A few days before Christmas, the phone had been ringing nonstop since morning.
“Redwood Winery.”
“I’d like to order some Cerasia.”
“I’m sorry. We’re currently completely out of stock.”
“Out of stock? Then when will you…?”
“I’m afraid it won’t be possible until around the end of next year. All the wine we made this year has sold out.”
“Oh… no… I see.”
I repeated the same words over and over. As soon as I hung up one call, the next came in. Some were from within California, like Los Angeles and San Diego, while others were from out of state, like Seattle and Denver.
Just like now.
“Hello, this is Second Glass, a wine bar in Portland. Would it be possible to get thirty cases of Cerasia?”
Portland was a full eight hundred kilometers from Napa.
“I’m sorry. We’re currently completely out of stock. Would you like me to put you on the allocation list for next year’s vintage?”
“Yes, please add our name.”
As I wrote the wine bar’s name, contact information, and desired quantity in my notebook, I suddenly couldn’t hold back my curiosity and asked.
“By the way… how did you hear about our wine?”
The person on the other end of the line sounded puzzled instead.
“You haven’t seen Wine Review West yet?”
“Pardon?”
“The latest issue. There’s a review of your cherry wine, Cerasia, in it. That’s why customers have been asking for it like crazy. After Pinot Noir, Cerasia is the wine they ask about most.”
The person on the other end said it as if it were obvious. As soon as I hung up, I started searching, but damn it, the office internet was slow.
“Armando, take the phone for a bit. I’m going into downtown Napa.”
“Okay! I’m just the sold-out specialist again today, huh.”
I grabbed only my wallet and truck keys and headed out. I drove the pickup down to downtown Napa, went into a small bookstore on the corner of Main Street, and asked at the counter.
“Do you have the latest issue of Wine Review West?”
“Check the right side of that display over there.”
When I went to look, I saw the words [Holiday Pairing] printed large on the cover. I flipped through the table of contents in the back and found a photo of Cerasia somewhere around the middle. Our label was clearly photographed, and beneath it a small caption read: [Redwood ‘Cerasia’ Cherry Wine (Napa, CA)].
I was curious, so there was no way I couldn’t read it.
[Redwood’s Cherry Wine, Beyond the Prejudice]
By Christopher White
The article wasn’t long.
It pointed out the prejudice against cherry wine while explaining how Cerasia overcame it. It concluded that, since it was reasonably priced and possessed aromas and flavors that couldn’t be found in conventional wines, it was worth trying at least once.
There was no lavish praise, nor any harsh criticism, but it was often exactly this kind of plain, matter-of-fact writing that moved the market.
“I’ll take this.”
Since he had written such a welcome column, I couldn’t just leave empty-handed. I bought a copy right away and headed back.
When I arrived at the winery and was about to show the magazine off to Armando, I saw a small bus pulling in from a distance. The UC Davis logo was clearly marked on the side. Thinking about it, I remembered that we were scheduled to have a farm tour today as a special seminar.
The door opened, and Department Chair Thomas got off first. Behind him, students followed out in groups of twos and threes. Most were dressed casually as usual, but the notebooks and pens they carried showed that they were treating today not as a simple field trip, but as a learning opportunity.
“Brian, good to see you.”
“Welcome, Professor.”
I shook hands with the department chair in front of the bus. Perhaps he was already excited at the thought of tasting the Pinot Noir, because his mouth was full of smiles.
“We came today for the final special seminar of the semester. Regular classes are already over, but I made it so only students who wanted to attend would participate. They said they wanted to see field experience firsthand before vacation began, so I arranged this.”
The department chair had no doubt recommended it. Even though our vineyard wasn’t part of To Kalon, we had produced results similar to grapes from there, so it was only natural for him to judge that it would be a good learning opportunity, not only for himself but for the students as well. And, of course, he would get to taste the wine he had been curious about.
Among the students getting off behind him, however, were Sienna and Matthew. If it was those two, they would be very curious about my farm, so that wasn’t strange either.
“Yes, yes. Let’s head up.”
As I assisted Department Chair Thomas and led the students following behind us, I warned them.
“Please don’t go near the machinery. Photos are allowed, but if you’re taking pictures of people’s faces, please get permission first. Minors are not allowed to taste wine, and students over twenty-one may taste only a small amount after ID verification.”
Chloe and I drank at home in front of the whole family, so it didn’t matter, but in a situation like this, where a group had come to participate in a class, there were many eyes watching. It would be troublesome if some needless mistake caused a problem.
As we made a circuit around the farm, small exclamations broke out here and there. The soil in the areas treated with biochar was moist and dark, and the tensiometers installed beside them were quietly recording data.
When Department Chair Thomas saw the tensiometers installed in the farm, his eyes lit up.
“As expected… you were using tensiometers. As far as I know, the large farms in Napa and Sonoma had them installed with research support in cooperation with our university. Did you install these independently?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, commendable. Then you must be using a pressure chamber as well?”
“Of course.”
“Is that so…? Small farms usually don’t do it even when we tell them. How did you…?”
He looked extremely surprised. In truth, it was understandable. At the time, the commonly known practice among farms centered around Napa was simply to give the vines a bit of stress before harvest to increase sugar content and tannins. Rather than quantifying it precisely, they would reduce irrigation after observing that the leaves had begun to droop slightly.
UC Davis had been the first to identify and apply exact SWP figures through pressure chambers, and it hadn’t been long since that method began spreading to large vineyards. Even within Napa, there were quite a few small farms that did not use pressure chambers.
“After I learned that UC Davis had developed a method of cultivating grapes with precise irrigation using SWP through pressure chambers, I was deeply impressed and worked hard to learn it. I believe farming is science, and I think the UC Davis researchers who developed this method are truly incredible.”
This wasn’t empty flattery. I meant it. The researchers who developed this farming method truly deserved praise.
“Hahaha! There are so many people who won’t do it even after being told, but to think one of our students was using this method before even enrolling. Remarkable.”
“Of course I had to use it. Since the Judgment of Paris, American wine has begun to be recognized worldwide, and I believe the reason for that is the willingness to attempt what France would never dare to do.”
At last, Department Chair Thomas looked moved by my words. After all, the fact that Napa Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon beat French Burgundy and Bordeaux wines to take first place in the 1976 blind tasting was something American wine industry people boasted about for years and years.
Moreover, the general view here was that the reason such a result had been possible lay precisely in the difference between French and American viticulture.
“Oh… my goodness… You are more American than anyone. That’s right. France still treats irrigation as taboo. They have a terroir philosophy passed down for centuries, after all. The belief that one must accept what the land gives. It’s worthy of respect, certainly, but Americans are different. On this land, where barely any rain falls all summer, commercial grape cultivation would be impossible without irrigation. If we had simply looked to the sky and waited, viticulture itself would have been impossible.”
“I think so too. If France stands on tradition, then America stands on innovation. I believe we are by no means inferior to French wine.”
When I said exactly the kind of thing a professor would love, he looked so delighted he was practically writhing, hearts forming in his eyes.
“There was a reason. There was a reason you produced those results at the Harvest Fair. Sienna! Matthew! Did you hear what Brian just said?”
“Yes…”
“I heard him. I think it’s exactly the sort of attitude that deserves excellent results at the Harvest Fair.”
Matthew looked at me and even gave me a thumbs-up. He looked so much like an upperclassman cherishing his junior that, for a moment, I even wondered, “Is this really the same person I saw before?” Wasn’t that truly an impressive performance?
“You two are the children of families who will lead California’s wine farms, and you’re already making good use of SWP, so there may not be much more for me to say. Even so, you must always take this attitude as an example and continue researching without pause.”
“Yes…”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Turning back to me with a fond smile, Department Chair Thomas said casually.
“Then shall we taste that famous Pinot Noir?”
“Of course.”
The group moved into the winery, where rows of stainless-steel fermentation tanks stood. In this place, where the smell of disinfectant mingled with the faint aroma of grapes, the students looked around and gazed at the tanks with sparkling eyes.
“The tanks you see here contain two separate things. Both were made from Cabernet Sauvignon harvested this year, but one side is vinegar, and the other is wine. The wine will soon be moved into oak barrels.”
“Where is the oak from?”
“We’re using sixty percent new French oak.”
“So you intend to blend with American later. As for the Cabernet, can we taste it now…?”
“No.”
“What a shame, what a shame…”
I stood in front of the single Pinot Noir oak barrel located in one corner of the winery and said,
“The Pinot Noir is being produced through custom crush, and we’ve brought only one barrel here. As you’ve heard, what you’re tasting now is naturally not in its completed form, so there are shortcomings. Please think of it as having only its direction established.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
At his gaze telling me to stop talking and hurry up, I brought a glass to the oak barrel. Wine still vivid with a purplish hue poured clearly into the glass.
The department chair lifted the glass and smelled the aroma. He closed his eyes for a moment, then took a sip. Soon his brow moved slightly, and he let out a low exclamation of admiration.
“…Even knowing about it, this is astonishing. The acidity is still rough, and the structure hasn’t fully settled, but the balance has already formed to a certain degree, so I can clearly see how it will change two years from now. How did you make this?”
“It’s a secret.”
To Department Chair Thomas, who looked regretful, I brought out a bottle of Cerasia I had been keeping.
“What is this…?”
“Cerasia, the first official wine from our Redwood Winery. It’s a cherry wine, but it isn’t bad.”
“Is that so?”
“It was already featured in Wine Review West.”
When I showed him the wine magazine published for the western United States, he hurriedly examined the relevant section. Seeing this, Sienna and Matthew were also quite surprised and trotted over beside the department chair to look.
“Christopher White?”
Everyone watched him as he furrowed his brow.
“Do you know him?”
“I do… He’s a graduate of our school and one of my students.”
“Really?”
He looked back and forth between me and Cerasia as if seeing us anew, then said quietly,
“He’s quite a scathing critic, and yet he gave you an evaluation like this… Congratulations. You’ll be famous soon.”