The pickup truck climbed the mountain after passing through Oakville. It was a truck I kept carefully at the farm for work and made good use of, and I was driving with the old man riding beside me.
Beyond the car window, vast vineyards spread out in a magnificent panorama.
“The scenery is truly beautiful.”
“Sometimes I think about that. Elder Mondavi, too—and when I wonder why I’ve lived this long, I think it’s because I kept moving and spent my life looking at good things. I’ve lived seeing scenery like this every day, so I don’t regret the life I’ve had.”
“Isn’t that something you can say because you’re a legendary winemaker of Napa Valley?”
When I said that with a faint laugh, he tilted his head.
“Is that so?”
“Other Napa Valley farm owners probably wouldn’t agree with you. They live looking at beautiful scenery too, but they’re under all sorts of stress. Climate change, pests and diseases, sudden wildfires, interest on loans… and if they run a winery, problems with the wine get added on top. Every day must be stressful.”
“That’s largely because they didn’t study enough. Do climate change, pests, or wildfires avoid Stag’s Leap or something? If you’re a farm owner, you should be able to manage those risks.”
It was the kind of answer you’d find in a textbook.
“I think so too, but there are a lot of people who can’t do that.”
“Well, true enough… Luck matters in life, but how sincerely you make an effort matters more. From what I’ve seen, half the people farming in Napa deserve to go under.”
It was a brutal remark, but I didn’t argue with him. In truth, as he said, there were quite a few people running enormous farms without studying much, simply continuing on as they always had without much thought.
“What about the person we’re going to meet today?”
At my question, a thin smile drew across his lips.
“He’s even worse than me. That fellow’s got plenty of problems too.”
“Plenty of problems?”
“Ever since he was young, he barely studied grape cultivation or wine. Of course, he did the basics to some extent, but beyond that, he practically washed his hands of it.”
Just from what he said, the man sounded like a failure as a farm owner. But if he was taking me to introduce him now, there had to be some other reason, so I listened calmly.
“If you only hear that much, he sounds like a stubborn, incompetent bastard, but he’s a greater genius than I am.”
“Pardon? Even more than you, sir?”
“He does everything by instinct, from farming to wine. That’s why that winery of his probably won’t last long after he dies.”
“No… then his children must be anxious. Does he not care about that?”
“He probably doesn’t. From the start, he’s the kind of man who doesn’t concern himself with things like that. He’s probably thinking they should be grateful enough that they can live in luxury off his money.”
“Ah…”
“To be honest, I’m the same in that regard…”
At that moment, something I had been curious about occurred to me, and I asked him.
“Then the money you received from selling your winery—is that all in your hands?”
“That? I set up a separate corporation of my own and let my children manage it. I split up the shares for them too.”
“Still, you thought of your children and gave them quite a lot in advance.”
“Thought of my children… Well, I’m not sure I’d say that.”
“Why not?”
He hesitated briefly, then spoke in a low voice.
“When I was young, I thought it would be good to leave my children as much as possible, no matter what. But as they grew up, watching the way they behaved, I didn’t like it at all. I realized later. Instead of letting them do whatever they wanted and raising them that way, I should have forced them to suffer a little and taught them how precious the land was.”
“……”
“What’s already past can’t be undone. They’re grown adults now, and there’s no way they’ll listen to me at this point, so I’m just trying to sort things out one by one and give it to them as money.”
This was something I had already heard before.
“Someone I know tried to do that too, but his children changed their minds and truly devoted themselves to farming, so he didn’t sell the farm and handed it over to them.”
“Is that so? I don’t know who that person is, but I envy him. These brats of mine, all they think about is using the money from selling the winery to do real estate development and make easy money.”
“Real estate? At a time like this?”
“Whatever the timing may be, since that’s all they can think about, I’m just going to hand it over and not care whether they go under or not.”
Of all things, the fact that it was real estate worried me.
“What if they lose the entire fortune?”
“That would be terrible, but there’s no guarantee they won’t. Still, what can I do? If anything, it’d be better for them to go under while I’m still alive. If they fail after I die, then what am I supposed to do?”
Was this why people said educating children was difficult? It seemed a parent’s heart was such that they worried about their children even after death.
“Ah… Of all things, real estate…”
“Why? Does real estate look that bad to you?”
“Hmm… If it’s real estate…”
Knowing how great a shock the subprime mortgage crisis would inflict on the entire world, I felt sorry that his children, of all things, were planning to invest in real estate with the money from selling the winery.
“Is it that bad?”
“Hmm… Haa…”
“Ahem… I’ll have to tell them to look into it properly.”
“You really should. They need to look into it very, very carefully.”
“I will.”
With Napa on the right and the ridgeline along the Sonoma border on the left, we climbed for about twenty more minutes, and a low fog had settled over the area. The vineyard formed atop a mountain six hundred meters above sea level looked mystical in itself.
“Do you know what’s distinctive about this terrain?”
“Thanks to the altitude, it should receive strong sunlight during the day and undergo rapid cooling at night. Naturally, the balance between sugar and acidity would become very good. Cabernet Franc requires slow, even ripening, and this climate should be perfect for that. On top of that…”
“On top of that?”
“The cool winds from the Pacific cold current coming from the west, the Sonoma Coast, would rise all the way to the mountain ridge, so Cabernet Franc’s deep herbal aroma, blueberries, and violet notes would come through richly, and it would be advantageous for maintaining acidity as well. You said he relies entirely on instinct rather than data, and now I understand why you call him a genius. Just from the climate alone, this place is ideal for growing Cabernet Franc.”
“Hoho…”
He was impressed. He hadn’t given me any advance explanation and had only told me the location while making me drive, yet just by looking at the terrain, I had immediately grasped the essence of this terroir.
As we were marveling at it, we arrived at the entrance of a quiet farm.
“I did tell him in advance, but he may have forgotten. He’s a bit eccentric, but don’t mind it too much.”
“Of course.”
In truth, when you thought about it, Warren was the remarkable one for accomplishing so much at his age while still having no particular prejudice and remaining humble. If it were any other farm owner of his generation, a little eccentricity was more than understandable.
As soon as I got out of the truck, the smell of earth struck my nose. The scent of red clay mixed with an iron tang was a little different from down below. Since this was the summit of a mountain, the soil quality itself must have been different.
Then, from afar, an old man approached, wearing a shaggy beard, worn suspenders, and brown boots whose ankles were so old they had frayed white. Warren called out first.
“Eddie! Are you still shoveling by hand? At your age, one wrong move with a shovel and you’ll throw out your back and never get up again!”
The old man’s eyes narrowed.
“Damn it, if you came here to nag, then get lost. Say that one more time and I’ll put holes in your truck tires, Warren.”
Warren chuckled and pushed my shoulder.
“Let me introduce him. This is the young Asian man I told you about. That old geezer is Edward Grant, the owner of this farm.”
The old man, Edward Grant, looked me up and down. His gaze was so frank it was unpleasant.
“So you’re the one from that noisy article. The one in that absurd story about Warren going in to learn your technique. You’re not going to tell me that bullshit is true, are you?”
I smiled.
“Mr. Warren exaggerated a little.”
“Then it’s not complete bullshit?”
I let out a small laugh and shrugged, while Warren grabbed Edward by the shoulder and led him inside.
“Let’s go in first. What’s the point of wasting words out here? Ah, and I brought a gift for you too, so have a look at that.”
His surly expression softened at the word “gift.”
“A gift?”
“That’s right…”
After we pushed our way into the winery office, I presented the wine I had prepared. It was Aeschylon, placed inside a luxurious wooden case.
He glanced at Warren and me, then opened the wine case, examined the Aeschylon, and gave a faint nod.
“I’ve heard of its reputation. I’ll drink it well.”
Warren immediately frowned.
“What, you’re not going to open it here?”
“Damn it, why would I open it here? I’m going to drink it alone.”
“You greedy old man…”
“Hmph! Look who’s talking… If you’re going to act smug just because you gave me some wine, you should have brought a Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon at least.”
“You… greedy old man. Do you know how much that costs?”
“It has to be at least that much for you to show off.”
After boasting so loudly, Edward looked at me and asked,
“So why did you come?”
“I heard you make the best Cabernet Franc here in California.”
At my words, the corners of his eyes softened once more.
“That’s not exactly wrong. But you’re trying to blend with Franc? If Warren brought you here, you should at least know the basics…”
Until now, when Cabernet Franc was used in blends, it was used to add a little of its piercing herbal, lilac, and berry aromas and provide structure. In a way, it was a supporting element.
Single-varietal Franc or blends with a high proportion of Franc were mostly disliked for being light, overly herbal, or having prominent green notes. Since most high-scoring wines were dense, powerful, and centered on body, people did not place much importance on Franc’s delicacy.
That was why, rather than focusing on finding the best Franc, they primarily concentrated on improving the quality of Cabernet Sauvignon. So it was only natural that he first ask about my intention.
“I think the herbal and spice aromas of Cabernet Franc actually bring out elegance.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Until around 2010, Cabernet Franc remained a supporting actor in blended wines, but after the 2020s, it came to occupy twenty to forty percent of blends and rose to the level of a lead role, with prices reaching as high as one hundred to three hundred dollars.
And most decisively, I preferred delicate flavors over blended wines that were simply too heavy, so I wanted to add that kind of feeling to my first cult wine.
“Is that strange?”
“Strange? No. I’m just surprised Warren brought someone who actually knows something for once. Americans still don’t properly understand the charm of Franc. They’re all stupid bastards who don’t know taste.”
He spat out such venomous words that anyone listening would be taken aback, then rose from his seat.
“You’re qualified to taste Franc, so follow me.”
When he stood, Warren looked at me and winked. It was an acknowledgment that my words had worked on him.
As we went down into the underground aging cellar, cold air rushed over us. The humidity was high, and the scent of wood and stone permeated the space. Barrels were lined up along the wall, and Edward tapped the second barrel from the left twice.
“This is the one I consider my best this year. One year in a new French oak barrel, then another eight months held in a reused barrel. The key is stabilizing it at a low temperature.”
Warren raised his eyebrows.
“You’re doing that again? That method everyone waves off, saying it kills the aroma?”
“That’s why none of them can keep up with me. There’s no better way to turn sharp aromas into transparent depth.”
Edward inserted a wine sampler into the barrel and poured samples into our glasses. The wine swirled thinly inside the glass. When I first smelled it, clear raspberry came through, and the scent of bell pepper lingered gently.
As I sensed the true identity of proper Franc, a smile formed on my lips without my realizing it.
“It’s the real thing, isn’t it? Try it.”
“Yes.”
When I held a sip in my mouth, the acidity lightly sprang forward at first, and from the mid-palate onward, the texture flowed cleanly. There was no bitterness from the skins, and the finish was crisp. Should I call it the essence of truly clean wine?
Before I knew it, I spoke in admiration.
“How much of this can you give me?”
“You want it?”
“Of course.”