After parting ways with Sienna, Armando, and the others, and having a simple lunch with Warren, the seminar began in earnest. Seeing Armando stuck to Sienna off in the distance, looking as if his happiness index had hit 100, I turned my head and focused on the podium.
In Presentation Hall 3, where I had come in and sat down with Warren, Napa and Sonoma’s leading enologists and winemakers had opened notebooks and laptops and were watching the stage.
Several presentations had already passed, but far from growing bored, the audience only focused more intently. That was because new theoretical presentations were like welcome rain in a drought to winery owners and winemakers eager to make better wine.
Even so, there were two people listening with the most boredom of all. Warren and me. As for me, I was originally a PhD, and I had studied the theories of this period so much that I could recite them in my sleep. In Warren’s case, spending so much time with me had naturally made him well versed in the latest modern winemaking theories as well.
The reason I had come to a place like this despite already knowing all of it was, in truth, because of Warren. If someone knew theory that well but never showed himself studying, wouldn’t that obviously arouse suspicion?
“Hm? This next presentation might interest you a bit, sir.”
When I checked the title and told him, Warren adjusted his glasses and looked at the thesis title projected above the stage.
[A Modern Review of the Effects of the Porous Structure of Ancient Roman Amphora Winemaking on Oxidation Suppression and Micro-Polymerization in Cabernet Sauvignon]
At present, the wine industry was obsessed with the precise control of stainless-steel tanks and the concentration of tannin extraction from oak barrels. In an age like that, amphorae... The idea of making wine in clay jars made from fired earth was bound to be dismissed by the mainstream academic world as either regression or eccentricity.
“He’s got spirit.”
The ASEV Annual Conference was a place where winery owners and winemakers could learn the latest winemaking theories, but conversely, for those presenting onstage, it was also a place to introduce themselves before the owners of the places they might one day work.
That was why presenting on a topic no one else touched from that stage was not something one could do without a considerable amount of confidence.
The young man who stepped onto the podium had dark brown hair and wore a slightly rumpled linen shirt. According to the name on the screen, he was Leonardo Valentini. Without any sign of nerves, he took the microphone and spoke.
“Modern enology defines oxygen as the enemy. That is why we chose stainless steel, the perfect sealed vessel. But what I focused on was the nanoporous structure of the terracotta amphorae used by the ancient Romans.”
Leo’s voice rang out through the speakers. Hearing it, Warren muttered.
“He’s from Italy, isn’t he? Must be an international student.”
“How do you know?”
“His pronunciation is slightly different. He adds one more vowel at the end.”
“Ah...”
Leonardo immediately brought up complex graphs and electron microscope images on the screen.
“The walls of an amphora contain tens of thousands of microscopic pores per square inch. This induces a natural diffusion that modern micro-oxygenation devices cannot imitate. As a result of analyzing the tensile strength and oxygen permeability I measured, I confirmed that the convection occurring inside the amphora promotes the bonding of anthocyanins and catechins, forming a pure tannin structure inherent to the grape itself, unobscured by oak aromas.”
He certainly had skills worthy of confidence. Perhaps everyone sensed it, because the eyes of those looking at the podium lit up. And Leonardo continued his explanation without pause.
“The buffering action formed when the mineral components on the amphora’s surface react with the wine’s acidity prevents sudden changes in pH level...”
When the presentation, which had gone on for quite some time, ended, applause rang crisply through the space. It meant everyone had found it that impressive. Warren, too, was nodding repeatedly beside me, and a rare smile of interest hung around his mouth.
“Master, that young man is no ordinary fellow. To see oxygen as a companion and then prove it with numbers... He’s creative, and he’s got grit.”
“He definitely has potential. But it’s too far removed from the current Napa trend... Will that guy even be able to get a job?”
At my question, Warren laughed heartily.
“You’re looking down on Napa too much. The fellows who can smell money will never let talent like that slip away.”
Then, when the session ended and we came out into the hallway, Warren’s words immediately became reality. The hall was already packed with influential figures trying to catch Leonardo.
“Mr. Valentini, I’m Bob Levy, chief winemaker at Harlan Estate. I’d like to try applying that classical approach of yours to Harlan’s terroir. Of course, there’s the salary, but we’ll also build you the entire amphora laboratory you want.”
Bob Levy, the right-hand man of William Harlan, the man called the emperor of Napa, was holding Leo’s hand. Beside him, personnel managers from various wineries such as Opus One and Sloan Estate were holding out business cards, waiting for an opportunity.
“Wow, Harlan Estate. That guy just hit the jackpot, didn’t he?”
Warren watched the scene and smiled bitterly.
“As expected, William Harlan has an uncanny eye for good things. That young man will end up entering the logic of big capital, too. It isn’t a bad thing, but it’s a bit of a shame. Talent like that ought to bloom somewhere freer.”
“Well, yes, but... that’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? And if that guy is better than Bob Levy, he’ll make better wine, but probably not to that extent...”
“True. Hearing you put it that way, Master, I understand. Just because he came under you doesn’t mean you could let him do everything he wants, either.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Warren and I moved on, certain that Leonardo would accept Harlan’s offer. But then it happened. Hurried footsteps sounded from behind, and someone blocked our path.
The person standing there, panting for breath, was unexpectedly Leonardo.
“Um... excuse me! Mr. Warren Winiarski, and Mr. Brian!”
The two of us stopped with puzzled expressions.
“Hm? What is it?”
Leonardo swallowed nervously and said,
“Um... I have respected you for a long time, Mr. Warren. And I believed that behind Redwood’s explosive growth, there must be something different from the existing Napa Valley wineries. So, by any chance... is Redwood hiring?”
At the unexpected question, Warren looked flustered and waved his hands.
“Suddenly Redwood? Well, I’m just an old man with no authority. And Redwood probably isn’t short-handed right now. Why sniff around here when you’ve got a place like Harlan?”
“Harlan is a great winery, too, but personally, I have liked and admired the wines of Stag’s Leap and Redwood. Since the owners of those two wineries are gathered together here, naturally, I had thought of Redwood as my first-choice winery.”
I stared intently at Leonardo.
“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“That’s right. You were one year ahead of me, so I saw you from time to time. You were so busy that at school you only briefly attended classes and left, so I thought you probably wouldn’t know me...”
“I recognize your face. But even if you enter our winery, you won’t be able to learn the winery’s techniques right away. Are you saying this knowing that?”
In fact, Napa Valley was one of the places in the world where technical exchange was most active. That was because the mindset that Napa’s value rose when everyone did well together was strong. So when interns or junior winemakers came in, data and winemaking methods were often shared quite transparently. After all, people believed that even if you gave someone the same recipe, they could not imitate the terroir and sensibility.
But that did not mean they truly taught every technique. The core of the core—special yeast cultivation methods, proprietary machine modification know-how, and the logic for deciding final blending ratios—was not entrusted to just anyone right away. More than refusing to teach the technology, it was usually a matter of trust: such things could not be left to someone unverified.
However, I was a little different. Since I possessed knowledge of the future from before my regression, I could not reveal it to just anyone, regardless of trust.
“That’s all right. If I can learn Redwood’s philosophy, I would like to learn here step by step.”
At his positive answer, I looked at Warren.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“I’m asking you to decide, sir.”
“Me? Why?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to take on an assistant, if only for the sake of your health?”
At my words, Warren lowered his gaze slightly and seemed to ponder. Even in his seventies, Warren still roamed every corner of the vineyard himself, taking samples and analyzing data. No matter how hale he was, his knees and back could not be the same as a young person’s, so if there were at least someone to be his hands and feet, it would certainly be helpful.
“Do I need an assistant?”
“Of course. It’ll help you a lot physically.”
Warren put on a deliberately stern expression and glared at Leonardo.
“Do you know how painful it is to meet my demanding standards in Napa Valley? I don’t deal with fellows who compromise halfway. If some incompetent fool comes in and stains the final years of my life in wine, will you take responsibility?”
Even in the face of Warren’s rather excessive vitriol, Leonardo did not back down. Instead, he stepped one pace closer.
“The higher your standards are, Mr. Warren, the deeper my learning will be. I have already made up my mind.”
Seeing him come at it with such firm resolve, I found it a little amusing.
“Are you really sure? Even if he takes you on as a junior winemaker, he’s the apprenticeship type, so he’ll probably make you start by clearing grape pomace and cleaning tanks perfectly. You might spend the next few years doing that.”
Even as I tried to scare him, Leonardo did not retreat.
“If I join, I believe I will become a person of Redwood. Naturally, I believe I will need time to grow on my own during such a period.”
I met Warren’s eyes with a quietly impressed look. Warren, too, had a look that said this much was usable.
“Well, if that’s the case...”
But then it happened. A cold voice cut in from behind.
“Mr. Leonardo Valentini, I am truly disappointed.”
It was Bob Levy, chief winemaker of Harlan Estate. Without hiding his displeasure, he approached and looked at us threateningly.
“In Napa, rejecting Harlan’s offer and going to a new winery like Redwood is career suicide. Think carefully about whose hand you are trying to take right now. Once you walk out that door, you will never again have a chance to work under the Harlan name.”
Leonardo’s face stiffened slightly at once. It was an invisible blacklist threat from a major winery. That was how absolute Harlan Estate’s power was in Napa Valley.
At that moment, Warren, who had been quietly listening, snorted.
“Hmph! Career suicide? Good grief... People call William Harlan an emperor, and now you really think he’s the emperor of Napa Valley?”
If it had been anyone else, Bob Levy would not have held back and would have protested at those words. But since his opponent was Warren Winiarski, he only stared at Leonardo with a stiff face. Instead of dealing with Warren, who was difficult to oppose, he was pressuring only the young man about to get a job. Yet surprisingly, Leonardo did not avoid his gaze and said,
“I’m sorry. There is a winery I have admired for a long time. Even if I cannot receive an opportunity later, that is all right.”
Those words seemed to please Warren. Warren tapped Leonardo on the shoulder and said,
“Then I’ll be taking this young man with me.”
Bob Levy’s face twisted, but Warren paid him no mind and started walking. Naturally, Leonardo and I passed through the lobby between countless winery personnel managers.
“You can call me Leo.”
Perhaps liking how courteous Leo was already being, Warren gave a small laugh and said,
“You’d better steel yourself. I can’t stand half-baked fellows.”
“Yes! Please work me hard!”
And so, we had gone to the ASEV Annual Conference as two, and returned as three.