At the emergency press conference held at Château Lafite Rothschild in the heart of Bordeaux’s Médoc, the hall was packed with dozens of reporters, and on the dais sat the owners and representatives of the five great châteaux, the pinnacle of Bordeaux’s Left Bank.
Their expressions were solemn, and they did not so much as exchange light conversation. The one who took the microphone was Baron Éric de Rothschild. As his fingers gripped the microphone stand, only the sound of camera flashes filled the conference hall.
“Honored wine lovers, and citizens around the world who cherish peace. Today, we stand here to announce the most historic and unprecedented decision in the history of Bordeaux wine. The year 2009 will become a great vintage remembered in human history. We, the five great châteaux, have chosen to commemorate this wondrous gift of nature and deeply sympathize with the spirit of the Nobel Peace Prize, which prays for the harmony and peace of mankind. Thus, setting aside for a moment all the pride of our houses and centuries of tradition, we have decided to join hands for the single value of peace.”
He paused for a moment and looked at Corinne Mentzelopoulos and Latour’s representative seated to his left and right. With faint but unmistakable nods, they added weight to his words.
“We will select only the finest grapes of the 2009 vintage and blend the unprecedented ‘Cuvée de l’Union.’ The elegance of Château Lafite, the fragrance of Margaux, the structure of Latour, the splendor of Mouton, and the complexity of Haut-Brion will come together in perfect harmony within a single bottle. This great wine, to be called the ‘Handshake of the Gods,’ will be offered solely as a tribute at this year’s Nobel Peace Prize banquet.”
The conference hall was once again engulfed in a barrage of flashes. The five great châteaux were mixing grapes? It was no different from breaking a taboo recorded in the bible of wine.
“If it’s a limited edition for an event, what are your plans for sales?”
At a reporter’s question, Baron Éric de Rothschild shrugged.
“None whatsoever. Only the wine for the banquet will be made, and there are no plans for sales afterward.”
The reporters could not understand. They could not see why the five great châteaux, who were not even on good terms, would go out of their way to hold such an event.
“Was this requested by the Nobel Committee or the Swedish royal family, by any chance?”
It was a natural question. But Baron Éric de Rothschild shook his head.
“Not at all. Inspired by the fact that 2009 will be a historic vintage, we have merely decided to leave this miracle in history.”
“Then was there no consultation with the government either?”
At present, French wine was losing face as it was being pushed back by New World producers like the United States and Chile. Since the French government was pushing wine diplomacy as a key element of national power, the question was whether the government might have had a hand in it.
But this time as well, Baron Éric de Rothschild shook his head.
“There was none whatsoever. I say again, this is a tribute for the Nobel Peace Prize, and we simply wish to record this miraculous vintage in history.”
As he continued to explain the justification for this incomprehensible act and insisted it was a limited edition that would not be sold, the reporters had no choice but to accept it. In truth, there was no French person who would dislike the fact that French wine, which had been increasingly losing ground, would once again draw global attention through such an event.
A penthouse in Manhattan with a full view of Central Park. Russia’s energy magnate, Viktor Karlov, glared at the large screen broadcasting the press conference live and hurled the crystal vodka glass in his hand onto the floor.
Crash!
The glass shattered to pieces, and the clear liquid scattered across the Persian silk carpet. But he did not even care. His face was flushed red with rage and bewilderment.
“Those crazy old bastards...! How dare they pull something like this against me, Viktor Karlov?”
He immediately summoned his secretary and shouted.
“The Swedish Nobel Committee! Connect me to that Gustav bastard right now!”
A moment later, the secretary handed him the receiver with trembling hands. Viktor snatched it away and began spewing vicious curses in Russian, then, when the other party answered, forced out English through gritted teeth.
“Gustav! What the hell is going on? Were your people faking it when they were praising Aether at the New York banquet? Did those old men from Bordeaux put on a little show and change your minds?”
From beyond the receiver came his troubled voice.
“Mr. Viktor Karlov, please calm down. Our committee is also greatly taken aback by this announcement. But... the matter is too enormous. Even the French Foreign Ministry has stepped in, putting forward the justification of ‘the union of Europe’s cultural heritage and peace.’”
“Justification? If it’s money, I can pay as much as you want! Parker proved Aether’s quality!”
“This is not a matter of money. They have said they will personally dedicate the Cuvée de l’Union to the Swedish royal family. His Majesty the King has also shown deep interest in this historic event. They have made an offer the royal family cannot refuse. I’ll be frank with you. This time... I think it will be difficult. I’m sorry.”
After ending the call, Viktor clicked his tongue in dejection.
“Damn it...”
He had thought it might not work out, but he had never imagined it would fail because of a ploy like this. If the five great châteaux of Bordeaux had also
received 100 points from Robert Parker and beaten him in a blind tasting, he would have accepted it readily.
“Well, this is embarrassing... I’ve lost face in front of Brian.”
The fact that it had failed was one thing, but what annoyed Viktor even more was that it seemed to have exposed his inadequacy to Brian.
Redwood Winery aging room.
“What on earth is going on?”
When I saw the online article Leo had printed out, I asked with a dumbfounded expression. Just a few days ago, we had successfully wrapped up the acquisition of Uncle Frederick’s almond factory for 8.5 million dollars and were happily fermenting the 2009 vintage...
After seeing the printed article, Warren set the wineglass in his hand down on the table with a sharp clack.
“Unbelievable. Truly... so unbelievable I can’t even laugh.”
In Warren’s voice, his usual coolheadedness was nowhere to be found; it was mixed with bewilderment and anger.
“Can they really do this?”
“Of course not! Them joining hands? Ha! This is even more absurd than saying the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox are forming a joint team to compete in the Olympics.”
Agitated, he rose from his seat and paced around the tasting room.
“Master, they’ve spent hundreds of years hating and keeping one another in check. Lafite and Mouton were a battlefield between cousins of the Rothschild family, while Margaux, with elegance, and Latour, with power, each insisted they were the pinnacle of Bordeaux. These are people who considered mixing even a single grape or a single oak barrel a disgrace to their house.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t know. Lafite and Mouton were cousins of the same Rothschild family, but they had spent over a hundred years on terms worse than strangers. In particular, in 1855, Lafite received First Growth status, while Mouton received Second Growth. Baron Philippe, who owned Mouton, devoted his life to washing away that humiliation, and he hated Lafite so much that he left behind the famous line, “First, I cannot be. Second, I do not deign to be. Mouton I am.” And when Mouton was elevated to First Growth in 1973, it was none other than its cousin Lafite that lobbied most fiercely against it.
Margaux and Latour were places whose wine philosophies were completely opposite, so Margaux thought of Latour as “a wine with nothing but brute strength,”
while Latour had long disparaged Margaux as “a weak wine that only gives off fragrance.”
For Bordeaux’s First Growth châteaux, blending is a sacred realm permitted only among grapes grown in their own vineyards. The moment they mix in grapes from next door, it is no longer Château Margaux or Château Lafite, but treated as a mongrel wine, a table wine. So this talk of a Union Cuvée, a symbol of peace, a record of a miraculous vintage, and all the rest of that nonsense was utterly ridiculous.
“That’s what I thought too, but after reading the article, I started wondering if I had been mistaken.”
“Hmph! That old man may be smiling elegantly like that, but I’m sure he’s shedding tears of blood inside. Mixing their family crests is like selling their souls to them. And yet, the fact that they went through with such madness means...”
Warren looked at me and sent me a meaningful gaze.
“It means losing this bet was more terrifying to them than selling their family souls. The moment a wine label costing less than fifty dollars a bottle bears the congratulatory message ‘We yield to Brian Choi of Redwood,’ the centuries-old myth of the five great châteaux will come to an end on the spot.”
I listened silently to Warren and slowly swirled the remaining red wine in my glass.
“Viktor in New York must be in an uproar right now too. I can picture that Russian grizzly calling the Nobel Committee and shouting at them. Brian, we can’t just sit still either. Whether we pressure the U.S. State Department through White & Company, or ask Parker to write an article questioning the identity of the Cuvée de l’Union, we have to do something.”
Warren urged me anxiously. But I slowly shook my head.
“Let’s just do nothing.”
“What? Do nothing? Even after they cheated?”
Warren’s eyes widened as if he could not understand. I burst into laughter and took a sip of wine.
“Cheated? If you call it cheating, maybe it is... but I think they’ve pulled out the strongest card they could play. Not as wine, but politically.”
“?”
“It looks to me like this issue has shifted from the quality of the wine to political symbolism. If that’s the case, even if we win, won’t there be nothing for us to gain? Let’s say we bring in the U.S. government and force Aether onto the banquet table. Then what will wine lovers around the world say? Won’t they criticize us, saying, ‘America trampled on Bordeaux tradition with its power’?
Even if they don’t, people will ultimately see it as an ugly power struggle between wineries.”
Though it was absurd, I looked at the owners of the five great châteaux in the article and smiled with genuine satisfaction.
“Instead, I actually feel great right now.”
“You feel great? I don’t understand, Brian. We’re about to let a fish we already caught slip away.”
Warren laughed hollowly, as if he found it ridiculous. I raised my glass toward him.
“Warren, think about it. Haven’t they basically admitted that they can’t beat me with the quality of their wine? In front of Parker’s 100 points and Aether’s overwhelming balance, they must not have been able to guarantee victory even with masterpieces like their old vintages or their 2005s.”
“To be honest, if they had competed with old vintages, I think Bordeaux could have won. But they couldn’t do that, could they? Because they were afraid they might lose. If they lost, the humiliation would be unimaginable... So they’ve gone this far, and if I struggle desperately to beat even that, what kind of ridiculous sight would that be?”
At those words, Warren stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! Truly, you always go beyond anything I can imagine. Yes, you’re right. I was foolish.”
“Come on, that’s not true.”
“It is. The gods of Bordeaux broke a centuries-old taboo of their houses and shook hands just to defeat one fledgling winery from Napa Valley. And they mobilized every bit of power they had. Ha! This is a tribute to Aether greater than any other.”
Warren raised his glass high toward me.
“Yes, I admit it. In the end, the five great châteaux have proven for themselves that Redwood’s wine is so extraordinary that they had no choice but to use all the power they possessed in order to win. Master, let’s have a toast among ourselves.”
At Warren’s praise, I gave him a light wink and clinked my glass against his.
Clink—
The clear sound of crystal filled the tasting room. Though I didn’t know how it would look to the outside world, Warren and I, and the five great châteaux of Bordeaux, knew.
That I had won.