The memories of last night with the chateau magnates quickly flew from my mind, and Warren and I returned to En Primeur, where we spent time tasting the wines we hadn’t experienced on the first day and gaining a deeper understanding of this year’s Bordeaux vintage. It was only long after lunchtime that the event ended, and the car carrying us sped toward the gentle hills of the Right Bank.
Outside the window, Saint-Émilion’s distinctive dark clay soil stretched endlessly. This was the holy land of Merlot. A land that produced red wines soft, voluptuous, and sweet as chocolate. But amid that scenery, an alien space appeared. While the other vineyards were just beginning to prepare their new shoots, faintly tinged with deep purple, one large estate alone boasted a vivid vitality, radiating a bright yellow-green. It was Chateau Belle Epoque.
As the car stopped, Warren was the first to get out. He removed his sunglasses and stared for a long while at the scene spread before him. In a land that ought to have been filled only with Merlot, this verdant sight must have looked to others like a challenge bordering on madness.
“You’re here!”
Just then, a middle-aged man covered in dust came running from afar, an old pair of pruning shears tucked at his waist. It was Daniel, the manager of Belle Epoque. His boots were caked with mud, and fatigue lay plain on his face. Even so, an indescribable pride lingered in one corner of his expression.
“Oh, my proud Master Brian. Did you observe En Primeur well? Mr. Warren, it’s an honor to see you again.”
Startled, Daniel took off his gloves and held out his hand. Warren smiled and clasped his rough hand.
“Good to see you, Daniel.”
“There were a few twists and turns while we were there, but I’ll tell you the details later. Since we came for En Primeur, we stopped by.”
“Of course you couldn’t leave without taking a look. I was waiting.”
“Let’s go.”
Daniel’s steps were confident as he led the way into the vineyard. His pride in the vines was visible even in the way he walked.
“Just as Master said, managing them in their second year was practically a war of patience. First, if you look here... I staked everything on establishing the trunk.”
Daniel pointed to the nearest vine. The sapling that had been nothing but a slender twig when it was planted last year had now taken the form of a fairly solid trunk, fixed vertically to a support post.
“Every time side shoots came up, I had to grit my teeth and cut them off, no matter how weak my heart got. I made sure all the nutrients were poured into this vertical trunk alone. Thanks to that, the speed at which the vine’s framework is taking shape is far faster than at other farms. You could say these fellows are now perfectly ready to bear their first fruit next year.”
I bent down and stroked the base of the vine. The marks where unnecessary buds had been removed were clean. Daniel’s meticulous hand was evident.
“How are the roots, Daniel? Have they settled properly toward the vertical boreholes?”
“That’s the most astonishing part. Didn’t we minimize irrigation exactly as Master instructed? It was almost uncanny how desperately the vines stretched downward in search of water. When I checked the geological sensors last month, I confirmed that the root tips had already reached the entrance to the limestone strata three meters underground. The movement is definitely different between the Merlot around here and our Sauvignon Blanc and Semillon.”
Warren nodded beside us and added,
“Not raising vines like spoiled children—that is the first condition of great wine. Only vines strong enough to find their own way through barrenness can produce great grapes. The deeper the roots sink along the paths you’ve drilled for them, the level of minerals these vines absorb will become something unseen anywhere else in Bordeaux.”
“I think so too. If you’ve seen everything, let’s go inside.”
Daniel guided Warren and me into the chateau. Compared to the grand fortresses of the five great chateaux, it was closer to a modest country manor. It was also somewhat ill-matched with the vast sixty-hectare estate, roughly one hundred fifty acres, but building a chateau suited to the scale would cost an enormous sum, so construction had been postponed for now. Still, I did intend to build a chateau someday worthy of the size of the land.
Inside the chateau, in contrast to the somewhat old building, cutting-edge meteorological data and soil moisture analysis charts covered the walls.
“Ah, what about the flower buds?”
“I was just about to report on that. I removed all the first flower buds that appeared this year. No problem, right?”
“Of course. You did well.”
At Daniel’s report, I smiled with satisfaction. Surprisingly, even second-year saplings can bear grapes. But if you think that’s a good thing and decide to harvest them, you’re in for trouble, because it has a fatal adverse effect.
Namely, a halt in growth. The process of a grapevine flowering and ripening fruit consumes an enormous amount of carbohydrates and energy. Because the vine uses up all that energy to bear fruit, the growth of its trunk and roots stops.
On top of that, the grapes themselves don’t show particularly outstanding quality. With shallow roots and an unsteady trunk, it is difficult for the grapes to come to proper fruition in the first place.
This much was something I, as a winemaker with more than ten years of experience at Domaine Leroy, naturally had to know.
“You’ve worked hard all this time. Since I’m here after so long, let’s have a meal together. I brought something very good yesterday.”
“Something good?”
“Could you have one of the staff go to the car trunk and bring in some wine?”
Daniel immediately sent a staff member, then narrowed his eyes at the five bottles of wine.
“What’s this? There aren’t even any names on the bottles.”
“They’re young wines that went out for En Primeur. Don’t be surprised. These are the representative wines of the five great chateaux.”
“What? No... seriously?”
“Yes.”
Breaking into a broad grin, Daniel carefully placed the five bottles on the dining table as though enshrining sacred relics. Seeing the way he smacked his lips, I had a feeling all five bottles might disappear before the night was over.
“I’d already arranged for a chef in advance because Master and Warren were coming, you know? He’s quite skilled. It would’ve been a disaster if I’d just left it to the auntie who usually helps out in the kitchen. The chef is probably going to have quite the headache trying to come up with pairings that suit the five great chateaux.”
“Just tell him to bring out anything.”
“Haha, how could I? If we’re doing that, we’d be better off serving only the finest cheese and jamón. Wait here.”
An excited Daniel ran off toward the kitchen. Warren, who had been blankly watching the sky as the horizon slowly turned red, spoke quietly.
“Sitting here and looking at this sky, I feel as though all the thrill of yesterday’s fierce wager is fading away.”
“Already? It’s only been a day.”
“The sight of the Sauvignon Blanc and Semillon growing in this land excites me already, as much as my heart stirred when I saw the grapes of Silver Oak. What kind of thing will it be? What form will it take? What flavor will it show us? I’m already looking forward to it. So the dispute with the nobles here feels like... mere amusement.”
“I feel the same. They must be feeling a little burdened right now, don’t you think?”
“They’re probably feeling far more burdened than Master imagines. Especially since they’re competing in their own home ground. If they lose, the impact will be... far greater than expected. On the other hand, becoming a winery that all the families of the five great chateaux are keeping in check is, in itself, something we should consider an honor.”
“Well, I’m satisfied with that too.”
He slowly sat down at the dining table and said,
“Perhaps this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us. After all, they have yet to see the grapes of Silver Oak.”
“Mm... I don’t intend to face them with Silver Oak’s grapes, though.”
For a moment, Warren froze.
“Are you serious?”
“Would the Swedish royal court even judge a wine that’s barely a year old? It’s true that Silver Oak’s grapes are excellent, but I believe Astra Vale has sufficient value as well. And as time passes, its value will only grow. I think it’s enough to compete with them.”
At my confidence, he smiled with his eyes.
“I acknowledge that. But it’s not entirely impossible to have the Swedish royal court consider a one-year-old wine.”
“What?”
Before Warren could answer, the sharp screech of tires shattered the silence outside and echoed across the gravel courtyard. A dark navy Range Rover had roughly passed through the heavy iron gate and come to a stop.
The car door opened, and a woman stepped out, her unkempt hair whipping around her. Her outfit made it clear she had flown in from England in a hurry. It was Katerina Karloff, daughter of Victor Karloff, the former owner of Belle Epoque, and still the holder of twenty percent of this estate’s shares.
She strode into the living room without even a greeting. Bewilderment and anger were mingled in her eyes.
“Brian! Have you lost your mind?”
Katerina shouted as she all but threw her bag onto the table. In the midst of the confusion, Warren instead smiled deeply, met my eyes, and said,
“The person we were waiting for has arrived.”
“Waiting for?”
Before Warren could answer my question, she snapped,
“I heard the news in London from a member of the Order of Bordeaux. They said you made an insane wager against the owners of the five great chateaux? And over the serving rights at the Nobel Prize banquet, no less!”
The Order of Bordeaux she was referring to did not mean actual knights who went around wearing swords. It referred to a closed elite club made up of political and financial figures, nobles, and experts from around the world who loved Bordeaux wine. At official events, they wore red robes reminiscent of a medieval knightly order, distinctive hats, and medals bearing the order’s symbols, such as corkscrew shapes, so it was hardly strange that they were called an order.
She continued, breathing hard.
“Belle Epoque has only just begun to breathe again after overcoming my father’s failure. I know Redwood’s reputation, and I know your genius, but... the five great chateaux are on a different level. They are the gods of this land! If news of your defeat comes in December, Redwood’s dignity will be dragged through the mud, and Belle Epoque’s value will become worthless scraps of paper. What on earth were you thinking, making such a reckless gamble?”
Instead of getting angry, I quietly pulled out a chair and offered it to her.
“Sit down, Katerina. You seem sensitive because it’s before dinner.”
“Is dinner the problem? If you lose, you’ll have to write a declaration of surrender on the labels of those high-and-mighty five great chateaux’s second wines, saying, ‘Bordeaux is, after all, the best,’ won’t you?”
I could clearly feel the tremor in Katerina’s voice. To her, this estate was the final bastion bearing her father’s honor. Though she had handed most of the shares over to me, the remaining twenty percent they held could not be meaningless to them. It had to be hope for a family that would one day shine again.
At that moment, Warren, who had been listening silently beside us, spoke in a low voice.
“Miss Katerina, it’s been a while. It seems life in England has made you a little more realistic.”
“Mr. Warren... Even you didn’t stop Brian? A man called the legend of Napa, adding fuel to this reckless fireplay?”
Warren chuckled and looked down at the tips of his worn shoes.
“Fireplay, you say... Well, I merely did not refuse a fight that came our way.”
“A fight that came your way?”
“Young lady from Russia, you need to read the situation clearly. We did not make a wager with them out of boredom. Perhaps from the moment they invited us there, we were already trapped in the ring. We couldn’t run.”
“That’s...”
“So, since we were going to fight anyway, we simply called in... quite a large audience.”
When even Warren spoke so calmly with that relaxed expression, her face softened a little.
“Whether you call in a small audience or a large one, you have to win. Our family’s honor is at stake.”
“Of course. In that sense, there is something I’d like the Karloff family to help with.”
“What? Us?”
“Alfred Nobel’s family was Swedish, but they built enormous wealth through the oil business in Baku, Russia.”
Just from those words, Katerina realized what Warren was aiming for.
“Don’t tell me... you’re asking me to lobby them?”
“Hahaha! Lobbying? The competition of wine is fierce, but it must be conducted fairly. I have not entertained such a thought even in the slightest.”
“Then what?”
“All you need to do is implore them to consider a first-year vintage in the judging as well.”
“What does that...?”
Katerina furrowed her brow, unable to understand.
230 Flying Maker (1)
An odd silence drifted through the sitting room of Château Belle Époque. As Caterina blinked, still unable to gather her wits, Warren leisurely swirled his glass and continued his explanation.
“When Alfred Nobel’s brothers began their oil business in the oil fields of Baku, you know very well who their greatest partners and supporters were, don’t you?”
“The oligarchs...”
“That’s right. They’re certainly connected to the Karlov family as well. Perhaps without the oligarchs’ help, the Nobel Foundation’s seed money itself might never have been gathered. From the standpoint of the Swedish royal family or the Nobel Foundation, a request from the oligarchs is not something they can simply ignore.”
“......”
“I’m not telling you to lobby them. I’m merely saying we should ask for an opportunity. Tell them that rather than remaining trapped within the empire the Five Great Châteaux have built so firmly, a young genius from Napa has arrived with a wine crafted through new technology. That aligns precisely with the value of innovation the Nobel Prize pursues.”
Warren’s logic was flawless, and Caterina’s eyes wavered. But perhaps she, too, was a businesswoman who took after her father; she turned toward me and spoke.
“Fine. Let’s say the justification makes sense. But Brian, why did you specifically make a first-year vintage the condition?”
The truth was, even if I lost this bet, it wouldn’t do me any real damage. I could write in Serasia that Bordeaux wine was the best as much as they wanted. That wouldn’t lower Astra Veil’s value. That was because Redwood’s history was still short enough to call it a newborn in the wine industry.
Moreover, my faith in Astra Veil was also firm, so if I had to pit it against Bordeaux wines, I thought it was entirely possible... but Warren seemed to be thinking a little differently.
Perhaps... Warren was curious to see just how much the world would be shocked by the Silver Oak grapes that had shocked him for the first time. Since he was thinking that way, I had no choice but to play along.
“Mm... The Cabernet Sauvignon harvested last year was quite good.”
“Like Bordeaux is now boasting about its young wines?”
“That’s right. If an event like this had been held in America, I probably wouldn’t have hesitated to put it forward.”
Warren, who had been listening, cut in.
“It’s more than that. Those Bordeaux bastards bragging that this year’s vintage is one for the ages—if they tasted our base wine, they’d shut right up.”
“It’s that good?”
To Caterina, who seemed unconvinced, Warren lifted his chin ever so slightly and said,
“You don’t trust my tongue?”
Only then did Caterina realize her mistake and raised a hand.
“I’m sorry. How could I possibly dare doubt Warren Winiarski’s ability? It’s just that it sounded that unbelievable.”
“Ahem...”
Caterina turned back to me and asked.
“Fine. I understand for now. But it’s April 2009. The Cabernet Sauvignon harvested last year has only just been in oak barrels for a few months. I understand that the base wine may be in excellent condition, but you know Bordeaux reds need at least two years, and sometimes as long as three, of aging before they’re treated as proper wine. By December, it will be a base wine aged barely over a year. And you intend to fight the old vines of the Five Great Châteaux with that?”
Caterina’s point was perfectly common sense. In wine, time can often seem synonymous with quality. Especially for a variety like Cabernet Sauvignon, which has strong tannins, its true value only reveals itself once that rough texture softens and melts away over time through polymerization. It was also generally accepted that most first-year reds were astringent, coarse, and aromatically disorganized, making them unsuitable for a fine banquet.
I pointed to the bottles of young wine from the Five Great Châteaux on the table.
“Caterina, that common sense you’re talking about isn’t wrong, but if you dig deeper, it’s limited to traditional winemaking methods. The 2008 Silver Oak I made is a little... different. I designed the tannin structure from the moment the grapes were still hanging on the vine. During fermentation, I precisely controlled the temperature to suppress the extraction of rough tannins and drew out only supple anthocyanins and the concentrated beauty of the fruit. You may think it’s absurd, but I don’t believe it can be called lacking in depth.”
“That’s impossible... You’re saying you’ll leap over time with technology?”
“Hasn’t Astra Veil already proven it? Winning Best of Show two years in a row wasn’t a coincidence. Caterina, it’s only natural that you can’t believe it. By Bordeaux common sense, it’s impossible. But if we think only by Bordeaux common sense, then pulling up Merlot here at Belle Époque and planting Sauvignon Blanc and Sémillon is absurd in itself.”
For a moment, Caterina was at a loss for words and bit her lip. It was probably because the history Redwood was building was too extraordinary to simply dismiss. On top of that, the presence of Warren Winiarski beside me must have added even more credibility to my words.
After a moment, Caterina looked at me as though she had made up her mind.
“Fine. But the daughter of a Russian tycoon can’t whine to the Nobel family or the Swedish royal family without any basis. My family’s credibility is money and power. I’ll have to confirm with my own mouth... no, experts will have to confirm directly whether that 2008 Silver Oak you speak of truly is a monster capable of bringing the gods of Bordeaux to their knees.”
“If you’d like, I can prove it to you anytime. Will you come to Napa?”
At my question, Caterina shook her head and smiled coldly.
“No. By October, those wines will be entering the bottling stage anyway, won’t they? Send the first officially bottled batch to New York. We’ll hold a large party at my father’s penthouse on 57th Street in Manhattan.”
New York was the city where trends in the global wine market were determined and where critics with the most demanding palates gathered. And there could be no better opportunity to show off Viktor Karlov’s influence.
One could say she had thought this through quite cleverly.
“We’ll invite a large number of influential New York wine critics, as well as Nordic diplomats who can exert influence on the Nobel Committee. If praise bursts from their mouths, then the Swedish royal family will have no justification to exclude that wine from consideration. But... if harsh criticism comes out there, then not only the value of Redwood’s new wine, but the reputation of the winery itself will be driven into the ground.”
“Good. I’ll prove it in New York. If you’re willing to set the stage to that extent, it would be rude of me to refuse. All you need to do is host the party and seat the Nobel Committee people there. My wine will take care of the rest.”
The two of them clasped hands. Warren watched the sight with satisfaction and murmured quietly.
“That bastard Viktor will be the only one getting even happier again.”
Just then, Daniel appeared from the kitchen with a delicious aroma, smiling brightly.
“Now, now! That’s enough serious talk. The chef has finished an incredible duck breast dish. And these young wines from the Five Great Châteaux—we have to taste them quickly too!”
At Daniel’s cheerful voice, the tension in the sitting room eased a little. The four of us sat around the dining table, and the wines Daniel had carefully decanted filled our glasses. They were not labeled, but these were wines standing at the pinnacle of Bordeaux, such as Château Lafite Rothschild, Château Mouton Rothschild, and Château Latour.
“No one sleeps tonight until we finish all these wines.”
At my words, Daniel shrugged as if asking what nonsense I was talking about.
“You didn’t have to say that. I wasn’t planning on sleeping before we finished them anyway.”
At first, the atmosphere had been terribly stiff, but before long the dining table grew warm and lively.
---
Morning at Château Belle Époque was not lively. Everyone had drunk far too much wine yesterday. It was around lunchtime by the time I barely came to my senses, and Warren, who had somehow already gotten up and washed, asked me,
“So what are you going to do?”
“How can your liver still be that lively at your age, sir?”
“Heh heh... If I couldn’t endure even this much, I’d have been buried in the ground long ago.”
“What a way to put it...”
“If you’ve kept your mouth shut all this time and tormented me, isn’t it about time you told me? You said you’d come to a conclusion at En Primeur, didn’t you?”
In truth, before coming to En Primeur, Warren had asked me what kind of wine I intended to make with the Silver Oak grapes. I could raise Astra Veil’s quality even further, or I could create an entirely new wine. And if I did make a new wine, he had even asked what concept I would build it around...
Now that every event was over and we had to return to Napa Valley, he was pestering me with his eyes shining like that.
“Fine. I’ll tell you.”
“Wait! It won’t be any fun if I just listen empty-handed.”
He immediately went and procured yet another bottle of wine from somewhere.
“Where did you get that this time?”
“Château Margaux. Yesterday, everyone lost their senses before we even got to Château Margaux, so I quietly set it aside.”
“Wow...”
He took a sip of Château Margaux into his mouth and smiled with satisfaction, as though strolling through the heavens.
“Now, I’m ready. Go on, tell me.”
I chuckled and spoke to him as he waited with great anticipation.
“First... I’m thinking of making it as a single-varietal wine.”
“A single varietal?”
“To be precise, I’m thinking roughly 95% Cabernet Sauvignon, 3% Petit Verdot, and 2% Malbec.”
Warren’s eyebrows twitched as he listened. It was the complete opposite of Astra Veil, which had maximized softness and complexity by blending Merlot, Cabernet Franc, and Petit Verdot.
“Ninety-five percent Cab Sauv... That’s practically a single-varietal wine. In Bordeaux, that’s an unimaginable ratio. They consider putting Cabernet Sauvignon forward without Merlot as a buffer to be like stepping onto a battlefield naked.”
“That’s right. But there are three geological and chemical reasons why I conceived this wine this way. You can think of it as designing the shocking experience people will have when they first drink it.”
“A shocking experience?”
I brought over a notepad and pen from beside the bed and explained while sketching roughly.
“First is vertical structure. Bordeaux reds place importance on a horizontal texture that spreads left and right in the mouth, don’t they?”
“They do.”
“Merlot especially plays that role. But with the Cabernet Sauvignon grown at Silver Oak this time, I’m going to make a wine like a steel core that drives in a straight line from the tip of the tongue to the throat.”
“Such a...”
“The Cab Sauv from Silver Oak has dense tannins. That 95% purity is to preserve that density without diluting it.”
He took a sip of wine and nodded faintly.
“That makes sense. And?”
“Second, I’m aiming for depth of color and the illusion of long-term aging. The 3% Petit Verdot will play that role. This variety has such a high concentration of anthocyanins that it’s called the ink of the grape world. First-year wines usually have a bright scarlet hue and tend to look light, but if you add 3% Petit Verdot...”
“The wine takes on a deep purple close to black.”
“That’s right. Visual information deceives the brain. People will look at that deep color in the glass and mistakenly think it has the depth of a wine aged ten years.”
“That makes sense too. But that’s nothing more than a trick.”
It was a sharp point, saying that alone would not be enough. Of course, he was right, so I continued explaining.
“Naturally, the real work will be done by the Cabernet Sauvignon. The Petit Verdot will only make it stand out. And the 2% Malbec will connect the two even more naturally. It will serve as a kind of anthocyanin bridge.”
Warren, imagining it in his head, swirled his glass and muttered,
“Malbec fills the mid-palate, the empty space of the middle taste felt in the mouth. Are you saying it will fill the gaps between the firmness of the 95% Cab Sauv with a velvet-like texture, completing the pleasure of something that is soft yet powerful the moment you drink it?”
“That’s right. That’s exactly the point.”
Warren chewed over my explanation for a long while.
“The theory is perfect, Master. But there’s one thing you’ve overlooked. Napa Valley Malbec grows in too warm a place. The kind of Malbec you want, with both that velvet-like texture and a cool acidity, doesn’t exist in Napa. Napa Malbec is too sweet, and if you’re not careful, it could muddy the finish of this intricate design.”
“Then... do you happen to know where I might find a Malbec outside Napa that would pair well with Silver Oak’s Cabernet Sauvignon?”
Warren, a faint smile on his lips, slowly emptied his glass, then opened his mouth with eyes that seemed to be gazing out the window... no, somewhere far beyond it.
“Malbec was originally a noble of Bordeaux. But in the brutal cold snap of 1956, the Malbec vines of Bordeaux were all but wiped out. The Bordeaux owners abandoned Malbec, weak against the cold, and chose Merlot instead. But there were some that survived. Ones that crossed the Atlantic and fled into the embrace of the Andes.”
“What? The Andes? Argentina?”
“That’s right. Mendoza, Argentina. And among its regions, do you know the Altamira formation, a high-altitude area around 1,100 meters above sea level? The cold winds blowing down from the perpetual snow and the ultraviolet rays are murderous. To survive, the grapes make their skins extremely thick and lock their acidity inside. Malbec grown there is on a completely different level from Napa’s. It’s as dark as ink, but as cold as ice, with aromas of blackberry and plum.”
My mouth fell open.
“1,100 meters above sea level?”
“Indeed.”
“......”
“Shall we just use Napa Valley Malbec?”
Having heard all that, how could I possibly use Napa Malbec?
“Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Yes. To Argentina.”
Our destination, which was supposed to be Napa Valley, was hastily changed to Argentina.