In truth, if one wanted to improve the Altamira vineyard, there were countless ways to go about it. One could address soil variability, adjust the activity of active lime in the calcareous soil, or even bring up the heat-reflecting effect of limestone gravel.
But all of that felt as if I would be giving away far too much, so I couldn’t easily bring myself to speak. Of the things that came to mind, there was one, at least. Even now, several universities and research institutes were publishing related papers on it, and since this method would soon become the mainstream, I didn’t feel much burden in sharing it.
“Good. It’s a promise, then?”
“Very well.”
It probably wasn’t a heavy burden for him, either. There might not be much top-grade Malbec base wine produced from this Altamira vineyard, but Redwood Winery didn’t need much Malbec base wine either. Only 2% of the entire wine.
Of course, from Redwood’s perspective, even if it was only 2%, they needed the best Malbec, so it was a win-win deal for both sides.
As if urging me to hurry up and give him the answer, he took a step closer.
“What is this method?”
I looked down at the rough soil and began speaking.
“Hmm… If you apply the two methods I’m about to tell you at the same time, I think you’ll see a fairly decent effect.”
To him, who was brimming with curiosity, I pointed at the drip irrigation hose.
“From the looks of it, you seem to be putting them under water stress…”
“That’s right.”
“First, you need to change your perspective on water stress.”
“Change my perspective?”
“People know that water stress leads to concentration in the fruit, but simply giving the vines less water is never the answer. What matters is when, how much, and at what stage you reduce the water.”
He narrowed his eyes and muttered.
“When, how much, and at what stage you give it… that’s what matters?”
“Yes. In a grapevine’s life cycle, thirst can be medicine, and it can also be poison. What happens if you stress it before flowering? The vine senses danger and stops growing. It can’t even store enough strength to set fruit. That’s just abuse. But…”
I brushed my fingers over a grape leaf and continued explaining.
“After veraison, in other words, right after the grapes begin turning purple and ripening, if you cut off water to an extreme degree, the story changes. The grapes, which have already finished growing, devote everything they have to concentrating the sugar and anthocyanins stored inside their cells the moment the water supply is cut off. The skins become firmer, and the tannins within them are refined with precision instead of running wild and coarse. The important thing is to starve them at the optimal timing.”
Michel Rolland crossed his arms and chewed over my words. Since the theory of strategic irrigation control would only be established in the early 2010s, it was inevitably unfamiliar to him here in the heart of the Andes in 2009.
“Timing, is it… That makes sense. But that alone doesn’t fully explain why the texture of the tannins differs so wildly from block to block.”
“To be honest, I can’t be certain about the other method either. I’m only inferring.”
“What are you inferring?”
“If the tannins are this inconsistent from block to block, I suspect there may be a problem beneath the soil. Deep down.”
I pointed at the ground.
“You mean the deeper soil layers?”
“In a vineyard located on a plateau like this, some blocks may have massive bedrock blocking the roots just 40 centimeters below the surface, while others may be filled with soft soil all the way down to 1.5 meters. Otherwise, it would be hard for the tannins to be this uneven.”
“Hmm…”
“What would happen, then, if you treated this vineyard as one block and gave it all the same amount of water?”
Because he was a winemaker more outstanding than anyone else, he immediately understood and interpreted what I meant.
“The vines with shallow roots because of bedrock would hit bottom the moment they received water, causing the roots to rot or dry out quickly, while the vines whose roots had dug deep would retain moisture and grow at ease. If what you’re saying is correct, then in the end, one basket would contain grapes that were overly stressed and grapes that grew too comfortably.”
“Exactly. If irrigation has been carried out the way I expect, then coarse, erratic tannins are only a natural result. The solution is simple as well. Completely separate the blocks according to soil depth. Then adjust the timing of watering and harvesting differently for each depth.”
Michel Rolland looked genuinely impressed.
“Amazing. To identify this region’s problems so simply and even present a solution…”
“Of course, there’s a chance my prediction is wrong. So you should begin by analyzing the soil beneath the surface again.”
“I will. I’ll immediately apply the block-separation theory you described to my experimental plots. And as promised, the perpetual preferential purchase right to the finest Malbec base wine produced in Altamira this year is yours.”
“Without even verifying it first?”
“That’s why I won’t write up the contract yet. If your method proves effective, we can draw up the contract then, can’t we?”
Like the traces of the life he had lived, he truly seemed to be a free spirit.
“Haha, well… do as you like.”
Michel immediately ran to his cellar and brought back sample bottles with no labels attached. They were black pearls from the 2008 vintage, containing only the essence of Altamira. Then he picked up a radio.
“Antonio! Set aside one barrel of the finest 2008 Altamira Malbec from Cellar Zone Four at once. And prepare it for air freight immediately. Destination is Redwood Winery in Napa Valley. Get it to Buenos Aires Airport by tomorrow morning on the fastest direct route!”
Michel, looking pleased, winked at me.
“If it’s the 2% you mentioned, roughly one and a half barriques, 225 liters each, should be enough, yes? I’ve carefully selected the ones capable of dominating Napa’s 95% Cab Sauv. These are sample bottles for testing, and the core wine should arrive at the airport before you reach Napa.”
A barrique is the term for the standard-sized oak barrel used in the wine industry, and one barrique yields roughly 300 bottles of 750 milliliters each. That was why wineries often calculated volume by saying things like, “We got ten barriques’ worth this time.”
“Sounds good.”
“Hahaha! Now, now! The deal is done, so it’s time to treat our guests properly. Warren, surely you didn’t come all this way just to go straight back to those cramped airplane seats?”
Michel Rolland laughed heartily and threw his arms around both our shoulders. Warren patted his lower back and replied as if he had been waiting for this.
“If the wine you serve is more comfortable than an airplane business-class seat, I’ve got no reason to refuse.”
“Then there’s no reason to dawdle. Let’s go!”
Michel led us to his private villa, which overlooked the city of Mendoza at a glance. There, asado, a traditional Andean-style barbecue, was already being prepared. Huge ribs were slowly roasting over a wood fire, and the savory scent of their rendered fat rode the dry air and tickled my nose.
“Brian, there’s something I want to show you. This is a private reserve made solely for myself, never released to the market.”
Michel shrugged and brought out a dusty bottle with no label from deep inside the cellar. As he carefully pulled the cork, the room was instantly filled with the rich scents of roses, wet earth, and ripe plums.
“2005 Altamira Malbec, 100%. You could say this is the vintage that convinced me I could stake my life on the Malbec variety.”
As he poured the wine into the glass, the liquid absorbed the light and gleamed like a dark red jewel. I gently swirled the glass and smelled it. Instead of the buoyant fruit aroma typical of Argentine lowland Malbec, minerals carrying the cool breath of the Andes and the structured feel of tightly woven tannins brushed coldly past the tip of my nose.
The moment I took a sip, an exclamation escaped me before I knew it.
“Wow… It’s beautiful. Amazing.”
At my admiration, Michel nodded in satisfaction.
“That’s right. People often say Malbec is like the juices of a well-grilled steak. Since it has so much anthocyanin, its texture is thick like melted dark chocolate, with the scent of blood, leather, and smoke. In this wine, the tannins, which could easily have become rough if handled incorrectly, are balanced exquisitely, so they don’t feel excessive.”
“Exactly. It’s worthy of being called your finest vintage.”
“If your advice works, the quantity of vintages like this will increase considerably. If that happens, you’ll have given our estate the finest gift. If I have one wish, it’s that my Malbec will go into the greatest Cabernet Sauvignon you make and help complete it as the finest wine.”
“I’m sure it will.”
That night, we discussed our philosophies on wine in front of the burning wood fire. Warren told us behind-the-scenes stories from the 1976 Judgment of Paris, and Michel shared tales of the various terroirs he had encountered while traveling the world.
The legend of Napa, the master of Bordeaux, and a winemaker from the future, unknown to anyone, continued talking late into the night with perfectly cooked asado and the finest Malbec before them.
---
The next morning, Michel Rolland, looking clear-faced without the slightest hint of a hangover, saw us off all the way to the Mendoza cargo airport.
There, the thing Michel had promised was waiting.
“Altamira Barrel Number Four.”
The one and only barrel of top-grade Malbec base wine harvested from Michel’s most cherished plot—the very thing he had bragged about and lorded over us all last night until my ears hurt. The oak barrel containing that precious wine was sealed inside a specially made insulated container to prevent damage and spoilage.
“Antonio finished the air express documents overnight. This barrel will be loaded onto the same plane as you and go to Napa Valley. Ready to meet your 95% Cab Sauv, that is.”
Then Michel signed his name by hand on top of the oak barrel and looked at me.
“Brian, if you complete the finest wine with this Malbec, I’ll be rejoicing from faraway Argentina.”
“I will.”
With that, Michel and I shook hands and parted ways.
“I’m glad we came here, just as you said, sir.”
“See? Young people never lose anything by listening to an old man. But now I’m worried about myself…”
“I got the last two first-class seats on the route through Miami. You can rest well there on the way back.”
“Of course. Please, let’s earn some money and buy a private jet first.”
“Yes, yes.”
And so Warren and I headed back to Napa Valley. It had been a week since we left.
---
As soon as I set foot in the cargo terminal of San Francisco International Airport, SFO, a damp yet refreshing Pacific sea breeze, different from the dry wind of the Andes, rushed in. After more than twenty hours of flying, Warren’s complexion was utterly haggard.
“Good grief, I’m dying.”
“You’ve been through a lot. Go home and rest for a few days.”
“A few days? I’ve got to go to work tomorrow.”
“……At this rate, you won’t be able to get up.”
“Then should I rest for just two days? But no touching the Malbec while I’m gone.”
By telling me not to touch the Malbec, he meant that I wasn’t to complete the wine when he wasn’t there. He wanted to be present at the moment of completion.
“Of course. Do you think I’d rush it over just a few days?”
“Right? Then I suppose I should get some rest.”
After we finished customs procedures and stepped out into the arrivals hall, I saw a familiar blond silhouette in the distance. It was Chloe. She was anxiously biting her lip and watching the gate, but the moment she spotted me, she ran over without caring about the eyes around us.
“Brian!”
She threw herself into my arms as if leaping into them. From her breathless panting, I could tell just how long she had been pacing around here. Though a little bewildered, I lightly patted her back.
“Chloe, you were waiting right on time for my arrival? Did you miss me that much?”
I had said it jokingly, but when Chloe raised her head, I saw a hint of tension in her eyes. She bit her lip in embarrassment, then spoke.
“That’s true too, but Brian… actually, I was waiting because I need your help.”
“Hm? What happened?”
“My dad and my brother contacted me. They said some of the almond trees in Brentwood are dying. At first, they thought the leaves were just drying out a little, but that wasn’t it. The leaves are turning brown, and the branches are dying.”
“When did you find out?”
“They started turning brown about three days ago, and we found out the branches were dying yesterday.”
The situation was serious. If the trees were slowly dying, it could be a sign of something beyond a simple disease or pest problem.
“Brian, I’m sorry. I know you’re tired because you just arrived… but could you take a look?”
“Of course.”
I looked at Warren, who was standing beside me. As if he already understood the situation, Warren nodded.
“Don’t worry, Master. Hurry and go with Chloe. There’s nothing more urgent than the heart of a farmer watching his crops die.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll start preparing the blending as soon as I get back.”
With that, I took Chloe’s hand and ran to the parking lot. As soon as we climbed into her old pickup truck, the engine screamed to life and we sped out of the airport.