The 2005 Vintage Serasia (1)
After driving for over an hour, I arrived at the winery and headed toward the warehouse, where my father was already checking the vinegar with Armando, having been notified of their arrival.
“You’re here?”
“They haven’t arrived yet?”
“Yeah. You know... that Agricultural Extension office? They said they’re coming by again for an organic farming inspection and field experience. They’ve been coming like clockwork every two months.”
“That’s why organic certification isn’t easy. If they come when I’m not around, just handle them appropriately. You can talk about the fertilizer part as you see fit, and you can tell them everything regarding pest control.”
“I know.”
Just then, I saw a refrigerated truck approaching from the distance. It was a Freightliner Columbia tractor head pulling a 53ft Reefer trailer.
The vehicle pulled the trailer up to the vicinity of the warehouse, backed its rear toward the loading dock, and came to a stop.
“I made good time, didn’t I?”
As soon as he hopped out of the truck, John Anderson approached us with a bright face and handed an invoice to my father. Even though we had discussed the order details over the phone beforehand, we needed to ensure there was a clear paper trail.
“You want all of this?”
My father was startled. The invoice listed a staggering 16,500 units. We had discussed 10,000 units verbally before he arrived, but the number had increased in the meantime. Essentially, he was planning to clear out every bottle of vinegar in the warehouse.
“It’s just inconvenient to make another trip out here. Besides, on my way here, I received calls from Fairway Market and Safeway. It seems rumors about Redwood Vinegar are suddenly spreading. Even though the price went up, they didn’t care at all—they just wanted to confirm how much stock I had.”
“Haha... well, that’s...”
“We don’t have much time, so let’s get started.”
When we opened the warehouse door, the cold air rushed out, followed by the sharp, pungent scent characteristic of vinegar. Cases of 12 bottles, tightly wrapped in shrink film, were stacked layer by layer on each pallet, and the white labels were stamped in bold with [Redwood Reserve Vinegar] and the lot code.
Beep-beep-beep-
The warning alarm sounded every time the electric pallet jack backed up, and John Anderson, inside the trailer, stacked them neatly from the back using a manual pallet jack.
Although there were over 16,000 bottles of vinegar, moving 20 pallets didn’t take very long. Wearing an old field jacket, John Anderson smiled brightly after loading all the vinegar into the trailer.
“Thanks for the hard work. Here’s the check.”
John Anderson paid for the vinegar immediately with a check. With this, we had earned $225,000 from the vinegar alone. While it might be far less than selling wine, earning over 200 million won in Korean currency significantly lowered the burden of operating the farm and financing the reconstruction of the Silveroak Hills Vineyards site.
As I checked the barcode on the side of the case, John smiled and said,
“Checking the case UPC (Universal Product Code)? Don’t worry, there’s no problem with the scan. If it didn’t match, it wouldn’t have been accepted into inventory anyway.”
“Haha, yeah... I was just taking a look.”
However, John Anderson, who had been smiling the whole time, suddenly turned to look disappointed.
“I heard you made something called cherry wine? It’s incredibly famous in the restaurant scene, isn’t it? When people hear ‘Redwood,’ they don’t mention the vinegar—they talk about that Serasia, right?”
“Ah... that’s right. We made it.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
The atmosphere turned awkward for a moment, but I spoke nonchalantly.
“The cherries didn’t come from our farm. They were brought in from a farm in Brentwood. Everything made from grapes grown on our farm is entrusted to you, John Anderson.”
“That may be true, but...”
It seemed he felt very slighted, as he could have made a much higher profit if he had been the one to distribute such a famous cherry wine. But I had no intention of giving up the profits the winery could secure just for his sake.
“We’re planning to distribute the wine around September. We expect to see profits then, so don’t be too upset. And a contract is a contract.”
Since we had specified grapes grown at the Redwood Vineyard and processed foods made from those grapes in our initial contract, there were no issues regarding the agreement.
“Ahem...”
“And honestly, if you think about it, distributing the vinegar wasn’t even something you had in mind when you handed over the farm.”
Our contract with him was for exactly two years. From the winery’s perspective, there was nothing to regret.
Perhaps realizing this, John Anderson snapped out of it, suddenly grinned, and spoke with a completely different demeanor.
“What are you talking about? I was speaking from the perspective of Redwood Winery, not myself.”
“From our perspective?”
“Since the winery was distributing it directly, you couldn’t really push for a better price, could you? If I had distributed it, I could have gotten you a much better price. How much did you distribute it for last year? Per bottle.”
“18 dollars.”
John Anderson flinched for a second. It seemed he hadn’t expected the cherry wine to be sold at that price. However, he spoke as if he couldn’t give up.
“I’ll get you more than that. 20 dollars wholesale, how about it? If you consider the transportation costs and all the stress that comes with distributing it yourself, it’ll be a deal that nets you more than 2 dollars extra per bottle.”
At this point, I felt we could actually talk business. I looked back at my father, who gave a slight nod as if satisfied, and I shrugged my shoulders and said,
“Alright. Let’s do that.”
“Hahaha! Great. You made a good choice.”
With that, he drove off in his truck, excited. Watching the back of the truck as it moved away, I muttered,
“That’s impressive.”
My father also let out a dry laugh.
“I was surprised, too. He must have felt bad, but to turn the situation around by using his head like that... When he was a farm owner, he seemed incompetent, but now that he’s doing distribution, he seems like a different person.”
“I guess so. It’s fascinating. A moment ago, I thought he was going to rush at us to start a fight. I thought I’d just finish the two years and never see him again, but he’s extending the contract.”
“But isn’t it a bit unreasonable? If he takes it at 20 dollars wholesale, how much is he planning to make at retail?”
Personally, I think he could easily get over 25 dollars, but objectively speaking, it is a stretch. I don’t even know if he has tasted the cherry wine. Since it’s come to this, I hope he succeeds—if he can sell it for over 25 dollars and make a good profit, it’s a good thing for us, too.
Lumière, a restaurant in downtown San Francisco.
Around 5:00 PM, the busiest time for dinner preparations, the sound of blades hitting cutting boards echoed incessantly on the stainless steel countertops. Chicken stock was simmering in the oven, spreading its aroma, and in one corner, a blender was whirring to make salad dressing.
In the middle of it all, the owner-chef, Daniel Rocca, looked down carefully at a small glass bottle in his hand. The clear liquid shimmered subtly as it caught the light. It was the Redwood Reserve Grape Vinegar he had brought from the Mondavi Institute a few days ago.
He opened the cap, dipped the tip of a spoon into it, and placed it on the tip of his tongue.
“...The flavor is beyond words.”
Just then, he received a phone call. It was Jonathan Becker, who ran a shop nearby.
“Daniel, what was the name of that vinegar again?”
“Redwood Reserve Vinegar.”
“Ah, here it is. They’re having an event right now? Haha, it says the vinegar that sold out last year is finally back in stock. It definitely doesn’t seem like mass-produced factory vinegar.”
“I told you to trust me.”
“27 dollars? That’s quite expensive for vinegar, isn’t it?”
“27 dollars? Is that all? I would have bought it even if it were 50 dollars.”
“Is it really that good? Aren’t you exaggerating?”
“Once you taste it, you’ll be thanking me.”
“Fine. I’ll give it a try.”
Daniel hung up the phone and chuckled. So far, he had introduced it to five owner-chefs of restaurants near San Francisco. Some might ask why he shares such information, but it’s not an imported product, and keeping a product sold at large supermarkets a secret just for himself wouldn’t last long anyway.
He had learned over his many years of running a business that it was far more profitable to share information actively and receive other tips in return.
After hanging up, Daniel set the bottle down on the counter with a thud.
“How many of these did you say we got today?”
“The Redwood Vinegar? The staff said they brought 10 bottles. But isn’t Redwood the winery that made that cherry wine, Serasia, which is quite hot these days?”
Daniel tilted his head.
“Serasia? Why haven’t I heard of it?”
“Ah, there was talk about cherry wine once before, and at that time, Chef, you...”
“What? Did I dismiss it?”
“Haha, yes...”
“Ah... did I do that?”
As someone who always preferred verified recipes and traditional wines, cherry wine—which was essentially not wine—was something he couldn’t accept. It was clear that even if he had heard about it, it had gone in one ear and out the other.
“Was the reaction good?”
“The restaurants that stocked it all had positive reactions, but they couldn’t introduce more because of a supply shortage.”
“Ah! I remember now. Wine Review West. It was a wine that was even reviewed there.”
“That’s correct.”
“Aha... I saw that and just passed over it, but that was from Redwood? I’m getting curious.”
“You probably won’t be able to find it in wine shops, and only a few restaurants possess it, so it won’t be easy to get.”
“It can’t be helped.”
Nodding at the sous-chef’s reply, Daniel called his sommelier, Joey, and pointed toward the wine cellar, saying,
“We have a lot of Mondavi Private stacked inside, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct. It’s a mid-to-low price line, but it’s been a bit ambiguous, so it hasn’t been moving much.”
“Starting today, set up the pairing exactly as I told you. Serve it by the glass, but make sure the temperature and the glass shape are perfect.”
He had set up the pairing exactly according to the course that young Asian man had designed for him at the Winkler Dinner.
“Yes, I will do exactly that.”
Daniel Rocca, who had been feeling frustrated by his declining sales lately, felt that he had found a breakthrough through the Winkler Dinner, which he had participated in for some extra pocket money.
“Back it up, back it up!”
A massive Volvo VNL 53ft Reefer trailer entered the winery again. If the previous visit was John Anderson coming to pick up the vinegar stored in the warehouse, this time it was the opposite. It was an operation to move the cherries from the Brentwood farm to the winery.
The weight of the cherry crates spilling out of the truck shook the warehouse floor. The ice packaging on every pallet sparkled, and the red cherries were so dazzling under the sunlight that they were almost blinding.
“They said they’d make about five trips of 20 tons each.”
Chloe, who had delivered them herself along with the driver, smiled shyly and handed over the invoice. It was an enormous volume totaling 100 tons, but this time, rather than feeling burdened, I felt it was manageable.
“Great.”
“Let’s see the newly expanded winery.”
Even from the outside, the new building added next to the existing winery caught Chloe’s eye.
“Sure, follow me.”
I waved to the workers and led Chloe toward the new building. Until last month, it had been a space with only steel frames standing bare. Now, the gray concrete walls were lined with insulation, and inside, rows of gleaming stainless steel tanks stood in place.
“Whoa...”
Chloe’s eyes widened as soon as she crossed the threshold.
Right in front of us, five 5,000-liter fermentation tanks I had custom-ordered were lined up. The surfaces were mirror-smooth due to electropolishing, and digital thermometer panels were attached to their sides. Multipoint temperature sensors attached to the top, middle, and bottom of each tank were connected by cables, transmitting real-time data to a monitor.
“It really looks like a computer lab. Is all this for wine?”
“Yeah. Fermentation results depend on small differences. If the temperature at the top and bottom is different, the taste changes, too. Now, we don’t have to rely just on our eyes.”
As we went deeper inside, there were two 10,000-liter tanks towering near the ceiling. Glycol cooling lines stretched out beside the tanks, and small lights were blinking on the PLC control panel. It was a system where cooling would automatically activate if the fermentation temperature exceeded the threshold.
Chloe peered intently at the small valve attached under the tank.
“Do you do tastings here, too?”
“That’s right. We draw samples directly from here to check the taste during fermentation. Of course, it’s a sterilized line.”
Passing through the corridor and entering the oak aging room, the scent of solid wood spread thickly. 80 newly imported French oak barrels were lined up, and some already had a subtle glow as if waiting for the wine.
“Are the barrels new, too?”
“Yeah. I mixed French Allier and American white oak. I also ordered different toast levels for each barrel. I wanted to compare which one would suit the cherry wine.”
Chloe ran her fingertips over the wood surface and took a steady breath.
“I feel like I could get drunk just from the scent.”
I smiled, walked between the oak barrels, and pointed to the newly made barrel racks.
“We’re going to age some of the cherry wine that came in this time here. The rest will finish fermentation in stainless steel.”
“Then will the quality of the cherry wine be better than before?”
“Of course. I upgraded the existing facilities as well. Our winery has now grown one step further than before.”
I smiled, stroking the custom 5,000-liter fermentation tank.