Christian Moueix looked back and forth with trembling hands between the empty decanter and the old cork lying behind it. On that cork, the words Château Belle Époque and the year 2005, produced by Durand, were clearly stamped.
“Impossible... This can’t be happening.”
He let the words out like a groan. Once again, he poured even the very last drop left in his glass into his mouth and sharpened his senses like a madman. But the sensation touching the tip of his tongue was still almost cruelly refined and smooth. He could not accept that the liquid he had just declared to be a cold wine made with American technology was, in fact, the wine that a Russian tycoon he had dismissed had forced into existence and ruined.
“Mr. Brian, what on earth did you do? Durand’s wine... was certainly not of this quality. The tannins were as rough as wood, and I remember vividly that the acidity had lost all balance and was no different from vinegar.”
He was only calling it vinegar because his palate was extremely sensitive; it did not mean it was literally vinegar.
In any case, Warren watched me with a strange smile on his lips, and Katerina’s eyes sparkled as if her whole body had heated up at this thrilling reversal. I leisurely chewed and swallowed a piece of galbi-jjim, then calmly opened my mouth.
“The wine Durand made was certainly a failed wine. But even so, I thought it was a shame to call it complete garbage.”
“......?”
“Durand had only Parker scores in mind and excessively... squeezed the wine, should I say? Or perhaps tormented it? To explain in detail, there were three main reasons Durand’s wine was called garbage. First, excessive volatile acidity generated by failure to control the fermentation temperature. Second, immature short-chain polymerized polyphenols that flowed out from grape seeds crushed during the extraction process. Third, contamination by Brettanomyces due to poor hygiene management. Though, in truth, the third problem arose because Durand lost his nerve after the wine was ruined and gave up on managing it.”
As he listened, Christian’s expression gradually changed from disbelief to focused attention.
“How were you able to identify the problems so precisely?”
“I ran high-performance liquid chromatography, HPLC, and a mass spectrometer.”
High-performance liquid chromatography is equipment that can separately extract thousands of components in wine, such as sugars, organic acids, vitamins, and polyphenols, according to their respective physical properties. A mass spectrometer, meanwhile, identifies what the separated components are and determines their structure, allowing it to detect even trace amounts—down to the ppb level—of minute contaminants or unpleasant aroma compounds that ruin the taste of wine.
Christian, who valued tradition, gave a bitter smile at my answer, and I continued speaking.
“I didn’t want to completely give up on this unfortunate base wine. So I made a few... adjustments.”
To be precise, in the tanks where the acidity was too high, I added potassium salts to crystallize them, then physically cut down the acid levels through cold stabilization. The smooth texture was the result of carrying out the traditional collage technique with extreme precision.
“In a single day?”
“One bottle is enough, after all. It would be a bit difficult in large quantities.”
If the problem had been aging the wine, even God himself could not have done it in a day. But since it was a matter of physically repairing the existing base wines and blending them with precision, a day was more than enough.
“How did you change the texture?”
Now his intellectual curiosity seemed greater than his wounded pride, and he even suppressed that pride enough to ask a question.
“I used a traditional Bordeaux method.”
“You used collage?”
“Yes.”
Collage, a traditional technique of the Bordeaux region, refers to the process of adding protein-rich egg whites to wine in order to clarify it and soften its taste. It uses the principle that albumin, the main component of egg whites, encounters the tannins that create harsh flavors in wine, bonds to them like magnets, aggregates into clumps, and sinks to the bottom.
“Collage shouldn’t produce results in a single day.”
“If it were traditional collage, yes. But I controlled the temperature to increase the bonding speed and used a pressure filter to forcibly remove the aggregated clumps.”
“My word...”
He looked genuinely impressed, then muttered a word in French.
“Merde...”
Having uttered the equivalent of “shit” in English, he smiled bitterly in amazement, then tilted his head again. Then he looked at the galbi-jjim in front of him, frowned, and glared at me.
“This dish...”
His guess was correct. Just as Christian had confused my tongue yesterday by pairing the wine with steak in a rich sauce, I too had confused his tongue with galbi-jjim.
“Wouldn’t you say we’re even?”
“I suppose so... Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not criticizing you. I simply didn’t expect you to possess enough knowledge to make such cunning use of pairing. But... since it’s Korean food, I doubt Mr. Warren helped you. Is there a reason you paired it with this dish?”
This, too, seemed to be asked out of pure curiosity.
“The rich soy sauce seasoning and sugar in galbi-jjim strongly stimulate the receptors on the tongue. In particular, the umami compounds in the meat generated by the Maillard reaction make the wine’s acidity feel lower than it actually is. On top of that, the pungent aromas of garlic and ginger cover up the wine’s crude earthiness and make it seem like the flavor of refined spices.”
“At your age, it would already be difficult to become a great sommelier, yet you are perfect at winemaking and even pairing. Remarkable.”
He nodded, gave a faint smile, and looked relieved. And whereas before, he had eaten with all his concentration in order to win the wager, now he began eating to enjoy the food.
With the atmosphere now much lighter, smiles began to spread across the faces of those present along with relief.
Chloe, smiling softly again, brought her head close and whispered.
“I guess he isn’t petty after all?”
“Who knows?”
“Ah...”
Warren simply continued eating quietly, as if he knew nothing about the wager from the very beginning. Katerina, however, was a little different.
“It’s rather shocking that Michel Durand’s wine might not be garbage.”
It was not just words; her face did not look pleased at having dealt Christian a blow, but rather genuinely shocked.
Until now, they had likely been wasting hundreds of thousands of euros every month merely to maintain this vast estate because they believed all five hundred thousand bottles of wine piled up here were garbage. If they had thought those five hundred thousand bottles of wine had value, how could they have handed over this golden piece of land for fifteen million euros? Moreover, only five million euros was paid upfront, and the remaining ten million was to be repaid once it became profitable, which was practically no different from lending a long-term, interest-free bond.
“When I examined them closely, among the wines in oak, there were quite a few that were more useful than something to be completely discarded.”
“Ha, this is driving me crazy. If Father finds out about this, he’ll be furious.”
At her exasperation, I shrugged.
“You shouldn’t think of it that way. I’m the one who made something that looked worthless into something valuable. Even if Mr. Viktor or you had been put in charge here, you probably wouldn’t have been able to create this the way I did.”
When I said that while holding up the wine in my glass, even she, regretful as she was, wore an expression showing she had no choice but to acknowledge it.
But then, unexpectedly, Christian Moueix cut in.
“It was... a mistake for someone from the Karloff family to buy Château Belle Époque.”
As Katerina, startled by the sudden attack, sharply twisted her pretty face, Christian calmly took a sip of wine and continued.
“The reason is not that they lacked sincerity toward wine. I fully acknowledge Mr. Viktor’s affection for wine. But he did not know how to see the vineyard, and he did not know how to see people. This is both a great mistake and an insult to Bordeaux. Anyone would feel that way. If an outsider bought and ruined one of Russia’s cultural heritages, you would probably think the same as I do.”
At that explanation, Katerina’s anger softened a little.
“I can see how one might think that.”
“As expected of a lady of grace, you don’t misunderstand my words. However, I find myself thinking that handing Belle Époque over to an Asian this time may not have been a mistake. As far as I know, they didn’t transfer all the shares in the estate...”
“Isn’t that none of your business?”
At the sharp response befitting the daughter of a Russian tycoon, Christian chuckled.
“That’s true. It’s none of my business. But if the rumors are correct, I think there may be a chance of seeing great profit in the long term.”
Hearing that, Chloe approached again and whispered.
“What’s with him all of a sudden?”
“He has to raise me up as much as possible to save face.”
“Ah...”
Chloe, understanding once more, nodded, then met Christian’s eyes, smiled, and raised her wineglass. Christian raised his glass in return with a bitter smile, and his gaze turned back to me.
“I didn’t expect you to understand even the traditions of Bordeaux. I look forward to the future of Belle Époque.”
“With such a fine neighbor, I’m sure it will be a great help to the head winemaker here.”
For an instant, his face stiffened slightly.
“The head winemaker here?”
“Ah, I haven’t introduced him. He’s been busy and hasn’t been able to join the meal, so he’s been moving around...”
Daniel, who had come with me from Napa, had not joined the meal yesterday or today. It was not that I had deliberately excluded him; Daniel had avoided the seat himself. His reason was that if he met Christian now, the only thing he had to show for himself was his career.
“So you won’t be staying here?”
“Of course not. My home is Napa Valley.”
“Ah, I see.”
Suddenly, he closed his mouth and wore an unreadable expression. And as if someone had shouted at him, he did not open his mouth once throughout the rest of the meal. How could I explain that bizarre atmosphere?
After Christian Moueix, called the king of Bordeaux, finished his meal and left, Warren, who had finally been sitting quietly all this time, opened his mouth.
“Well done. Better than I expected.”
Katerina looked at him and asked.
“But why were you so quiet during the meal earlier?”
Warren answered with a gentle smile.
“If I had stepped in, Christian’s pride would have been wounded even more. He was probably far more upset than we think. He simply didn’t show it.”
“If Brian’s victory struck him that hard, then that’s satisfying.”
Surprisingly, the person most delighted by this victory was Katerina. It was because a lofty and haughty French aristocrat had been thoroughly defeated by an American, and an Asian immigrant at that.
Unable to put that exhilaration into words, she kept a smile on her lips the entire time. But then Warren said something rather unexpected.
“Something else probably hurt him more than Brian’s victory.”
This time, I grew curious as well.
“What? What was it?”
“The fact that you’re going back to America.”
“Ah...!”
I understood immediately, but Chloe asked Warren.
“Why would that matter?”
“To Christian, the richest land in the world and the land blessed by God is probably France. But you’re leaving this place in the hands of an employee and going back to America, so how wounded do you think his pride must be?”
“No, but if his home is in America, isn’t it obvious he should go back home?”
“That is merely your perspective. In their minds, the center of the world called wine is France, and if one has obtained an estate here, then the center of one’s entire life should be here.”
Leaving Chloe looking dumbfounded, Warren asked me.
“As Christian said, it will probably be difficult for the white wine here to be recognized with a classification. It will already run into the AOC—Bordeaux law—and Christian will oppose it even more strongly. Will you be all right?”
I downed the little wine that remained in my glass in one gulp. Then I spoke with a refreshed expression.
“Isn’t it fun? Christian Moueix is going to try to interfere with me? Wow... I think that would be incredibly thrilling. How could I not be happy that such a big shot is keeping me in check?”
At my words, Warren burst into laughter.
“Hahahaha! You really do have more guts than I do! Hahaha!”