Laguna Creek Farm in Alexander Valley.
Amid the chill exhaled by massive stainless-steel tanks and the sharp, sweet scent of fermenting grapes, there was one place where a strange warm breeze seemed to blow.
“Now, this is the most important moment.”
Armando spoke as he turned to Sienna beside the narrow inspection hatch installed atop the tank. Before anyone knew it, Sienna was dressed in work clothes stained with dust and grape juice, and her eyes were shining with more life than ever. At her feet sat a small, old oak barrel.
“Is that what Brian gave you?”
“Yeah. It’s a vinegar mother he gave me as a gift when he suggested I go into the vinegar business. He said he cultivated it himself. It looks a little gross, right?”
When Armando opened the lid of the oak barrel, Sienna sniffed despite herself. Behind the powerful aroma of acetic acid that stung her nose rose a deep, savory grain scent difficult to describe, mingled with the flavor of ripe fruit. Inside the barrel, jelly-like, lumpy, translucent brown masses floated atop the liquid in layer upon layer.
“Hmm... So this is that magical lump of bacteria? Rather than gross, it feels like some kind of living organism.”
“Exactly. This is a huge home for microorganisms called Acetobacter. According to Brian, there are hundreds of billions of workers inside this vinegar mother. You could call it the finest supporting actor that’ll turn those black diamonds shriveled by the heat wave into premium vinegar.”
Armando immediately moved with precise hands, carefully tore off a portion of the vinegar mother, and placed it into the tank filled with high-sugar grape juice at 28 Brix. With a plop, the brown mass sank into the purple liquid, then floated back up to the surface.
“From now on, it’s a battle with oxygen. Wine has to be protected from oxygen, but vinegar grows by feeding on it. Sienna, could you open that air injection valve? Slowly, at a fifteen-degree angle.”
“Okay.”
Though it was not vinegar, Sienna was skilled at handling stainless-steel tanks thanks to wine, and she adjusted the valve according to Armando’s instructions. As air flowed into the tank, tiny bubbles rose and a swirl formed around the vinegar mother.
“It’s basically the modern version of the Orleans Process.”
“Hm? I think I’ve heard of that somewhere... Wasn’t it a French vinegar-making method?”
“Oh, so there are things even you don’t know?”
“It’s not a winemaking method, is it?”
“Right. Just like you said, it’s the oldest and most traditional natural vinegar-making method, originating in the Orleans region of France. Ordinary mass-produced vinegar is finished in just a few days by forcibly blowing in air, but the Orleans Process uses natural contact with air. For example, holes are made in the top of an oak barrel or tank so oxygen can freely move in and out.”
“Ah...”
“When that happens, a film of acetic acid bacteria forms on the surface of the liquid, and these microorganisms absorb oxygen from the air, slowly transforming alcohol into vinegar.”
“How slow is slow?”
Sienna poked her head out and watched the grape liquid changing into vinegar as she asked.
“Roughly one month, and sometimes as long as three. When fermentation happens this slowly, the original aromatic compounds in the wine or grape juice are preserved instead of being destroyed. In fact, aging creates an even more complex and elegant flavor.”
“So esters are formed?”
The source of the sweet, splendid aromas one smells in fruit or flowers is precisely these esters, which, chemically speaking, are substances formed when organic acids and alcohol combine.
“Exactly. Ethyl acetate smells like ripe apples or pears, and isoamyl acetate smells like sweet bananas...”
“Ethyl butyrate smells like tropical fruit, like pineapple.”
Faced with Sienna’s sparkling eyes, Armando suddenly jerked his head away. Her face was so pretty that it had taken his breath away. Then, with his face flushed red, he continued as if nothing had happened.
“Anyway... These grapes in particular have had their sugars caramelized because of sunscald, so by the time fermentation is over, they’ll have a caramel flavor and heavy body you could never get from ordinary vinegar.”
Sienna nodded, admiring the scientific details spilling from him, and checked the tank’s temperature with him. As fermentation began, the tank wall grew lukewarm. It was the heat of life, released by microorganisms coming alive and moving.
Just then, Sienna looked through the window beside the tank toward the distant entrance of Alexander Valley and clapped her hands.
“Armando, I just had a thought.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“It’s not just our farm right now. Napa and Sonoma are in chaos too. Because of the July heat wave, there must be thousands of acres where they’ve given up on harvesting. The wineries are treating those grapes like garbage and leaving them in the fields, saying they can’t even cover labor costs.”
Sienna’s eyes gleamed sharply. It was the moment the business instincts befitting the heir of the Harrington family kicked in.
“What if we bought those grapes for next to nothing? No, what if we took them and got paid disposal fees? They’re a headache for them, but for you, they’re the best raw material.”
Armando’s eyes widened.
“W-would that be possible? Would those proud Napa vineyard owners really give me their grapes?”
“Is pride the issue right now? They’re all on the verge of ruin! If grapes burned by the heat wave get mixed in, the wine gives off tannic bitterness and the smell of burning dried leaves instead of fresh fruit aromas, so they absolutely can’t use them. If more than seventy percent of a field is sunburned grapes, the labor cost of sorting out the good grapes ends up higher than the money they’d make from selling the harvested grapes, so they just leave them to rot in the fields. That way, it’s easier to collect insurance money from disaster insurance too.”
“Ah...”
“We tell them we’ll go and harvest for them. From their point of view, it’s like hiring a garbage disposal service. Then we can probably get them for free.”
At Sienna’s crisp, decisive words, Armando’s mouth fell open.
“Wow... I’m not exactly someone people call timid, but you’re no pushover either.”
“I’m the daughter of a businessman. I grew up seeing and learning different things.”
“I respect you.”
As if she found him cute, Sienna gave Armando’s arm a light smack and said,
“Armando, let’s start with Harrington Winery right away. Dad is so upset looking at the burned grapes that he’s just drinking. If they’re grapes we have to throw away anyway, I’ll persuade him and have them all sent to you. You use those grapes to run this vinegar factory at full capacity.”
Armando stared blankly at Sienna for a moment, then soon broke into a bright smile.
“I’ve got nothing to lose! Sienna, if you help me, I could turn all of Napa Valley into a vinegar barrel.”
“Great!”
The two of them high-fived and burst into laughter. The laughter of two youths stained with sweat and grape juice filled the dark warehouse.
---
September 15, 2008, was the day news spread across the world that Lehman Brothers had filed for bankruptcy. The so-called Black Monday. Its shock waves passed through Wall Street in New York, crossed the continent, and even swept into the peaceful vineyards of California.
In truth, just because Lehman Brothers went bankrupt and stocks plummeted did not mean wineries would collapse overnight. The problem was that, on top of this year’s ruined harvest from frost and heat waves, a financial disaster had now been added.
“Cash has dried up. I hear the banks have started calling in loans.”
“All the En Primeur contracts have fallen apart. The wealthy buyers in New York have declared they’ll forfeit their deposits and refuse to take the wine.”
An emergency had broken out among the glamorous wineries lined up along Highway 29, Napa’s main road. Vineyard owners who could not secure the labor costs to pay harvest workers were left stamping their feet in panic. Wineries once worth millions of dollars were transformed overnight into lumps of debt they could not repay.
“You’re back.”
When I returned to Redwood after handling matters in Bordeaux, Warren looked terrible.
“Did something happen?”
“It’s because of my sons.”
“Ah...”
I knew that his eldest son, Andrew, and his second son, Jonathan, had used the money from selling Warren’s Stag Leap to buy a building in San Jose. With the real estate market already bad and Lehman Brothers now bankrupt on top of it, I could imagine how difficult a time they must be having.
“Don’t worry too much.”
I knew how enormous the aftereffects of the Lehman Brothers crisis would be, but I also knew the real estate market would not remain depressed forever, so I was not overly worried.
“You think things will get better soon?”
“Probably...?”
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and a man entered. It was Edward Grant, an old man with a shaggy beard, worn suspenders, and brown boots whose ankles had turned whitish from age.
“Well, who is this? Isn’t that Eddie?”
When Warren greeted him in surprise, Edward, with his shaggy beard, gave an awkward smile.
“Sorry to come by when you’re busy with harvest season.”
“Busy, nothing... We haven’t even started harvesting yet. Sit down first.”
I shook hands with him, and Warren seated Edward, whose complexion looked dark. Something must have happened at his farm, where he grew the Cabernet Franc that provided the delicate connective tissue in Astra Vale in its most perfect state.
Edward took off his hat and crumpled it in his hand as he sat down. Without even drinking the water I offered him, he took a faded bundle of documents from his coat and placed it on the table.
“The bank contacted me. They said it was because of the Lehman situation and refused to extend my existing loan. Next week alone, I have wages to pay the harvest workers and material costs to settle... If I don’t have 1.5 million dollars immediately, our farm will go to auction.”
“......”
As expected, it was exactly what I had feared.
“This year, frost and heat waves overlapped, so production fell by half compared to last year. With only half the volume to deliver to your winery, I suffered a major loss... And now the bank won’t extend the loan. For me, this is truly...”
Edward’s hands were trembling faintly. He opened the last page of the documents and showed it to me.
“I put up all thirteen acres of our farm as collateral. As soon as Lehman collapsed, those bank bastards changed their attitude. Before, they said they’d convert it into a long-term loan, but now they say if I don’t repay the principal of 1.5 million dollars by next week, they’ll begin foreclosure proceedings. Brian, as you know, our farm can’t put the Napa Valley label on it administratively. Ordinary investors won’t even glance at it.”
The documents he handed me included an equity transfer agreement for five acres of the northern parcel. It was the very land that produced the top-grade Cabernet Franc used in Astra Vale.
“Become the owner of these five acres. No, please take them over. With 1.5 million dollars, I can pay off the bank debt and at least protect the remaining eight acres. You know the value of the Franc from this land, don’t you? Even without the Napa Valley name tag, these grapes have a dignity that doesn’t lose to Cheval Blanc.”
In truth, although it was not within the Napa AVA, the potential of this land, which directly received the cool air of the Mayacamas Mountains, was by no means worth less than 1.5 million dollars. No, it would not be an exaggeration to say it might be worth even more.
As I deliberated, my gaze fell on Edward’s rough knuckles. Fingers bent from gripping pruning shears for decades, black soil lodged beneath his nails that would not come out. They were the medals and stubborn pride of a farmer who had spent his life battling the land.
“Do you have a child who intends to carry on your vineyard, sir?”
“I do. My son and I are tending the vineyard together.”
“Then I’ll simply take the grapes that will come to us over the next five years as collateral and lend you the money. You can repay it in grapes too.”
“How could...!”
Seeing Edward’s wavering eyes, I took his hand and said,
“If there is someone who will manage the land well, that alone is profit enough for us. The moment you are no longer the owner of that land, the vines will lose their master and wander. What I need is not grapes raised by a manager drawing a salary, but Cabernet Franc imbued with the soul of an owner who loves his own land.
Edward looked at me, who showed no interest whatsoever in the documents, and his lips trembled.
“Two percent interest, the legal minimum, will be enough. But there is one condition. For the next ten years—no, even twenty years from now—please personally grow the grapes that go into Astra Vale. To me, the time of a farmer named Edward Grant is more valuable than equity in the land.”
He held my hand and let tears fall drop by drop.
“Thank you... Thank you...”
The relief of having protected the land he had cultivated his entire life had broken down the walls around his heart. But not everyone had managed to protect their land intact like this.
“Could you... help us a little?”
The face of Matthew Haggins, who had appeared at the winery out of nowhere, had completely lost the arrogant and insolent air it once had.