn't you get back?"

Matthew turned his head, checked his booth, and shrugged.

"Haha, I think more people are gathering because we're unveiling a new wine today. I'll be going, then. If you need any help, come find me."

"Thank you for your consideration."

As he turned, Matthew began talking to his family members before bringing out a new wine.

"Introducing Castello's next-generation wine, Castello Aurora Blend."

As the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sommeliers exclusive to the Castello family filled the glasses, exclamations of admiration erupted from all sides.

"The balance is truly excellent."

"The aroma is so sophisticated."

As the praise continued, the area in front of their booth became even more crowded. Even applause broke out, and I could see Matthew's shoulders puffing up in response.

That was when it happened. The crowd parted, and Sienna appeared with her father, Mark of Harrington Vineyards. Mark, dressed in a sharp suit, was greeted by many people as he entered, while Sienna scanned the surroundings with her signature cold expression.

"So, this guy said he prepared a secret weapon today—is this it?"

Mark burst into laughter and spoke to someone middle-aged. The tall, handsomely aged man looked a lot like Matthew when I looked closely.

"That's right. Go ahead and taste it."

They took glasses of wine in front of the Castello booth. The moment Mark took a sip, his eyes widened significantly.

"......Amazing."

Sienna was the same. Even she, who always wore a cold expression, raised her eyebrows just a fraction.

"It's like... holding several layers of flower petals in my mouth."

"Yes, it certainly shows the next generation of Castello."

The people around them murmured in agreement. "As expected of Castello," people were saying everywhere.

At that moment, Sienna's gaze happened to drift to the side. She locked eyes with me, sitting at the small white table in the corner. Tilting her head at the label roughly stuck to the sample bottle, she began to walk toward me, and Mark followed his daughter's lead, looking at me as well.

As I bowed slightly to greet them, Sienna reached me and asked, "You weren't assigned a booth? Why this...?"

"I didn't apply for one because I didn't have a finished wine."

"Then why are you here?"

"The department chair asked me to participate."

Only then did she understand the situation, her mouth opening slightly.

"Oh... I see. But what is this?"

"A wine our winery will release in a few months. I think it'll take at least another three months to be finished."

"Is that the wine from before? The Pinot Noir?"

"No... not that one. Look closely, it says Cabernet Sauvignon."

When I tapped the card on the table, her eyes widened in surprise.

"Ah! Can I taste it now?"

"Of course."

She quickly rinsed her glass in the water bucket, and I poured the wine into the glass she held out. Her expectant eyes darted between me and the wine before she slowly tilted the glass. And then,

"Oh... oh?"

There was no doubt or cynicism in her expression. Only surprise and admiration. After drinking the rest of the wine, she looked at me with a bewildered expression and asked, "How many months old is this?"

"Um... six months?"

"Don't lie to me."

"We sold all of the year-before-last's Cabernet Sauvignon as vinegar. This was made with grapes harvested last year. And you know, don't you? That the edges were smoothed out through blending."

But the answer didn't come from her—it came from Mark, who had been standing behind Sienna.

"You made a six-month-old Cabernet Sauvignon near-complete through blending?"

At the sound of the deep, firm voice behind her, Sienna turned around.

"Dad... this... I can't believe it. You have to try it."

"When I tasted the Pinot Noir, I already thought you weren't an amateur. Have you performed another magic trick this time?"

Mark glared at me for a moment before rinsing his glass and holding it out. Wine from a label-less bottle—it might look humble, but he sniffed it with a suspicious gaze before tilting the glass.

The moment he held it in his mouth, his expression changed. His pupils wavered slightly, and his fingertips gripped the glass tighter.

"There was a reason my daughter couldn't believe it was only six months old."

"Yes, it's a barrel sample. It needs a little more time to be finished."

Mark caught his breath and set the glass down. But he soon picked it up again and requested a second tasting.

"Once more."

It was almost funny to see him ask for another glass with such a serious expression, so I said with a wry smile, "I'm sorry, but I only brought three bottles, so I can't give one person two glasses."

"What? Look here... wait a minute..."

Just as he was about to say something, people who had approached unnoticed thrust their glasses forward.

"Give me some first."

"Me too!"

For a moment, I wondered if bringing only three bottles had been a mistake, but I poured about a quarter of a glass for each of them anyway.

"Which winery did you say this was? Redwood?"

At that moment, the young student who had tasted it earlier stood firmly in front of me and said, "I want to know more about Redwood Winery..."

Finally, a student nearing graduation was asking for a conversation with sparkling eyes.

"Ah, just a moment."

"Would you like me to help?"

"No, it's fine."

I shared the wine little by little, being as frugal as possible with the crowd that had gathered. But then, a heavy voice sounded from behind the people.

"What kind of wine is it that you're all acting so serious about?"

Amazingly, the people who had gathered stepped back as if clearing a path. And the person who appeared was, to my surprise, Robert Mondavi—a figure who was the very symbol of California wine. He had been touring the venue himself, seen this scene, and approached. Thomas, the department chair standing next to him, frowned and said, "Oh my... he's already bewitched the people. Didn't I tell you? I told you there was an incredible kid here."

Robert Mondavi, over 90 years old, approached slowly with his cane and looked at the label-less bottle on the table. He held out his hand and asked a volunteer for a glass.

The air in the venue changed. The murmuring ceased, and dozens of pairs of eyes turned toward Mondavi and my table. Even Sienna and Mark Harrington watched him in silence. And in the distance, the father and son of the Castello family were also looking this way, as if spellbound.

Things had grown larger than I expected, but I calmly picked up the bottle. The red liquid dripped slowly into the glass. As the wine filled the glass, Mondavi brought it close to his nose, closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breath.

And then, he tilted the glass.

Everyone held their breath.