The Palace Hotel’s main restaurant, Garden Court, seemed like a world apart from the bustle of the banquet hall. Morning sunlight poured through the high domed glass ceiling, meeting the silverware in a pleasing sparkle, while the strains of a classical string quartet gently settled the mind.
William Harlan sat alone in the quietest seat by the window, tucked into a corner. Dressed in a dark navy suit and an immaculate tie, he was cutting into his steak with an expression that was somehow stiff. Not a speck of food clung to his white beard, giving him an exceptionally neat appearance.
Just then, two men passing by the entrance of the restaurant happened to spot William and made their way over. They were Mark of Harrington Winery, known as a heavyweight of Sonoma Valley Pinot Noir, and Joseph of Castello Winery, which led the trend in Napa Valley’s mid-to-high-priced Cabernet blends.
“William, what a pleasure to see you here.”
Joseph greeted him first with his characteristic easy smile. William placed a piece of meat in his mouth, glanced at them over his glasses, and gave a slight nod.
“It’s been a while. Would you two care for a glass?”
Their eyes moved quickly from the wineglass in William’s hand to the ice bucket beside him. Inside was a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Échezeaux. It was not an outrageously expensive wine worth tens of millions of won, but it was certainly not one that diminished his dignity.
“Échezeaux... That’s an offer we can’t refuse.”
They had wanted to speak with him anyway, and now that he had invited them, they had no reason to decline.
Soon, a server approached, set out two more glasses, and poured the wine. Watching this, William said,
“Whenever the San Francisco Chronicle takes place, I always have a meal here on the first day before going. Somehow, it makes me feel as though I’ll get good results.”
Mark sensed something strange. At first, he could not pinpoint what it was, but as William continued speaking, he realized what had made him uncomfortable.
“At my age, even just seeing young people puts me in a good mood. And I envy them, too. They remind me of the passion and vigor of my youth.”
The content of his words sounded quite pleasant, but his expression was the complete opposite.
“I see. It is all the effort of the juniors trying to follow in your footsteps.”
“Hah, the efforts of juniors... Aren’t we all competitors? That doesn’t sound like Harrington, who claims to make the finest Pinot Noir in California.”
“We do aspire to become the best.”
For an instant, a strange light flashed through William’s eyes.
“You aspire to become the best? When I saw you before, I don’t recall you lacking confidence like this... Why? Does this competition seem difficult?”
“You misunderstand. I am always confident. Harrington always pursues the best.”
“.....”
But William looked at Mark with an unreadable gaze, then turned his head toward Joseph Huggins.
“This time, the Castello Aurora Blend moved up into the mid-to-high-priced line, didn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“It was fairly decent.”
A brief evaluation. But Joseph, who read the disappointment hidden within it, had his face twist for a moment before it quickly returned to normal.
“The market has been changing in unusual ways lately.”
Joseph swirled the wine in his hand and began to speak. His voice carried the concerns of a practical manager.
“The lower-to-mid-priced lines in particular are experiencing serious instability. Younger consumers now find heavy Cabernets full of oak aroma boring.
They look for wines that are fresh yet complex... and at the same time reasonably priced. Our winemaking team has been making all sorts of adjustments, lowering fermentation temperatures, controlling maceration times, but finding that golden ratio is anything but easy.”
Mark from Sonoma added,
“It’s the same with Pinot Noir. Because of the capricious weather, it’s becoming far too difficult to maintain the delicacy we once had. At this rate, I wonder if things will only become more unpredictable...
William, how is Harlan Estate? You are still adhering to the ‘two-hundred-year plan,’ aren’t you?”
The two-hundred-year plan Harlan had declared was a long-term vision to create, in America’s Napa Valley, a legacy of family and land that would carry its reputation for centuries, like the châteaux of Europe.
“We remain unchanged. Even if there are minor changes in the market and the weather, in the long run, they are nothing more than passing trends. Look at the prestigious Bordeaux wineries of France.
For hundreds of years, they have preserved their traditions in one place and maintained their value as it is. Wine is not a trend. Wine is the history of the land, and the patience of the people who protect that land.
This freshness or golden ratio you speak of is ultimately nothing but artificial manipulation. If it loses its essence, wine is reduced to a mere alcoholic beverage.
Do not waver. The land does not betray.”
His words were persuasive enough. After all, that very “terroir supremacy” was the foundation that had made Harlan Estate an empire of Napa.
The problem was that those were words only Harlan Estate, which possessed To-Kalon and had the technical skill to produce the finest blended wines, could say.
Castello, still lacking in many technical aspects, and Harrington, which was not even part of Napa Valley, found it difficult to accept those words at face value.
Perhaps because of that, Joseph’s voice rose slightly.
“This essence you speak of. What do you think of Redwood, the eye of the storm in this competition? Seeing Warren Winiarski attached to that young Asian fellow, it doesn’t seem like he simply lent his name.”
For a moment, William’s hand, which had been cutting meat, halted ever so slightly before moving again. Soon, after putting the meat in his mouth, he set down his fork, and the clinking sound rang out with unusual sharpness.
“Warren...”
The moment William murmured that name, a keen emotion hidden behind his gentlemanly mask leaked out. His gaze instantly turned cold.
“That man must have gone senile. A gentleman who lived his entire life as the pride of Napa... dancing to the tune of some young Asian upstart. This is an insult to Napa Valley.”
Mark and Joseph exchanged glances, flustered by William’s reaction, which was more intense than they had expected. But William was not finished.
“What on earth does he think he’s doing? What does he expect to learn from some young Asian brat with not a drop of shared blood? Or is he planning to raise Redwood the way he raised Stag’s Leap?”
His final sentence was enough to make Mark’s and Joseph’s hearts sink. If anyone else had said such a thing, they would have snorted, but coming from Warren, the man who had actually created Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars, it could not be dismissed as empty boasting.
No, perhaps it might even be easier than in his younger days. After all, he already had the memory of succeeding once.
“Surely not?”
Mark voiced the question with an earnest hope, but William Harlan snorted.
“Hmph! Who knows? At over seventy years old, deciding to do something new is not something one does with ordinary ambition. And under a green youngster... an Asian, no less?”
“......”
Both men nodded heavily. Even young people found it difficult to give up what they already had and start anew, so how could it be easy for an old man to enter under someone young?
At that moment, a sudden doubt occurred to Mark. He grew curious about why William was so agitated. Why he was reacting so sensitively.
But he could hardly ask that outright.
“There must certainly be something about Redwood that we don’t know... something that would attract Warren’s interest.”
“That goes without saying.”
Seeing Harlan nod with certainty, Mark felt he had grasped part of the answer. The reason he was acting so sensitive. Warren’s course of action had clearly touched upon his anxiety.
“What could that be, I wonder? This Astra Veil was certainly shocking. I hear that even the blending ratio is completely different from the existing Stag’s Leap. Which means that before Warren ever got involved, that Asian winery already had a structure in place...”
He had casually cast out bait... but the instant Mark Harrington met William’s eyes, he felt a chill. The expression on William’s face, a cold smile twisting his lips as he looked at him, showed clearly that he knew exactly what Mark was trying to do.
But then he spoke again as if nothing had happened.
“The blending ratio... Yes. That must be one of the things Warren finds interesting.”
After that, he said no more.
‘This fox of an old man...’
Mark was certain. William Harlan did not want to reveal the point that made him uneasy... and naturally, that made Mark even more curious.
“In any case, this San Francisco competition should be quite interesting. I will also watch the results of you two with quiet interest.”
It meant there was nothing more to say, so they should leave.
“I will also be wishing for Harlan Estate’s victory.”
“I’m sure you’ll achieve good results.”
“Thank you.”
William smiled and took a sip of the chilled Échezeaux.
After leaving the table, the two men walked through the lobby. Seeing Mark deep in thought, Joseph asked,
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
“It’s just... I was thinking that William Harlan cares about Warren more than I expected.”
“Of course he’d care. Warren was the man who gave him certainty when he entered the wine industry.”
When Warren Winiarski’s Stag’s Leap defeated the first-growth châteaux of Bordeaux at the Judgment of Paris in 1976, William Harlan was still a real estate businessman.
So the reason he bought land in Napa Valley and ran a winery, saying he would enter the American wine business, was in effect because Warren had shown the possibilities of American wine.
There was no one in the industry who did not know why Harlan had gone on a European winery tour with Robert Mondavi in the 1980s and established his two-hundred-year plan. It was to turn the possibility Warren had proven into a sustainable family legacy.
“I understand that, but... it feels like he cares even more than I thought. Harlan Estate is in a higher position now, and Warren has even wrapped up Stag’s Leap...”
“That does seem a little strange to me too.”
The two shook their heads, then crossed the lobby and left the hotel.
And then....
“Was there some kind of rivalry between the two of them?”
When I asked from a bench beneath an ornamental tree right beside where Mark and Joseph had been standing, Warren spoke with an incredulous expression.
“What rivalry...? That fellow William might feel something like that toward me.”
“Huh? If you think about it, he came into Napa Valley later than you and is selling wine at a higher price. Didn’t you feel at least a little... competitive? Not at all?”
“I may have been conscious of him as a market competitor, but I never paid particular attention to William alone. Still, if William is conscious of me, I can understand why.”
“What is it?”
“I told you before. William Harlan is obsessed with land.”
It was a brief answer, but I understood what Warren meant.
“Ah... Your wine wasn’t from To-Kalon, was it?”
The Stag’s Leap District AVA was located near the Silverado Trail, southeast of Oakville, while Harlan Estate was located in Oakville, where To-Kalon was.
William Harlan, who valued terroir above all else, and Warren Winiarski, who had achieved the miracle of the Judgment of Paris despite being in a supposedly inferior location. It was only natural that he would feel a sense of rivalry toward Warren, who had created a miracle that transcended terroir.
“That is why this San Francisco competition will be even more interesting. If your wine receives an evaluation similar to Harlan’s even though it is not from To-Kalon... William will be so furious he’ll lose his mind. It would overturn every philosophy he has ever held about wine.”
Warren smiled faintly.
“Come on, even if you say it isn’t true, weren’t you conscious of him too? You seem pretty pleased.”
“Haha, it’s not that I’m happy to put that fellow in his place. I’m looking forward to it because I think he’ll feel the same shock I felt. That fresh shock I first felt at Silver Oak.”