The Winkler Dinner (1)

"I hear you're participating in the Winkler Dinner?"

Robert Mondavi, now over ninety, still spoke with a voice that carried weight. It was astonishing to see him still so active, and I found his enduring passion for wine something truly worth emulating.

"Yes, that's correct. I've been tasked with one of the courses."

"How about you feature our Mondavi wines as the primary pairing for that course?"

"Excuse me? Wait, why...?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected proposal, my reaction was reflexive rather than polite.

"Why? Is it strange for me to lobby for my own wine to be paired?"

I could feel Armando, standing beside me, growing even more flustered than I was, but I still couldn't wrap my head around it.

"Even without my help, Mondavi wines are world-renowned. I don't see any reason for you to ask this of me."

"If it were a wine already receiving rave reviews, there would be no reason, indeed."

Only then did I catch on to the old man's scheme.

"Ah... don't tell me, among the Mondavi labels...?"

"Exactly. I'd like you to use the Private Selection line."

Not every wine from the Robert Mondavi Winery received high praise. In particular, their mass-market, mid-to-low-priced wines struggled, and the Robert Mondavi Woodbridge, in particular, had gained a reputation as a cheap "house wine" for restaurants or airlines.

The Private Selection he mentioned was slightly higher in price than the Woodbridge, but it was true that it was a line that didn't exactly enjoy a stellar reputation.

"Well... I suppose there's no reason I can't."

Since the department head was right there and had already agreed, I had no reason to refuse. I wasn't a chef or a restaurant owner, so using Mondavi for a one-off course pairing wouldn't do any harm. Besides, the Winkler Dinner had always been composed of wines donated by wineries or alumni, so there was no procedural issue.

I was just still puzzled as to why, of all people, he was asking me. If he wanted to promote the Private Selection, he could have used anyone else or any other method.

"I appreciate it. Next month, I'll send the chef and one of our winery staff to assist you."

"Understood."

"Oh, and tell me. How did you learn about wine? There aren't many places in the East that teach such blending techniques... and you're so young, it's unlikely you've had the chance to experience many wines, right?"

Robert's sharp eyes flashed.

"Ah, my father is a huge wine enthusiast, so I've been tasting them since I was quite young. In the East, if you're drinking with your parents, they tend to be a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bit lenient even if you're underage."

"Is that so? Then what about viticulture?"

"I've always been interested in it, so I've read a great deal about UC Davis viticulture studies. While others were reading comic books, I was in the library studying the science of grape cultivation."

"Incredible. A prodigy in both viticulture and winemaking... I've never seen one like you. Better than I was at your age."

At that, Department Head Thomas burst into laughter.

"Hahaha, you're too kind. You know what happens if you praise him too much, right?"

"That's why I'm stopping at just this much."

"Anyway, Brian, thank you for preparing the showcase so well today. I look forward to your performance at the Winkler Dinner."

That was Department Head Thomas's way of saying our business was done and I could leave. I stood up immediately.

"Yes, I'll take my leave then."

Armando bowed deeply and followed me out of the office.

"You're crazy! Absolutely insane! Robert Mondavi just said you're better than he was when he was young!"

"He was just saying that. Didn't you hear? He asked me for a favor, so he was just being nice to soften the blow."

"That's what you think?"

"Obviously."

"Don't give me that! Do you take me for a fool?"

"...... Let's go. If we leave now, we'll make it just in time for dinner."

I managed to calm down the excited Armando, but I was exhausted from having to soothe his incessant chatter all the way home.

April was so busy I couldn't even take a moment to rest. My father was now managing the farm well enough on his own, but I had to personally oversee the development of the newly acquired Silveroak Hills plot.

Installing drainage pipes, breaking through the hardpan layer, and reinforcing the gravel layer—these were the keys to creating a To-Kalon-level terroir, so I had to be meticulous. This was the only way to ensure the vine roots could reach deep into the soil.

After that, I adjusted the acidity, replenished organic matter with compost and Biochar, and flushed out the salts using irrigation and gypsum to boost the soil quality.

By checking every single detail, the soil finally began to stabilize by May.

"Ta-da! How's that? Impressed by my skills?"

Chloe had taken photos of her grafting work, developed them, and brought them to school to show me.

"It's decent, but... is it really worth bringing photos to show me...?"

As I tilted my head, Chloe's eyes narrowed immediately.

"But you did do a good job. You've been practicing a lot."

"Right? My success rate was over 85%. I had the highest success rate among all the farmhands."

"Ohhh-"

That was actually quite impressive.

"It's because I'm naturally talented with my hands and have a good head on my shoulders."

"...... That's true. So, how much did you do?"

"I finished everything I targeted for this year. And I thought our revenue would drop significantly since 30% of our harvestable land was gone, but it looks like the yield itself will be higher than last year. The quality of the individual fruits is definitely different after using the fertilization and moisture control methods you suggested. My dad is already calling in retailers to show them the farm and negotiate prices; he says we'll get at least 20% more than last year. The sugar content is up by an average of 2 Brix, too."

"Your father is certainly a shrewd businessman."

"Of course. He has all the connections he's built up over the years. You know what's really funny? You know William, that grumpy pig?"

"Ah, the head of the cherry cooperative?"

"That's the one. That grumpy pig, I don't know how he found out, but he came to our farm and asked how we managed to get such high prices for our cherries! He kept glancing at our trees, too. Hmph! As if he'd understand anything even if he looked!"

She shrugged her shoulders with a pout; she clearly couldn't stand the man.

"Did you mention anything about the new seeds?"

"No, I asked, but he didn't ask any questions about the varieties. He only asked how we got the prices so high."

"Ah... so he just thought it was a stroke of luck?"

"That, or he figured it was better to ask the farmhands than my dad."

Come to think of it, farmhands aren't usually permanent employees at one place, so I realized it would be easier to ask them about the state of a rival farm than to ask the owner directly.

Wasn't that exactly what happened when Armando went to the Silveroak Hills farm and discovered they were using pesticides?

"That's a relief. You'll have some breathing room once the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠harvest is wrapped up this year."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll have time to study then. Oh, and can I go there today?"

"What? Where?"

"You said you were going to prepare for the Winkler Dinner today, right? Don't you need someone to eat the course meal?"

She looked at me with hopeful eyes, but I just patted her on the shoulder.

"Sorry, but this is strictly off-limits to outsiders. You should go eat with Armando and Jacob after class."

"Tch..."

"Anyway, good luck. I'm off to eat a course meal I'm not particularly fond of. Even if I don't like the people, there's work that needs to be done. See ya!"

I teased Chloe, who was pouting, and headed toward the Robert Mondavi Institute of Wine and Food Science. With a bottle of vinegar in my hand. When I arrived at the designated spot, a black catering box caught my eye first.

"Hello."

"Welcome. You must be Brian?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Daniel Rocca. I run a restaurant in San Francisco."

"Nice to meet you."

A man with a dignified face and tattoos covering his arms stood there, and beside him was a young woman in a neat navy suit.

The slim, brown-haired woman reached out her hand first.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Emily Mondavi. I came at my grandfather's recommendation, and I'll be helping with the tests today."

"I'm Brian."

"My grandfather had nothing but praise for you. I've never seen him praise a freshman like that... I was actually a bit jealous."

"Haha... I was just lucky."

After we exchanged greetings, we opened the box on the table. Ice packs, a small induction burner, a stove, pots, pans, basic knives, tongs, and sauce bottles. Everything was perfectly organized.

"Shall we start by checking the wine list?"

"Yes, let's."

Emily pulled out a paper and spread it on the table.

"As you've heard, we'd like to design the course around this lineup for this year's Winkler Dinner."

I had already heard this, so I just shrugged and spoke to the chef invited by Mondavi.

"It would be best to taste them first. That way, I'll get a feel for how to pair them. Oh, and there's one thing I'd like to ask for since I'm in charge of the Winkler Dinner: this grape vinegar. It's made at our winery, so I'd appreciate it if you could use it..."

Emily shrugged, looking as if it didn't matter. Compared to the request to pair only with Mondavi wines, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little vinegar was a very reasonable request. He smelled it and looked quite satisfied.

"Good stuff. I've prepared four mini-courses for starters. Let's decide which ones work best."

I took out my notebook and pen.

Olive oil spread thinly across the heated pan, and once it was hot enough, Daniel placed the scallops on it. A golden Maillard crust formed quickly on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the surface. Just before turning off the heat, a few drops of the grape vinegar I provided were added. A line of herb oil with parsley and mint was drizzled, and the appetizer was finished with a pinch of fine salt.

"This is the appetizer I've prepared; go ahead and taste it."

In truth, I had been thinking about something else the entire time he was cooking. I wasn't actually interested in the cooking. I was only thinking about why Robert Mondavi had attached his granddaughter to me.

"Would you like to taste it first?"

"No, you go ahead."

Seeing her try to yield to me, I picked up a fork and tasted it.

"Hmm..."

The texture of the scallop was firm yet tender, and the roasted aroma from the seared side came through subtly. The acidity was weaker than I expected, and the herb oil felt like it cleaned up the entire palate.

I frowned and asked her, as she was watching my expression closely.

"Are you really planning to leave everything to me?"

"Of course, absolutely."

Seeing Emily Mondavi nod without a moment's hesitation, I realized why Robert Mondavi had attached her to me.

If she were going to leave everything to me from the start, there would be no reason for her to be here. She could have asked the chef beside her about the Mondavi wines, or even just taken a sip herself. But he had specifically assigned her to me?

'Robert Mondavi wasn't interested in promoting his own wine in the first place.'

Come to think of it, that made sense. Who was I to promote a wine that wasn't selling well at the winery?

What Robert Mondavi wanted was me. It was clear he wanted his granddaughter to observe my thoughts, philosophy, and techniques regarding wine as I prepared for the Winkler Dinner, and to evaluate what kind of person I was.

"What do you think would be good?"

She asked with very curious eyes. I wondered how I should answer. Should I tease these people from such a cunning family who were so curious about what was inside my head, or should I just ignore it? But no matter how I thought about it, I couldn't just pretend not to know that they were trying to figure me out.

"Ah! Right. We should taste the wine, shouldn't we? Would you like to try some?"

"That's alright. I already know what kind of wines they are."

Her eyes, which had flashed with interest, immediately locked onto mine.

"Is that so? Then what do you think?"

"Let's go with the Fumé Blanc. Lower the temperature to 10°C. Serve in a narrow glass, no decanting."

"Huh? Why?"

Robert Mondavi thought of me as some kind of wine prodigy, but he was mistaken. The reason I was so well-versed in grapes and wine was simply because I had done that much research.

It wasn't due to taste buds or instinctive senses, but the result of scientific reasoning. Therefore, the pairing for this dish had to be Fumé Blanc from a scientific perspective. The reason was that the composition of the dish had weak acidity and emphasized sweetness and umami.

If you serve the wine cold, the human tongue perceives acidity more strongly, compensating for the lack of acid, and using a narrow-bowled white wine glass concentrates the aroma, keeping the herb and wine scents in harmony. The reason for not decanting is that this wine itself has a weak aroma.

"And I think we can stop tasting the food now."

"What did you say?"

To her bewildered expression, I looked over the list Daniel the chef had prepared and said,

"For this one, use the Private Selection Cabernet at 16~17°C, decanting for about 30 minutes. This one, Private Selection Zinfandel. But lower it to 12~13°C, in a red wine glass with a bowl slightly smaller than medium. This one, Private Selection Merlot. 15~16°C, wide-bowled red glass. No decanting..."

Emily Mondavi, unable to watch any longer, shouted,

"What do you think you're doing? Do you think the Winkler Dinner is a joke?"

I looked at her as she grew excited and said calmly,

"It's not. If you pair them with each dish, you'll find they're quite good. I enjoyed today. I'll make sure to visit the chef separately to say goodbye."

I bowed slightly to her, gave a polite farewell to Chef Daniel for the meal, and walked out of the institute.

"Well, of all the...!"

Emily, left behind, stared at the list Chef Daniel had prepared for a long time before quickly starting to write something down.