Above the massive pit excavated to a depth of 2.2 meters by the excavator, the full-scale Layering process began. This was not a mindless job of covering things with piles of rock or soil. It was a highly precise operation—compressing thousands of years into a few months of engineering design.
Filling the bottom first were crushed limestone and granite gravels, specially shipped from a specialty aggregate yard in San Francisco. These aggregates, filling the lower 60-centimeter layer, were designed to replicate the strata of Bordeaux's Left Bank.
"The key is getting the gravel size uniform. If the porosity isn't consistent, water will pool in certain areas and the roots could rot."
I handed Leo a hydraulic conductivity meter and had him record data at each point. The sound of pouring gravel thundered through the valley like a waterfall. Over that layer, high-elasticity polymer drainage pipes imported from Germany were laid out like a spiderweb. These were not ordinary perforated pipes, but special ones embedded with fiber-optic sensors capable of monitoring internal water pressure and temperature in real time.
"This isn't farming, it's civil engineering. Master, the layout of these pipes you're laying... it's as complex as human blood vessels."
Warren exclaimed, letting out an admiring sigh as he looked at the blueprints. I smiled and replied.
"That's right. If the soil temperature is too low, root vitality drops, and if it's too high, only the sugar content spikes rapidly, doesn't it? These pipes will supply water during droughts, but normally they'll act as a 'thermostat' regulating geothermal heat."
Above the gravel layer, the mid-layer design continued. Marine clay, a gift from the recent torrential rains, and volcanic ash that had come down from the mountain were blended in a 7:3 ratio. This layer was the core stratum that would give the grapes their backbone and acidity. With each tier of earth stacked, the vineyard slowly regained its original elevation.
Yet no matter how much precision equipment was deployed, reconstructing a vast expanse spanning 15 acres—equivalent to nine soccer fields—required physical time. The cycle of dump trucks pouring soil and bulldozers leveling it repeated without rest from morning until dusk every day.
More than a week had passed since Redwood became a construction site. At 2 a.m., while everyone had gone home and the Napa Valley lay steeped in deep silence, I alone headed toward the vineyard with my headlamp on. In my hand was a small cooler box that had been secretly airlifted from Korea.
If the daytime construction was the act of forging the skeleton of the earth, then the nighttime work could be called, in Warren's words, the ritual of breathing a soul into the land.
Opening the box revealed cylinders containing culture medium, accompanied by a faint chill. It was a cocktail of mycorrhizal fungi that maximized specific aroma formation and glomalin-producing bacteria—a crystallization of pre-regression microbial engineering.
'I'm sorry, but this is a realm I can't explain to Warren or Leo, either...'
With 2010's current technology, proving the interaction between these microbes alone would take more than a decade. I picked up a syringe-shaped injector and opened the auxiliary injection port of the sub-aeration pipe laid during the day.
Hiss—!
Using vacuum pressure, I pushed the microbial culture deep into the stratum. These bacteria would nestle into the microscopic pores of the biochar and wait for the grapevine roots to descend. The moment they entered symbiosis with the roots, Redwood's grapes would instantly surpass thirty years of Old Vine complexity—it was a certainty.
Taking on a vast area of 15 acres alone was reckless. But I was not impatient. Every night, dividing it into sections, little by little, as if drawing a precise map, I transplanted the microbes. My stamina hit rock bottom and my eyelids weighed a thousand pounds, yet feeling the pulse of the earth beginning to awaken two meters below was enough to send a thrill through me.
This secret work was slated to continue for the several weeks that construction lasted. In the fog of Napa, feeling like a lonely creator, I silently pressed the syringe.
It was during those days—overseeing the construction site in the daytime and walking the 15-acre vineyard alone in the evenings.
"Boss! A fax came in! It's from the San Francisco Chronicle (SFCWC) organizing committee!"
At Leo's shout, my hands—which had been reviewing documents—stopped. Leo stuck to the fax machine, snatching the pages as they poured out. His hands were trembling slightly.
"Isn't this strange this year? Didn't they announce it on-site last year?"
Warren, who had been wiping his glasses nearby, replied in a low voice to Leo's question.
"They say there are over 5,000 entries this year. The scale has grown so large that the organizing committee changed its policy to give advance notice to the top one percent of candidates. I suppose it's to prevent on-site chaos."
Leo gulped and began reading the fax. The moment he read the first page, a short exclamation burst from his lips.
"Boss, this is huge! No, this is beyond huge! Astra Vale 2008 vintage has advanced to the Best of Show final round with the highest score in the Red Blend category!"
I nodded impassively. Astra Vale, a wine based on Cabernet Sauvignon blended with twenty-two percent Merlot, achieving luscious fruit and silk-like tannins, already enjoyed firm popular support. The momentum that had seized Napa's throne for two consecutive years in 2008 and 2009 was continuing into 2010.
"What about Ether?"
At my question, Leo turned to the next page. A brief silence fell, and then Leo's eyes went wide.
"Ether 2008 is... this is unbelievable. All sixty judges unanimously awarded it Double Gold. And the remarks section says this: 'A monster testing the physical limits of Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. The strongest contender for the overall Best of Show.'"
"Ooh..."
Warren was the first to exclaim, making his characteristic Italian gesture of raising both hands.
In truth, it was only natural. Wasn't this the very wine that had shocked the global wine market by receiving a perfect 100 points from Robert Parker immediately upon release last year? With its overwhelming ninety-five percent Cabernet Sauvignon content, Ether seemed to distill the very essence of To Kalon, and had become a must-own product for wine enthusiasts.
"Astra Vale and Ether are going to battle under one roof. Boss, this is unprecedented in San Francisco Chronicle history. The saying that Redwood's only enemy is Redwood has become reality."
"Hahaha! That William Harlan must be grinding his teeth right about now."
Warren burst into a hearty laugh, clearly in a good mood. Checking the details, cult wines like Harlan Estate and Screaming Eagle had also advanced to the Best of Show final round.
"Harlan Estate could very well take the prize."
When I spoke calmly, Warren retorted with wide eyes.
"What are you saying! Do you think they'd give Best of Show to Harlan Estate when Robert Parker gave this wine a perfect 100?"
He was convinced Ether would win Best of Show, but I wasn't getting my hopes up too high. Having already won Best of Show two years in a row with Astra Vale, I didn't feel much greed about absolutely having to take the top prize.
What was unexpected was that Armando had inserted himself into this year's San Francisco Chronicle. And in a very unforeseen manner.
"Oh my... don't be surprised! Siena's 'L'Esprit Sauvage' recorded the highest score in the newcomer division! And it won Gold in the Pinot Noir category!"
Over a sudden phone call, hearing Armando's voice—excited as if he himself had won—I congratulated him with all my heart. Though perhaps not all of that sincerity made it into my voice.
"Good for you. Congratulations."
"Your voice sounds completely dissatisfied, you know?"
"Not at all!"
"Eheheh... you must envy our relationship, but you have Chloe too, right? Uncle Mark invited me to the celebration party. He's acknowledging me properly."
"Sounds like a very painful decision for him."
"No, it's a decision filled with joy. He's accepting the King of Napa Valley Vinegar as his daughter's boyfriend, isn't he?"
"So you're not making wine?"
"Siena's doing so well with wine, I wonder if I really need to make wine too..."
"Anyone listening would think you're getting married or something."
"Well, it's not out of the question."
Good heavens, he dreams big. Not content with making the only daughter of one of Sonoma's top three wine families his girlfriend, he's already angling to become their son-in-law. At this rate, he'll make Harrington Winery his own as well.
"There shouldn't be such unfairness in the world."
"Hey, look here! The world has always been a bit unfair—at least to handsome people."
"......Suddenly I feel sick. Hanging up now."
The good news from the San Francisco Chronicle had been completely forgotten after the call with Armando. That was how shocking the conversation had been.
Anyway, Astra Vale and Ether had made the final candidate list, while Aeschlon, Sylphide, and Quiet Hill had all earned Gold, or so it was said. For Redwood Winery, this was the best possible result, and naturally, the winery had to throw a party.
They decided to call in all the workers from every estate under Redwood Winery. Tables were lined up in the winery's front yard beside the vineyard under construction, and a catering service was called. I was agonizing over which wines to lay out for the nearly 200-odd people who would gather when a sedan pulled into the winery.
The man who stepped out of the car was a middle-aged figure in a sharply tailored suit, gold-rimmed glasses, and arrogant eyes that seemed to pierce through his counterpart.
"Julian Boyd."
Warren, recognizing the slowly approaching man, called his name in a low voice. The chief columnist of the British wine magazine Decanter, and a vitriolic critic known as the 'Guardian of European Wine.'
He was the one who had denounced wines praised by Robert Parker as 'soulless products of technique,' and tried to suppress the rise of Napa Valley. And now he had appeared at Redwood in person.
The moment Boyd stepped onto the terrace, he looked me over carefully and spoke.
"Mr. Brian Choi?"
"Yes, that's correct, but..."
"A pleasure. Julian Boyd. Whether you know this or not..."
"I'm aware."
He then turned to Warren and bowed his head politely.
"It's been a while."
"So it has. I can't say I've missed your sharp tongue?"
"But isn't this what I do? I taste wine, visit wineries, and ask about philosophy. That's the heart of it."
"Without prior notice?"
"True sincerity is found in unexpected moments, after all. However..."
He slowly looked around the vineyard. How could one describe this desolation? I couldn't even deny that the 15-acre vineyard looked like nothing more than a construction site.
"Mr. Choi, and the great Mr. Vignarski. I came to see what magnificent wine the two-year reigning king of San Francisco produces, but... what is this horrific spectacle?"
"......"
It was too ambiguous to explain, but he continued as if disappointed.
"So the rumors were true. That after receiving a 100 from Parker, your arrogance pierced the sky and you are butchering the terroir. Is this a place that makes wine, or a civil engineering laboratory? I have never seen nature violated to this extent in Bordeaux."
A frigid blade lurked within Boyd's sneer. From the traditional European perspective, artificially redesigning a vineyard was an act that destroyed the authenticity of wine.
"Mr. Boyd, you could see it that way, but this is more accurately called reconstruction, not destruction. Were you unaware that Napa and Sonoma suffered heavy damage from torrential rains not long ago?"
But Boyd responded cynically.
"This isn't the first vineyard I've visited. They too suffered terrible damage, but they were working toward true reconstruction. But this... this is serious. I heard on my way here. Astra Vale and Ether have reached the Best of Show final at the San Francisco Chronicle?"
"That's what I heard."
"Hmm... I wonder what the result will be? At least one thing seems certain. How long can such an arrogant winemaking method endure... Do you remember the Emperor of Castello wine, which was a massive failure last year? I heard you've just acquired Castello Winery; I am deeply concerned that you might end up heading down the same path."
Without any intention of hearing our explanation, he looked around the construction-site-turned-vineyard, gave a slight bow, and walked away.
"What's with him? That guy?"
"He's always been that kind of fellow."
Warren and I stood bewildered for a moment, then went back to preparing for the party.