The Birth of Sylphide
Los Angeles, White & Co. Wine Trading.
Located on the 10th floor of a fairly large building, Christopher’s company was one of the countless wine distributors based in California, currently recognized as a mid-sized player. Because the CEO was a wine critic, one might assume it would be an advantage, but since he could not distribute the wines he personally reviewed, the business expansion was surprisingly slow. The portfolio of wines he distributed ranged from low-end to high-end, and the company’s main strength was the reputation that the high-end wines handled by White & Co. were at least trustworthy.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Christopher White opened the door and stepped into the conference room. In his hand, he held the contract he had just brought back from Napa.
“Everyone, please take your seats.”
The department heads quickly filled their chairs. Mark, the sales team leader; Helen, the logistics manager; and Andrew, the marketing manager. Everyone watched Christopher’s lips with tense expressions.
He placed the contract on the table and spoke quietly.
“As I mentioned before, this is the contract for the exclusive distribution of wine from Redwood Winery. The product name is Sylphide. It’s a single-vineyard Pinot Noir from the Russian River Valley.”
A buzz of murmurs instantly filled the room. One of the sales staff, a former sommelier, widened his eyes and muttered.
“Wait? If it’s Redwood, isn’t that the place that made Aschelon, the one you reviewed recently?”
“That’s right. It was a truly shocking wine. It awakened the firm structure and deep aromatics that a Cabernet should only show after years of aging in just one year. Unfortunately, since Aschelon has already been reviewed, we can’t touch it, but this is different.”
The staff couldn’t argue with the fact that their CEO, a wine critic, had personally tasted and selected it. And the staff had no intention of questioning his choice. At least in the mid-range and above, Christopher’s selections had never once been wrong.
“Now, our job is simple. We are going to distribute this wine all across the East Coast. But we don’t need flashy advertisements. Instead, we need to get it onto the best tables.”
He pointed to several spots on a map of the United States hanging on the wall as he continued.
“Mark, the sales team needs to secure a list of the top-tier restaurants in New York. We need to get tasting samples directly into the hands of the chefs at Per Se, Daniel, and Eleven Madison Park. Make them talk about it first.”
“Yes, understood.”
“Helen, for logistics, send 200 cases from Napa, California, to JFK Airport in New York via air freight first. At the same time, plan the trucking schedule for Boston and Philadelphia. It must arrive before the autumn banquet season begins.”
From late October through November, corporate events, banquets for politicians and lobbyists, art museum galas, operas, and charity events follow one after another. Christopher’s current instruction was a strategy to focus Sylphide’s promotion during this specific period.
“Yes, I’ll get right on it.”
“Andrew, don’t advertise directly. Instead, subtly leak the message to the critic network and the Sommelier Association that this is ‘the wine chosen by Christopher White.’ The fact that there is no official review will only pique their curiosity.”
The marketing manager nodded.
“Understood. So, don’t tell them directly, but make them wonder.”
“Exactly. People are more enthusiastic about wines they ‘discover’ themselves. Remember, this wine must not look like some amateur Pinot Noir from a new winery. The value of Sylphide will depend on how we handle it in the East.”
“Yes!”
As the staff left the conference room, Christopher remained alone and studied the map. The volume was far too low for the company to take a major leap, but he felt confident that he could increase their market share with this opportunity.
The autumn sunlight in Alexander Valley was low-hanging yet still warm. The vineyards at Laguna Creek Farm were beginning the harvest of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. At this most crucial time, Armando was waiting for me in the freshly cleaned winery.
“It cost money to clean this place again. There’s just no end to the expenses.”
He was already sounding like a true business owner.
“So, you’re finally starting to understand how I feel.”
“I guess so.”
As we opened the warehouse door, a deep fruity aroma poured out from the harvest bins filled with freshly picked grapes. I immediately put on my gloves and placed my hands on the pile of grapes.
“Alright, let’s start. Where’s the camera?”
“I’ve got it ready, this camcorder. But this cost money, too.”
“……”
My father had told me to prepare a camera to record everything so I wouldn’t forget what I learned when he first taught me, but Armando was whining about the money spent again. Knowing how he felt, I just nodded.
“Don’t worry too much. Once we start selling the vinegar, we’ll be able to recover all the massive capital spent so far.”
“I hope so. I believe we can.”
Armando widened his eyes and nodded. A few stainless steel fermentation tanks were placed around us, and a small tank prepared on one side was the stage for today.
The first step was crushing. As the workers poured the grape clusters into the crusher-destemmer machine, the stems, seeds, and skins were crushed together, and a pulp-like grape juice flowed out. As the red liquid filled the bucket, I spoke to Armando.
“When making wine, you have to be careful about the astringency that comes from the seeds and skins, but vinegar is different. Even that bitterness becomes part of the flavor profile. We’re going to put this grape juice into the tank for primary fermentation. Since we need to create alcohol here, we have to add yeast.”
I took out a small bag and showed it to him. Saccharomyces cerevisiae, the most common and stable yeast used in winemaking.
“Common vinegars on the market are fermented quickly through natural fermentation or large-scale continuous systems (industrial systems that blow in oxygen), so the taste is simple and sharp. But we use wine yeast, and because we’re using high-quality wine grapes instead of low-market-value ones, the flavor is bound to be different.”
“Ooh—”
“The temperature must be maintained between 22 and 25 degrees Celsius. If it’s too hot or too cold, the yeast will die or the flavor will become muddled. You have to keep checking with the temperature sensor attached here, and if necessary, run water to cool the outer wall of the tank.”
Armando stared at the sensor and muttered.
“22 degrees... I have to keep an eye on this. Got it.”
As we sprinkled the yeast and closed the lid, bubbles slowly began to rise within the grape juice. A distinct, sweet, and pungent smell spread through the air.
“Now, in just a few days, alcohol will form. And the next part is the real core.”
I immediately lifted a glass bottle I had brought from home. Inside, there was a transparent culture medium with a cloudy, fine film covering the surface.
“Acetobacter. It’s acetic acid bacteria. These guys turn alcohol into vinegar.”
Armando raised his eyebrows.
“So, do I just put this in after the yeast?”
“Exactly. But there’s one thing to be careful about. Wine needs to be blocked from oxygen, but vinegar is the opposite. Since acetic acid bacteria grow by eating oxygen, you have to expose a wide surface area. That’s why we use shallow, wide fermentation tanks like this.”
I explained while leaving the lid of an empty tank half-open.
“The temperature should be between 28 and 30 degrees. It needs to be a bit higher for the bacteria to be active. But be careful, if it exceeds 35 degrees, the bacteria will die.”
Armando nodded while holding the camcorder, and I pointed into the tank with my finger as if imagining a few days later.
“Soon, instead of the smell of alcohol, a sour scent will rise. That’s the signal that acetic acid fermentation is underway. But if we stop here, it’s no different from common table vinegar.”
I brought over a sack of oak chips stacked in the corner of the warehouse. The finely chopped pieces of French oak emitted a heavy aroma.
“If you add these during the aging process, the aroma changes. Like wine, the woody notes and fruit flavors blend together. You have to wait at least six months. The longer the time, the rounder the acidity becomes, turning it into a vinegar that can be used as a base for dressings or sauces in high-end restaurants, rather than just a sharp, stinging vinegar.”
Armando picked up an oak chip, held it to the tip of his nose, and inhaled deeply.
“Ooh—it smells like wine, with a sweet woody scent that layers vanilla and subtle coconut.”
“That’s right. It’s no different from wine. The only difference is whether you can endure until the end.”
We sweated profusely as we poured the grape juice into the tank and prepared the yeast and acetic acid bacteria in sequence. When the work was finished, the tank was already filled with red liquid, and small bubbles were bursting as if it were alive.
I took off my gloves and said.
“Now the waiting begins. A few months from now, the first vinegar bearing your name will be born in this tank.”
Armando looked at the grape juice stained on his fingertips. The sticky red liquid shone in the sunlight. He smiled and muttered quietly.
“I’m so excited and nervous, my heart feels like it’s going to burst.”
I nodded.
“That’s how it feels now. You mustn’t forget what I told you.”
“Of course, I won’t.”
“Let’s go out now.”
Stepping outside the building, I could see the workers still working hard in the vineyard. I walked slowly with Armando, watching the workers.
“How is it? It’s running pretty well, right?”
Armando’s voice was filled with anticipation and excitement.
“Yeah, it’s running better than I thought.”
“I trained the workers a lot. I purposely paid them a bit more and made sure they were well-fed so the staff wouldn’t change all the time. Plus, there are workers who came from my hometown, so some come here specifically for that. My mom is really good at cooking, too.”
“Oh, you’re getting a lot of help from your mother?”
“Yeah. My mom was really worried before we took over the farm, but now she tries to help as much as she can.”
“I bet.”
Armando, who had been staring blankly at the farm, stopped walking and slowly brushed his hand over a grapevine.
“Uh... America is a country of immigrants, but I always felt like I was floating somewhere. I was always just a worker. Do you know what the best thing my mom ever did was?”
“What was it?”
“Sending me to school. It was a public school so there was no tuition, but she told me I had to focus on my studies by sending me to Vintage High School, which is quite prestigious in the neighborhood. Honestly, I didn’t study that hard, but ever since I met you, my life seems to have changed.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”
“Ah, right. I didn’t even have a proper permanent residency until my mom married my stepdad. I was a complete outsider. But after taking over the farm, something... it’s hard to put into words, but I feel like I’ve been recognized as someone who belongs here. Even though most of it is bank debt, it’s still in my name, right? You know how I feel, don’t you?”
“...I do. We’re both outsiders, after all.”
“I knew it. I knew you’d understand.”
Leaving the vineyard behind, Armando spread his arms wide and laughed brightly.
“See that? Everything as far as the eye can see behind there is my farm. Everything I get from here is mine. Isn’t it amazing? These trees, the soil, the grapes... and even the winery. Sometimes my hair stands on end and I get goosebumps.”
“I know that feeling.”
“I was watching the movie Gladiator a week ago, and there was this music, and for some reason, it made me think of my farm. I felt a thrill. I even looked up what the music was later. It’s called ‘Now We Are Free.’ I’ve been listening to it constantly lately. When I walk through the vineyard listening to that music, it feels like the whole world is mine. And I have a feeling that one day, I’ll be the owner of some... incredible winery in Sonoma.”
Armando’s dream-like expression gave me a strange feeling, too.
“You’ll be able to do it.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I’m going to make it happen, so you will, too.”
“Haha, good. I’m sure you will. But I know my place. The incredible winery I’m talking about isn’t something huge and famous. It’s a place where delicious grapes grow, where many people seek out the vinegar and wine produced at my winery, and where a loved one is by my side. The happiest winery in the world. Of course, my wife has to be pretty. That’s the most important thing.”
“……”
“Don’t tell me you disagree? That’s impossible.”
Behind the bantering Armando, the vineyard dyed red by the sunset and the Russian River visible in the distance were truly as beautiful as a painting.