Dean & DeLuca in Manhattan, New York.
Early that morning, Eleanor Bentley pushed through the heavy glass doors and surveyed the store with her chin slightly raised, as though proving her discerning eye. Thanks to a husband who was a heavyweight fund manager on Wall Street, she had lived a life without want. Thus, she possessed an eye that would not even glance at anything unless it was the best, worthy of her station.
An Hermès Birkin bag hung from her hand, and with every step, a subtle Chanel fragrance wafted about her. The reason she had come here today was to select the dessert fruit for a dinner party she was hosting the coming weekend, to which she had invited distinguished guests including a senator.
"How about this?"
"Well, Eleanor. We already served French white peaches last week."
When her personal assistant, who had been attending her side, cautiously offered an opinion, Eleanor furrowed her brow.
The neatly arranged fruits in the imported fruit corner were beautiful, but the problem was that they were too predictable a choice. Moreover, having crossed the ocean, they somehow lacked vitality, which made her reluctant to reach for them. Just then, her gaze was seized by an unusual display stand positioned in the very center of the store, where the lighting was best.
Normally, that spot would be occupied by high-priced ingredients like caviar or truffles, but now paulownia wood boxes were stacked there like a geometric tower. On each box, the logo "Chloe's Orchard" was clearly engraved in silver foil, though only one of the boxes was open.
"My, what is that? Is it a pear?"
As Eleanor approached with widened eyes, an impeccably dressed employee politely pointed to the open box with a gloved hand. Inside the box were three massive pears, each about the size of a child's head, gleaming golden.
"These are Shingo pears from Lodi, California. This season, Dean & DeLuca is exclusively launching the 'Gold of California' series. Through non-destructive optical inspection, only the top 0.1% with a sugar content of 14.5 Brix
or higher is selected for this Extra Special grade."
At the employee's explanation, Eleanor snorted.
"So they're not even imported, but pears made in California? And one hundred seventy dollars for three pears? I suppose Dean & DeLuca is in the price-gouging business now."
"Many of our customers assume American pears cannot be high quality. However, Shingo pears have already taken California's affluent class by storm since last year. That's why this year, Dean & DeLuca has curated only the finest Shingo pears. Would you care to try a sample?"
"Well...?"
There was no reason to refuse a free taste. Yet the price of one hundred seventy dollars for a box of three was steep enough that even she, with all her money, felt hesitant; thus, she harbored no great expectations.
But the moment she saw the small sample piece the employee handed her, her negative attitude subtly shifted. The pear slice on the transparent glass plate was as clear as a meticulously carved crystal. When Eleanor lifted it with a fork, clear juice seeped from between the firm flesh and moistened the bottom of the plate.
Crunch— the moment she bit into the pear, Eleanor's eyes widened.
"Oh my gosh..."
It was on a completely different level from the mealy texture of the Western pears she had eaten her entire life. The juice that burst forth the moment it touched her tongue gave a refreshing sensation like drinking chilled honey water, and the ensuing crisp texture, though firm, scattered like magic the moment she chewed. It was not the aggressive sweetness of sugar, but a transcendent sweetness, one that nature alone had condensed over a long time.
"This... it's as though a cold sorbet were recreated as fresh fruit."
Eleanor tried not to lose her composure, but before she knew it, her hand was already reaching for another tasting piece beside her. Normally, she would have shared a slice with her assistant and asked her opinion, but now she could not even entertain such a thought.
"How is it? Is it worthy of Dean & DeLuca?"
The employee already saw straight through Eleanor's heart, and a knowing smile played at her lips.
"Well... it's not bad. Did you say one hundred seventy dollars per box?"
"Yes, that's correct."
Eleanor was doing her utmost to manage her expression, but her taste buds were all screaming in unison. She was certain that if she served these pears at the dinner party, even the notoriously picky senator's wife would be left speechless.
"How many boxes of these are left in total?"
"I apologize, madam. There is a purchase limit of two boxes per person. We ask for your understanding that we cannot offer more."
Eleanor was incredulous. With boxes stacked up like a mountain right here, a two-box limit per person was absurd.
"I'm a VIP here. The store manager knows my face. I'll take five boxes. There are plenty left anyway, aren't there?"
She thought it made no sense to refuse when she was willing to buy so many. But the employee shook her head with an expression of deep regret.
"I apologize. Out of the two hundred fifty boxes that arrived today, one hundred forty-two have already been reserved. Most of the boxes stacked here are already reserved for batch delivery this evening."
"But..."
Eleanor's eyebrows twitched. The fact that there was something in New York that money could not buy provoked her.
"If any cancellations come up, contact me immediately. And let's pay for the two boxes I can take right now."
Without a moment's hesitation, she held out her payment card. Behind her, New York's gourmands and high-society wives filed in. At first, people hesitated at the $170 price tag, but those who passed through the tasting corner without exception picked up boxes as if bewitched.
"Didn't the Vogue editor-in-chief buy two of these boxes yesterday?"
Watching this scene from a corner of the store, Olivia Chen smiled in satisfaction. She was certain that Dean & DeLuca's high-end fresh produce this autumn would once again be on the lips of New York's upper crust.
---
Around the same time, at Castello Winery.
Dressed impeccably in a bespoke Italian suit, Joseph stood before a cryo-concentration unit connected to massive nitrogen tanks and vacuum pumps. The decision he had made in the face of the winery's crisis was now complete and heading toward the final bottling line.
"Marcus, report the final numbers."
At Joseph's low voice, Marcus, the head winemaker, approached carrying a thick stack of documents and a portable refractometer. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had stayed up several nights.
"It's as expected. Anthocyanin concentration exceeds three times that of an ordinary Cabernet Sauvignon, and the tannin polymerization... is a figure virtually impossible under natural conditions. We've succeeded, Joseph."
On the data sheet Marcus held out were staggering numbers: anthocyanin 1,200 mg/L, tannins 4.5 g/L. Joseph's lips curled up slightly in satisfaction.
The two hundred oak barrels had been reduced to merely ninety. The price of sacrificing half the revenue was Emperor, a wine possessing the most overwhelming physicality in Napa Valley history.
"The risks?"
"We blocked oxygen exposure to the extreme during the cryo-concentration process, so we've overcome the oxidation risk. But how it will age in the bottle... that's uncharted territory for us."
"Hmm... it can't be helped. In any case, if the result is good, that is exactly what I wanted. The market ultimately bows to the tongue."
"I think so too."
Joseph grasped a freshly bottled Emperor. The label inherited the tradition of Castello, yet at its center was embossed in gold leaf a Roman emperor's seal, intricately rendered. It was a design that maximized the authority and scarcity pursued by Napa Valley's cult wines.
---
One week later, Manhattan, New York. The private dining room of Le Bernardin, the Michelin three-star restaurant on 51st Street, was filled with tension.
Joseph Hagins regarded this tasting as the decisive opportunity to overcome the winery's crisis. If he could prove the unchanging value of Castello Emperor to New York's asset holders and distributors, who had cowered in the aftermath of the financial crisis? He believed all the problems plaguing the winery could be solved.
In the tasting room were twelve heavyweight figures, including Anthony Gold, who was called the protégé of legendary New York wine critic Robert Parker, and Harvey Stern, a négociant who controlled the largest wine distribution network in the eastern United States.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you will drink today is not an extension of an ordinary 2008 vintage. Castello Winery made a painful decision this year."
He continued his explanation in a low, solemn, and compelling voice.
"We discarded sixty percent of the yield the earth permitted, leaving it in the field. Of the remaining forty percent, we applied the Castello family's secret extraction method, passed down through generations, to draw out only the heart's essence. This wine is akin to a diamond born of enduring thousands of tons of pressure. We have named it 'Emperor.' It is the physical pinnacle that Napa Valley can reach."
Anthony Gold swirled his glass. The wine clung to the walls like a thick film, slowly dripping down. The moment Anthony brought his nose to it, he involuntarily leaned back. The aromas of black currant, dark chocolate, and freshly toasted oak struck his nasal cavity as if accompanied by a physical blow.
"Oh, my word... this is..."
Anthony immediately took a sip. If an ordinary wine flowed across the tongue, Emperor weighed down the entire tongue with heaviness. Its density was less that of a liquid and more like chewing a silk syrup mixed with very fine powder. Moreover, the tannins revealed a powerful skeleton that seemed to suck all moisture from the mouth without being rough.
Harvey Stern, the largest négociant in the eastern United States, also marveled at this shocking experience and adjusted his glasses as he asked.
"Joseph, just what grapes did you use to achieve this density from the 2008 vintage? Could it be... that it underwent a separate process?"
Joseph smiled without so much as a blink.
"Harvey, we simply chose to condense the soul of the grape instead of obtaining water. The rest is Castello's trade secret, but the result is proven by the glass before you now."
The awestruck Harvey Stern gazed at the wine as if it were a beloved child.
"The tannins cling to the gums like a living creature. And yet, despite being concentrated to this degree, the finish of the acidity is sharply alive. How on earth did you achieve this balance? This is too... perfectly controlled to be called an accident of nature."
"That is precisely Castello's power, Anthony."
Joseph smiled a triumphant smile, deliberately concealing the technique to amplify the sense of mystery instead. In the world of wine, terroir and purity were the most sacred values; the moment he revealed that the wine was completed using cryo-concentration technology, its value would plummet to the floor.
So he filled that void with a myth—that this was a miracle born of the family's secret determination—rather than the criticism that it was a machine-squeezed wine.
"Did you say eight hundred dollars per bottle? No, with this quantity, you could ask one thousand dollars, and New York's collectors would shove each other aside to get it."
At Harvey's words, the tasting room instantly heated up with the fervor of deal-making. The critics each jotted down [100-point candidate] in their notebooks, and the distributors thrust their business cards at Joseph in droves, competing to secure even one case more than their allocated amount.
Anthony Gold, his mood buoyed by the appearance of another cult wine after a long time, tossed the last remaining liquid from his glass into his mouth. But a very fine crack formed between his brows.
Even after swallowing the wine, he smacked his lips for quite some time. The explosive fruit power and overwhelming density that first hit the tongue were certainly perfect. But the sensation left on the tip of his tongue after the wine vanished was peculiar.
It was undeniably gorgeous, yet lifeless. It was a bizarre stillness, like facing an exquisitely taxidermied tiger—its exterior perfect, yet devoid of the warmth of life.
"This is..."
Anthony remained alone and stared intently at the dark stain left in his glass. The liquid remaining at the bottom of the glass was not turning a vivid ruby over time, but was growing black and murky, like congealed blood.
'...Strange...'
Anthony sniffed, suspiciously revisiting the very faint scent of dry earth and metal rising from behind that overwhelming aroma he had felt just moments before, then rose from his seat.
Barely an hour after contact with air.
The wine left in the glasses on the empty tasting room table, after everyone had departed, was collapsing rapidly. The molecules forcibly bonded through physical means during the cryo-concentration process were undergoing an uncontrollable reaction and oxidizing the moment they met oxygen, but there was no one in that room who knew this fact.