The atmosphere at the scene grew heavy in an instant. When Christian Moueix clapped twice, sommeliers in immaculate suits appeared, carefully carrying bottles of wine as though bearing sacred relics. They were the final samples of the 2008 vintage, still unlabeled, brought directly from the cellars of each owner of the five great châteaux for this very occasion.
“If you’re that curious, there’s no reason we can’t show you. Warren, and Brian. See for yourselves what the land of Bordeaux has produced this year.”
Christian’s voice was imbued with unmistakable pride. On the table, Château Margaux, Château Lafite Rothschild, Château Mouton Rothschild, Château Latour, and even Château Trotanoy, the Right Bank powerhouse Moueix treasured, were lined up side by side. Myths that wine lovers around the world longed to taste even once in their lives now lay before us in their raw state, with the breath of oak not yet fully faded.
Corinne Mentzelopoulos pushed forward the glass containing her Château Margaux and smiled elegantly.
“This year, our Margaux carries a far more delicate acidity than usual. I believe that you, Mr. Warren Winiarski, and the owner of Redwood, Napa Valley’s idol, are more than qualified to share your impressions of this wine.”
Baron Eric de Rothschild also chimed in, gesturing toward Lafite Rothschild.
“Lafite this year has a firmer structure than in any other year. It is ready to recreate the legend of 1982. You’ll feel a depth of earth that those Napa wines of yours would not dare even imitate.”
They stared intently at me. It was obvious they wanted to see this young technician from Napa grow flustered and shrink back before the overwhelming fragrance emanating from the pinnacle of Bordeaux.
To be honest, even the aroma rising from the glass felt lethal. The scent of freshly bloomed violets, wet earth, and the densely woven texture of tannins were so perfect they nearly numbed the tip of my nose.
I lifted the glass, slowly took in the aroma, and held a sip in my mouth. An intense fruitiness struck my brain, supported from behind by cool minerality. I had no choice but to acknowledge it. Bordeaux in 2008 was truly a gift from God.
Warren, seated beside me, was also carefully emptying every glass. With each sip, he closed his eyes and nodded as though deeply moved.
The Bordeaux owners smiled in triumph. They must have been waiting for an unspoken declaration of victory: See? In the end, even you have no choice but to bow before us.
When Warren set down the last glass and wiped his lips, Christian Moueix asked in a pleased tone.
“Well, Warren? What does that sharp palate of yours make of our Bordeaux 2008? You may speak honestly. Your reputation won’t suffer simply because you admit you were overwhelmed.”
After gathering his thoughts in silence for a moment, Warren suddenly let out a deep sigh and stroked his chest.
“Ah... truly remarkable. Christian, just as you said, this is overwhelming. This elegance, this perfect balance... I am genuinely moved. A masterpiece that will not appear again in the history of Bordeaux has been born.”
At Warren’s blatant praise, Baron Eric’s shoulders rose slightly, and Corinne took a sip of wine with the composure of a victor. As the old master once called the pride of Napa yielded so readily, their wariness seemed to be disarmed in an instant.
But I knew. I knew the strange mischief flowing at the bottom of Warren’s eyes.
“Especially the Trotanoy you brought out instead of Château Pétrus shows just how confident you are in the 2008 vintage this year. Trotanoy will probably receive historic ratings.”
As if that were only natural, Christian smiled with a satisfaction I had never seen from him before. But then,
“But you know. It feels far too wasteful for us to simply drink such magnificent wines among ourselves and admire them. I think they deserve a form of courtesy befitting this pinnacle.”
“Courtesy? What are you proposing?”
Frédéric Engerer asked with interest. Warren tapped my shoulder and looked around at everyone.
“In December this year, the Nobel Peace Prize award ceremony banquet will be held in Stockholm, will it not? That sacred table symbolizing the intellect and peace of mankind.”
The moment those words ended, everyone’s faces stiffened. They had realized what Warren was about to say. As though that change pleased him, Warren deepened the smile at his lips and continued.
“Every year, the Swedish royal family hosts the Nobel Banquet. And the wines served at that table have always been the same. They have been the place of the Bordeaux châteaux. So this time, I intend to request an evaluation from the Swedish royal family, asking them to determine objectively whether American wine may also be allowed to attend that table.”
After scanning the room once, Warren erased the smile from his lips and said,
“My proposal is this. How about we make a wager on which deserves to be placed on that Nobel table: the 2008 vintages of the five great châteaux gathered here, or the wine our Brian will craft in Napa? We won’t judge it among ourselves. We’ll trust the eye of the Nobel Committee and the experts they select.”
Until now, I had never seen Warren go out and act this combative anywhere. I had never heard that this was his personality, either. So I was flustered, but because I respected Warren, I did not stop him. I knew that the source of his confidence was me.
On the other hand, the château owners present exchanged looks of disbelief. Their expressions said that accepting this proposal in itself wounded their pride.
Corinne Mentzelopoulos, her face slightly hardened, snorted.
“Warren, that joke goes too far. Our Margaux is a regular guest at the Nobel Banquet. Do you truly think a Napa wine can break through the strict and conservative palate of Northern Europe and take our place?”
“That is why I’m suggesting a wager. Of course, it doesn’t matter if you refuse. Your prestige is on the line, so I fully understand if you decline.”
At this point, he was driving the château owners into a corner. And in Warren’s eyes, as he pushed so aggressively, there was a ferocity I had never seen before. As if he had become someone else...
“Is there any reason we must accept that proposal?”
Jean-Philippe Delmas of Château Haut-Brion asked with a stiff face. At that, Warren paused briefly, then offered a condition both very cruel and very alluring.
“Of course, there’s no need to accept for nothing. So, to make it interesting, if we lose, we will write a congratulatory message to the victorious winery on the label of Redwood Winery’s most popular line—in other words, a wine that costs less than fifty dollars a bottle. What do you think?”
As he said that, he looked at me... Having come this far, I could not back down. Leaving Warren’s face aside, at this point, Redwood’s own reputation was on the line. So I gave a faint nod, and Warren’s lips curved into a deep smile.
It was a truly radical proposal. Radical enough that silence fell over the table.
“And if Redwood wins?”
At Corinne’s question, this time I answered.
“Then naturally, how about those of you present here personally write a congratulatory tribute? Something like, ‘We acknowledge that the philosophy of this winery has surpassed the pride of Bordeaux.’”
This was no longer a simple wager. If Bordeaux lost, it meant that a document of surrender from the owners of the five great châteaux would be printed and circulated on ordinary Napa wine bottles lining supermarket shelves all over the world. To the aristocrats of Bordeaux, it would be an insult worse than death; to Redwood, it would become a God-given means of publicity.
Baron Eric’s face flushed red and blue.
“This is insolence! The name of our Lafite on the label of some cheap wine!”
“Why, Baron? If your 2008 is so perfect, what is there to fear? It is obvious the Nobel Committee will choose the nobles of Bordeaux over a technician from Napa. If they judge the wines to be at a similar level, they will likely select traditional French wine over American wine, won’t they? You know that, and yet you still hesitate? Or perhaps... are you not certain of your own wine?”
At Warren’s provocative smile, the baron’s lips trembled. The owners of the five great châteaux looked at one another. Refusing here would be the same as admitting their fear that their wines might be outdone by Napa.
The one who broke the silence was Christian Moueix. He stared at me with burning eyes and spoke coldly.
“Very well, we accept. When the result comes out in Stockholm this December, the loser will gladly write a tribute on the winner’s label. Remember this, Warren. If you lose... those cheap wines must be distributed in Europe in at least two thousand cases.”
It meant he would not accept us merely producing a token amount and pretending to sell it.
“Of course. Wouldn’t that be fair?”
Warren winked at me in satisfaction. I felt cold sweat running down my back. A competition for the right to serve wine at the Nobel Banquet against all five great châteaux... This was worse than Joseph Haggins twisting his whole body to survive... It was nothing less than a holy war in the wine world.
The Bordeaux owners still looked perfectly confident. To them, the Nobel Banquet was like their own backyard. If anything, there was even an expectation that they could use this event to draw public attention and significantly boost wine sales, which had withered after the financial crisis.
“We’ll give you the remaining wine as a gift. It will be difficult to fall asleep tonight otherwise.”
Christian Moueix and the château owners gathered there did not even glance at the opened bottles that remained. Warren tried to wave his hand and say we didn’t need them, but I quickly stepped forward.
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll enjoy the remaining wine during our three days in France.”
When we came out carrying every last remaining bottle of wine, Warren chuckled and said,
“You’re thinking I went too far earlier, aren’t you?”
“I’m thinking you must have had a reason.”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“Good.”
And so, after ending that heart-pounding meeting with the château owners, we returned to the hotel where we had checked in beforehand. After washing away my fatigue with hot water, I opened the remaining Château Trotanoy again and felt the aroma that had yet to fade.
Warren’s face was flushed as he seemed to recall what had happened a few hours earlier, then he soon opened his mouth.
“They are not easy men. They probably intended today’s meeting from the moment they heard we were coming to En Primeur.”
“I expected as much.”
“I believe they called Master and me here with several objectives. At first glance, it might seem as though their purpose was to extract information, but in truth, they are not naive enough to believe they could actually find that out.”
“So there was a real objective?”
“Yes. I believe they needed a sacrifice to rebound the wine world, which has been steadily declining.”
At Warren’s words, I took a sip of the Trotanoy left in my glass. The intense flavor of the oak barrel wrapped around the tip of my tongue.
“They’ve staked everything on the 2008 vintage. To open wallets frozen after the Lehman crisis, they’ll need more than simply high scores. They’ll need a story. That’s why they called you and me here and tried to make one. No matter what we said, a story that would draw people’s interest would have emerged.”
“So you deliberately went overboard?”
“They are people with power and capital. Facing such people behind closed doors is difficult to handle with skill alone. They have already defined Master and me as enemies. So I had to make the board bigger.”
Warren’s subdued gaze made me realize that today’s meeting was no ordinary matter.
“You did well. I was startled, but it was satisfying to watch.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“Heh. Why? Do you think I’m worried about losing?”
When I asked with a laugh, he looked at me instead with an expression of disbelief.
“Our opponents are Bordeaux’s five great châteaux.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, glanced over the five bottles on the table, and said,
“It’s not as if I’ll die if we lose. If our winery loses, I am genuinely willing to write a congratulatory message to the victorious winery with a joyful heart. But that doesn’t mean my heart will die. I’ll challenge them with courage, and I’ll win. If anything, I’m grateful. If it weren’t for you, Mr. Warren, I would never have been able to experience something like this.”
He burst into laughter.
“Ha ha, I see. Master’s heart is not looking at what lies before your eyes, but far into the distance. Then that is enough. If you are looking that far ahead at your age, then even if you lose, it will still be a victory. And perhaps... it would not be strange if a result came out that defied everyone’s expectations.”