The San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition (1)
The autumn sun was dipping past its midday peak, and the vast rice paddies of the Brentwood plains had already been harvested, leaving only stubble swaying in the wind. Where the golden waves once stood, there was now only neatly leveled earth and scattered, dried-out piles of straw.
Jacob, standing at the edge of the field with his arms crossed, let out a breath of satisfaction.
“It’s finally over. We had more to do this year than last, but for some reason, it felt less exhausting.”
I stood beside him, gazing out at the fields, and nodded. It was only natural that the work felt lighter when I knew exactly what needed to be done and understood the impact of every action.
“Last year, was it around four tons per acre?”
“Yeah. This year, the average is five. Just like you predicted. Changing the variety to prevent the rice from lodging made a huge difference. We also supplemented with the right amount of silicate fertilizer. That thing you said back then... that if the rice falls over, the yield gets cut in half. Honestly, I was half-doubting it, but it was definitely different. I had no idea the choice of variety could change things this much. Applying the fertilizer at the right time really boosted the harvest, too.”
We left the fields behind and headed toward the warehouse. As we opened the door, the warm, earthy scent of grain rushed out to meet us. Inside, bags of freshly milled rice were stacked in layers, reaching nearly to the ceiling. At the back of the warehouse, bags were organized by harvest date, each one stamped with ‘2005 HARVEST’.
Jacob rested his hand on a stack of bags and spoke in a low voice.
“For now, our regular buyer is offering $290 per ton. I’m still debating what to do.”
“How much do we have right now?”
“About 400 tons.”
“400 tons at $290 a ton... that would be?”
“I calculated it—it comes out to about $116,000. That’s $20,000 more than last year. It’s incredible. By changing the variety and following your advice, production increased by nearly 20%. On top of that, we used less water, fewer pesticides, and less fertilizer. Costs went down while production went up. It’s practically magic.”
Even as he said this, a bitter expression flickered across Jacob’s face. Even with these results, the money earned was still relatively small.
The money I made just from selling vinegar was well over $200,000, and for this batch of Sylphide, we had produced about 3,000 cases. If everything sold out—including the 500 cases set aside for local distribution—the revenue would be around $1.2 million.
Considering that the costs Jacob incurred farming 80 acres for a year weren't drastically different from the costs I put into my custom crush, I could understand why he felt the weight of it.
“You worked hard.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“Should we use half for the distillery?”
“Half... you mean we should secure $55,000 in cash?”
“Honestly, to be more stable, it would be better to use only 30% for alcohol and sell the rest to secure the cash.”
Jacob thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“No. Let’s go with your idea—sell half and bet on the other half. With the government subsidies and that $55,000, it’ll be just enough to prepare for next year.”
“Alright. Let’s do this.”
Jacob and I bumped fists, solidifying our resolve.
We walked over to the small building we had newly constructed next to the warehouse. As we opened the door, a brewery equipped with stainless steel fermentation tanks, a gleaming copper still, and well-maintained drainage and ventilation systems came into view.
True to its name, it was the Golden Grain Soju House.
“Looks great, doesn't it?”
Jacob slowly stroked the body of the still.
“I barely managed to build this by taking out a bank loan and adding in the money my mom had saved up. I’m terrified because the debt is a mountain, but... I don't know. For some reason, I don't feel like we’re going to fail. I’ve been drinking every single Asian liquor that’s entered California lately, and I think we can at least match that level.”
“That’s right. We can definitely hit that mark.”
Just then, a worker ran over to inform us that a guest had arrived. When we went out, we saw a middle-aged man in a suit walking toward us, carrying a briefcase. It was clearly the person scheduled to visit today.
He handed over a business card and introduced himself.
“I’m Lawrence from the TTB, the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau. As you are aware, I will be conducting the final inspection today.”
Jacob was visibly nervous, but he smiled and accepted the card.
Just because you get the TTB DSP permit doesn't mean you can start making alcohol immediately. The permit issued earlier was a conditional approval; it was a process where an official permit number is issued only after the documents, blueprints, ownership structure, and tax bonds are deemed legal. You use that to get loans and build the facilities.
However, before actual distillation begins, a TTB representative must visit the site to verify that the facilities are set up exactly according to the blueprints. This was the final hurdle.
“Welcome. Everything is ready.”
The inspection was meticulous. The official first toured the grain storage warehouse. He pressed his fingers into the bags to check for any signs of moisture or mold. He even went through the temperature and humidity logs posted inside the warehouse one by one.
“The grain storage condition is excellent. The ventilation and temperature control are well-managed.”
He then moved to the fermentation room. He opened the lids of the stainless steel tanks to check the internal hygiene, and even inspected the floor drains and ventilation systems. Since this was a newly built brewery, he wasn't just checking for cleanliness, but whether the facility was built properly and functioned without issues.
“You must have equipment to measure alcohol content. You need this to legally manage distilled spirits.”
“Of course, we’re prepared.”
“Good. Is that the still over there?”
“Yes.”
He followed the pipes of the gleaming copper still, checking that the thermometers and pressure gauges were working correctly. Then, he took a Proof & Tralle Hydrometer out of a small box to verify it.
“Hmm, it’s set up just as it appears in the blueprints.”
Jacob held his breath, waiting for the verdict. The official pulled a thick document from his bag and placed it on the desk. After stamping and signing it, he handed it to Jacob.
“The Golden Grain Soju House is now officially approved for a distillation license.”
Jacob’s eyes widened instantly. After checking the document in his hands several times, he shouted toward me.
“Finally...!”
“Yeah, finally we can start making alcohol. Congratulations.”
“Ugh...! I’m so moved!”
As Jacob cheered, clenching his fists, my eyes drifted to the bags of rice piled high in the warehouse. Now, these grains would be reborn as alcohol and go out into the world.
After the official left, Jacob, who had been looking around the now state-recognized brewery, rubbed his hands together and asked.
“So, are we going to start making alcohol with this monster of a machine now?”
“Yeah, let’s run a steam test.”
Since we had the certification, we needed to verify that clear water was condensing properly through the cooling line.
“First, we’ll run water through it. Distillation is basically a process of boiling, collecting, and separating. Today, there’s no aroma or alcohol, but the flow is the same.”
When we filled the boiler and flipped the ignition switch, a low hum echoed from inside the metal, and the pressure began to build.
A moment later, the steam line vibrated, and clear water droplets began to drip from the end of the copper pipe. I pointed to the end of the pipe as I spoke, and Jacob nodded, looking fascinated.
“Look, right now it’s just water, but if we do this, alcohol and various components come out in order of their boiling points. We divide this flow into three sections: Heads, Hearts, and Tails. This is the Heads section, but when we actually distill alcohol, we have to throw this part away. It’s full of impurities like methanol.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Jacob was already taking notes in a small notebook.
“The next is the Hearts section, which is what we need to collect. It’s the core section we want in distillation, as it contains pure ethanol and aromatic esters. You could say it’s the body of the liquor.”
“Ah...”
“The alcohol content usually starts at 70–60% and gradually drops; we collect only this section for the final product. And the very last part that comes out is the Tails, which tastes rough and heavy. We collect this separately and re-distill it in the next batch.”
“So we don’t throw it away?”
“Exactly.”
I caught the stream of water dripping from the condenser, opening and closing the valves to demonstrate how to control the flow.
“Soon, we’ll ferment the rice to make the actual wash. Preparing the wash means we’re getting ready to put the fermented mash into the still.”
“That’s a technical term, right?”
“Yeah. Now, if we handle this equipment well, this Sacramento Valley rice won’t just be a simple grain—it’ll transform into a liquor unlike anything else in America. Something with real competitive edge.”
Jacob watched the steam rising from the still and smiled.
“I believe it. I’m sure we’ll produce something better than any Asian-style liquor I’ve tasted in California.”
Watching the liquid drip, the large-framed Jacob had a sparkle in his eyes.
A week later, on October 17, 2005, the convention center hosting the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition was packed from the morning.
Hundreds of winery representatives, judges, and reporters had gathered, and thousands of wine samples were already neatly arranged in the hall. True to its name as the largest wine competition in the Western United States, the atmosphere was electric.
“Wow... they say there are even more participants this year than last?”
“Over 2,000 entries, they say. Just winning a gold medal among these is a huge deal.”
The sound of participants talking, camera shutters clicking, and the pop of wine openers pulling corks blended into a constant buzz. Among these people were Joseph Higgins of Castello Winery and Mark Harrington of Harrington Winery.
“It’s as grand as ever today. It feels like more people are showing up every year.”
Joseph Higgins, with his deep, resonant voice, scanned the countless wines participating in the event with a somber gaze. Perhaps because all these wines were competitors to his own, he looked quite tense.
“Indeed. Especially since the movie Sideways seems to have ignited interest in wine.”
“Haha, you must be pleased, right?”
Since Harrington Winery focused on Pinot Noir, one could assume they had reaped massive profits. No matter how much Castello was called the largest winery in Napa Valley after Mondavi, one couldn't deny that the places benefiting most from this Pinot Noir 'incident' were the wineries in Sonoma that specialized in the variety.
“Well. I wonder how long this atmosphere will last.”
“Who knows. But one thing will become certain: the profits of our California wineries will continue to rise.”
“True. That is certain.”
As owners of large wineries, they checked market fluctuations very carefully, and they viewed the situation very positively, as the wine consumption rate was steadily and gradually rising due to the Sideways craze.
“By the way, who do you think will take first place today?”
At Joseph’s question, Mark shrugged.
“Who knows. There are so many variables in this place...”
Even the famous Mondavi couldn't take first place every year, and every two years or so, a completely unexpected wine would take the top spot.
“Still, don’t you have a guess?”
“Hmm... Joseph Phelps Insignia, Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon, or perhaps... Heritage Oak Pinot Noir 2003?”
At that, Joseph laughed heartily.
“Hahaha! You’re sneaking your own wine in there, aren’t you?”
Heritage Oak Pinot Noir 2003 was the very wine Harrington Winery had ambitiously released this time.
“Then which wine do you think will receive the highest evaluation?”
“I’d like to pick Insignia as the most likely candidate. If there’s a wine that can rival it, perhaps Castello Reserve Meritage 2003?”
Castello Reserve Meritage 2003 was also Castello Winery’s ambitious work.
“I’m looking forward to it. To see how the results turn out.”
With that, the two looked toward the judges’ table with intrigued expressions. Familiar figures—sommeliers, critics, and journalists—sat at the judges’ table.
They weren't looking at wines with name tags; they tasted them blindly, opening bottles labeled only with numbers. In the end, all evaluation was done solely by mouth and nose.
How much time passed as wines were moved and scored one by one?
Finally, in the afternoon, the awards ceremony began.
On the screen above the convention center stage, the competition logo and the winners of each category were announced in sequence. Since there were dozens of wines for each medal, the announcements were rapid. And then, one of those names was called.
“Silver Medal, Heritage Oak Pinot Noir 2003, Harrington Winery!”
Mark Harrington’s face stiffened at the lower-than-expected ranking. He forced a smile and shook hands with those around him, but his fingertips were rigid.
But surprisingly, someone was even more shocked than him.
“Bronze Medal, Castello Reserve Meritage 2003, Castello Winery!”
Joseph Higgins’s face flushed red.
He said to Mark next to him, as if chewing the words.
“The judges are playing games.”
It was because the expectation for this event was at least a gold medal, so it had gone wrong in a spectacular way. Following this, gold medals were awarded to several wines, including Mondavi, making the participants nod in agreement. That was understandable, but the next name that appeared on the screen completely shattered their expectations.
“Double Gold Medal, Echelon 2004, Redwood Winery!”
The audience stirred instantly.
“Redwood? I heard that’s a new winery?”
“Echelon? Is that the wine that came out a little while ago?”
“A 2004 vintage, only aged for a year, getting a Double Gold? I can’t believe it.”
Even the head judge added from the stage:
“Despite the short aging period, it is a wine that shows outstanding perfection in balance, structure, and flavor. We evaluate it as presenting a new possibility for Napa Valley. Could someone from Redwood Winery please come forward?”
As people looked around in surprise, a young Asian man raised both arms and headed toward the podium.
And the two men watching that sight twisted their faces.
“This makes no sense...”
“Damn it...!”
Since it had reached the Double Gold and was categorized under Best of Class, putting it in the running for the best wine, this alone was an immense honor.
However, the surprises didn't end there.
“Double Gold Medal, Sylphide 2004, Redwood Winery!”
As two Double Gold medals came from a single winery, the noisy hall fell silent, as if dead.
“What on earth is that...”
Someone’s mutter represented the hearts of everyone participating in the hall, and the subsequent announcements of Double Gold medal wines didn't even register in their minds.