On the way out of Redwood Winery, Michael Lowell climbed into the SUV and spoke to the cameraman who would be driving.
“Let’s stop by one place on the way. It’s called Ironwood Cellars, not far from here.”
“Understood.”
In the bag beside Michael after he got into the car were the two bottles of Aeshlon he had just received. The golden lettering and pyramid symbol on the labels seemed to gleam strangely. He had paid for both himself, but one he had obtained because he wanted to own it, and the other he had bought because he wanted to show it to someone.
“Haa...”
Only one name rose in his mind, pressing heavily on his chest: his old friend, David Hoffman. He ran a winery under the name Ironwood Cellars, but he was a friend who always lived with his head bowed.
On a not particularly large thirty-acre plot, he cultivated mainly Cabernet Sauvignon, but unfortunately, the wines’ evaluations were never very good. They always ended with the word “ordinary.”
You could say he was barely hanging on by relying on the value of the name Napa Valley.
‘I have to show him. Redwood is a new, small-scale winery too... and yet they produced this kind of result. If I show him, David might find strength again.’
The road to Ironwood Cellars was not far. From Redwood, it was only a short drive up the hill to the north.
The road wound back and forth, and the vineyards visible beyond the window had already finished harvest and looked desolate. In the distance, faint letters on an old sign came into view.
Ironwood Cellars.
When they arrived, the winery building looked even shabbier than Redwood’s. A barrel room that seemed like an addition built onto an old wooden warehouse, vineyards where weeds rose here and there. Even so, in every vine, Michael could see the years and sweat David had poured into them.
As Michael got out of the car, his heart grew heavy for a moment. It felt unfair that his friend’s sweat remained just as it was, yet the world failed to recognize its value.
“Michael?”
The barrel room door opened, and a man in rough work clothes appeared. Silver-threaded hair, a sunburned face. It was David Hoffman.
“It’s been a long time, David.”
“What brings you all the way out here?”
The two men patted each other on the shoulder and smiled, but the smiles were brief and somehow lonely. David wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and said,
“Why are you here when you should be in New York?”
“What reason would a journalist have to come here? I’m here to cover a story.”
At those words, David’s face darkened slightly.
“Ah, I see. There was the San Francisco Chronicle not long ago. Did you stop by while you were here?”
“That’s right. And there’s something I wanted to show you.”
“Something you wanted to show me?”
“Yes. Let’s go inside first.”
After entering the winery, Michael took out the Aeshlon he had prepared from his bag. The golden logo on the black glass bottle glittered under the barrel room lights.
“Redwood, Aeshlon 2004. A wine that received Double Gold with only a single year behind it. And that’s not all—Redwood’s Sylphid 2004, made from Pinot Noir Single Vineyard, also received Double Gold. One winery... and a small winery like Redwood at that, received two Double Golds at the same time. They’re a small winery just like you, and because they achieved something like this, I wanted to tell you too. That it’s not too late.”
David’s eyes wavered. He was silent for a moment, then quietly took out wineglasses.
“Fine. I’ll taste it.”
The cork was pulled, and the wine flowed into the decanter. As the red liquid ran down the glass walls, the air in the barrel room seemed to change for a moment.
The two of them spent a while talking about other things. Though they had walked different paths since university, that did not mean their friendship had gone anywhere. In particular, David’s stories of farming were extremely realistic, filled with the hardships of life, and Michael listened closely.
Then at some point, Michael lifted the decanter, poured wine into David’s glass, and said,
“Try it.”
“......”
David lifted the glass and brought it to the tip of his nose.
The moment he first took in the aroma, his eyes widened briefly. The clarity of blackcurrant, the subtle spice of oak, the fragrance of fruit and structure interlocking filled the air. But soon his expression hardened. After taking a sip, he looked down at the glass, then slammed it hard onto the table.
“This is impossible.”
Slightly surprised, Michael asked,
“What is?”
“There’s no way a Cabernet blend that’s only a year old could taste like this. This is fabricated. They must have added something in a lab.”
“David, you know that isn’t true. Anything Gold-level or above is strictly checked for its production schedule after the award is given. This wine has already been verified by the association.”
“Damn it! I’m telling you it makes no sense! You studied wine, and you believe this? Are you an idiot? How could they achieve this balance in just one year? If this were possible, Mondavi would have been the first to make it this way. You’re not even qualified to write about wine!”
The glass struck the table hard again, and wine splashed out. The air in the barrel room settled heavily.
Silence flowed for a moment. Michael steadied his breathing and looked at his friend.
“David, wine is continuing to evolve. It isn’t standing still. So you shouldn’t see this as fabrication, but as possibility. You’re right about the monopoly of those major wineries you always talk about. But that’s not everything. Redwood showed that a small place can do it too. I saw it myself. Redwood’s vineyard was different from To-Kalon in Oakville.”
The reason David had lived sunk in such despair—he placed all of it on “terroir.” That no matter how hard he tried, he could never beat the major wineries that possessed the optimal terroir.
In truth, Michael Lowell had, until now, partly accepted his friend’s opinion. Most of the cult-class wines that had appeared in the world up to now had been born from grapes created by heaven.
But this time was different, and so he had wanted to show his friend the proof.
“Then what am I? I poured fifteen years into my vineyard, and I’ve never once been recognized. There’s no hope for a small winery like mine. If this wine is real... then what the hell were all those years of mine?”
David’s voice was mixed with anger and despair. He turned his back, opened the door, and went out. The cold autumn wind rushed into the barrel room.
The red wine left in the glass was trembling. Michael stood there for a long while, let out a deep sigh, and muttered inwardly.
“Whew... You have to face reality... If you turn away, you’ll only be left behind.”
Michael quietly rose from his seat, left the wine as it was, and departed the winery. He hoped that someday David would drink the remaining Aeshlon and come to his senses. He thought that was the last thing he could do as a friend.
---
Sacramento Gold Grain Soju House.
Even after selling half the rice, the remaining two hundred tons still piled high must have weighed heavily on Jacob’s heart, but he showed no sign of it in front of me. Jacob, with his ever-hopeful expression, was showing the will to make it work.
“Our rice is in really good condition this year, so they said they’d take the remaining two hundred tons too. The M-206 variety really is good. I heard other farms are switching to it now too.”
“That’ll happen.”
I looked up at the still and said,
“Now the question is how much distilled liquor we can sell with those two hundred tons.”
“Right... But I think it might actually be better than expected. I did some market research in advance.”
“Oh, really?”
Jacob spread out the California map he had brought and said,
“Sacramento here, San Francisco, and besides that Santa Rosa, Stockton, Modesto... I called shops in all those places and asked if, if we made vodka with our rice, they’d be willing to taste it and consider carrying it.”
“So what did they say?”
“Most of the answers were similar. First, they said it had to have something different from existing vodka. Otherwise, there’d be no reason to buy it. And second was the price. If it’s a similar liquor but more expensive, there’s no reason to buy it.”
I was slightly surprised that Jacob had prepared this much. I had thought he might simply be trusting me and focusing only on harvesting the rice.
“Oh, you looked into it well.”
“So the appropriate price is exactly eleven dollars wholesale. I thought we could use that as our base.”
At a price point that wasn’t greedy from the start, I nodded.
“Good. I’ve thought about it too, and rather than using the typical vodka distillation method, I’m planning to do it a little differently for Gold Grain Soju House’s own competitiveness.”
“Do it differently?”
“Most vodkas only use continuous column stills. That’s why they’re completely odorless and flavorless. But if you turn that around, if we make a liquor with no distinctive flavor or aroma, we won’t have any competitiveness except price. So the vodka made at Gold Grain Soju House will go with a hybrid format.”
“Hybrid?”
“The first distillation will use a pot still to leave behind the rice’s inherent softness and a bit of aroma, and the second rectification will use a column still for high-level refinement. That way, instead of a completely odorless, flavorless liquor like water, it becomes a clean vodka with character.”
“Ooh—”
“You probably won’t get a feel for it if I explain it like this, so I’ll explain while we make it. Just wait a little.”
“Wait?”
“Yeah, people need to come. So let’s check the fermentation state first.”
Jacob looked puzzled, as if wondering what I was talking about, but for now he followed my opinion and let me look inside the fermentation tank. Inside the tank, bubbles were rising and bursting like a living creature. Since we had washed the rice, cooked it, and evenly sprinkled koji mold over it to convert the starch into glucose, it had reached this state.
“It looks good, doesn’t it?”
“Right?”
When we opened the fermentation tank, the smell of grain mixed with the scent of alcohol came out, and the brewery gradually filled with a smell like a bar.
About ten minutes later, a group of people entered the brewery.
“You called us?”
The people who had come were from the company that had installed the still in the brewery.
“Could you adjust the still the way I described?”
Honestly, even without these people, I could modify the machine by myself, but if I did, Jacob would be shocked, and for safety’s sake, I had people modify the equipment. It wasn’t a particularly difficult job, so the people who worked on the equipment quickly finished the modification and left.
“Watch closely. Now, at the bottom, it distills once like a pot still. That leaves behind a subtle aroma from the rice. Then we send that vapor up through the column and refine it by passing it through the plates. Let’s try it.”
We immediately started running the machine. To transfer the fermented liquid into the still, we opened the lid of the fermentation tank and connected a hose, and the cloudy mash flowed into the copper-colored pot still.
From the top of the still, clear liquid fell, one drop, then another. I picked up the bottle where the liquor was collecting and handed it to Jacob.
“Try it. What do you think?”
Jacob swallowed a sip, then opened his eyes wide.
“Huh? It’s definitely different. It’s not like vodka that’s just like water.”
“Right. You’ll feel a touch of grain at the finish.”
“Wow... It’s smooth. As it goes down my throat, a slightly sweet taste lingers. We can definitely make a proper appeal that this is vodka made from rice. I’ve drunk a ton of vodka until now, you know? But this is definitely different.”
A fierce sense of expectation appeared on Jacob’s face as his eyes shone.
“Seems possible, right? Make a few bottles like this and go around to nearby cocktail bars and pubs to see how they react.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“No need to thank me... It’s something I obviously have to do.”
“I’m still grateful. You must be busy too.”
I shrugged.
“Things are actually a little quiet on my end. The problem is you guys. Armando is at the stage where he needs to make vinegar, so I have to help him, and you’re the same...”
“What about Chloe?”
“Actually, she’s the busiest one. She caused a huge incident this time.”
“A huge incident?”
“Yeah. She got an even bigger loan than you.”
Just then, the brewery door burst open.
“Brian! Let’s go!”
Chloe, who had suddenly barged in, ran in with her face flushed, then looked at the liquor from the still and said,
“Ooh— It smells pretty convincing. Give me a small bottle. I’ll let my dad taste it.”
“That works for me.”
“My dad may not know everything else, but he really knows his liquor. If it’s good, I’ll help recommend it around.”
“I’m counting on you, Chloe.”
And just like that, Chloe secured a bottle of Korean-style vodka in an instant and pulled me along.
“Let’s go.”
As I was dragged out, Jacob asked,
“But where are you going?”
Chloe answered in my place.
“To get Shingo pear saplings and rootstock. I’m not just a farm kid anymore. I’m a farm owner like you now—a pear farm owner.”
She gave her long hair a sharp, swishing toss, then dragged me out of the brewery.