A Cointreau-mercial Success

Orange peel, sugar, alcohol, and water.  These four simple ingredients have come to define a beverage, a brand, a ‘cocktail culture.’  With humble roots in a  French family of boulangers, Cointreau has fulfilled the dreams of its creator, Eduard Cointreau, who created the recipe in 1875, writing:

« J’ai recherché passionnément cette liqueur dont j’ai voulu qu’elle ais la pureté du cristal et une grande subtilité du goût, grâce à l’harmonie parfaite d’esprit d’écorces d’oranges douces et amères. » 

(“I searched passionately for the essence of Cointreau.  I wanted to combine the purity of a crystal-clear liquid with the refined flavours obtained from the perfect harmony of sweet and bitter oranges.”)

But Cointreau has become more than simply the sum of its four simple parts.  It has become a marketing behemoth, standing strong across the ages and across the world.

But what is it?

When Eduard created the recipe in 1875, he wanted to build off of the success of curaçao, but he placed his emphasis on obtaining a crystal clear product (all of the other triple secs* available at the time were colored).

(*To clarify – Cointreau is a type of triple sec.  And why the name triple sec?  This category of liqueur was three times more concentrated in orange essential oils and less sweet (ie more ‘sec’, or dry) than the standard orange liqueurs available at the time.)

But its simple.  Two varieties of orange peel (imported from Spain, Brasil, and Northern Africa) – sweet and bitter – are macerated overnight in alcohol distilled from beet sugar.  The following morning the mixture is distilled, and the vapor, enriched in the essential oils extracted from the orange peels, is condensed and collected.

(copper stills dating from the 1930s that are still used today to produce 15 million liters of Cointreau per year)

(modernized stills – built in 1972 – used in the distillation of other liqueurs)

The distillate, now 85% alcohol, is blended with water and sugar (again from sugar beets, as this neutral sugar ensures that no additional flavors are added, either via the alcohol or sugar), to obtain the finished Cointreau at 40% alcohol, or 80 proof.  It is bottled on site (the most productive bottling line can whip through 10,000 bottles an hour), and ready for consumption!

(Pierrot, Cointreau’s most recognizable mascot)

But let’s not skip the marketing, where Cointreau has perhaps been most influential.  Their most enduring mascot is the image of Pierrot, originally chosen by Eduard in 1898, and the following year he appeared in the first commercial ever recorded on film.  The inverted image of a woman in the process of undressing was the beginning of a long history of sexually charged advertising campaigns, including the American campaign featuring Burlesque dancer Dita Von Teese, the last French campaign (before the advertising of alcohol was prohibited by law - le loi Evin –  in 1991) which carried the tagline “Voulez-vous cointreau avec moi?”, and the most recent US slogan, “Be Cointreauversial.”

The marketing schemes seem to be particularly influential on Americans, as the US represents the number one export market for Cointreau, followed by duty free shops.  These two markets comprise 95% of sales, and the third largest market is the domestic French market.  Perhaps the high level of consumption in the US is due to the popularity of cocktails.  This “cocktail culture” does not exist in France, where Cointreau was traditionally drunk pure as a digestif.

(Cointreau on the rocks becomes turbid as the essential oils come out of solution at the lower temperature.  Chilling the liqueur also significantly cuts the aroma and taste of the alcohol, giving the impression of a much smoother, sweeter drink)

But, despite hailing from a country without this ‘cocktail culture,’ Cointreau has become well integrated into the mixology world.  In addition to playing a key role in such classics as the Cosmopolitan, Margarita, Sidecar, and White Lady, Cointreau also has tried its hand at a bit of mixology of its own.  Their most recent proposal?  The Cointreaupolitan.  While a bit on the sweet side for my own taste, this racy, hot pink cocktail represents everything that the Cointreau brand has become – sexy, flashy, and just a little retro.

(The Cointreaupolitan – Long version: Mix 5cl Cointreau, 7cl cranberry juice, and 2cl lemon juice over ice.  Short version: Combine 5cl Cointreau, 3cl cranberry juice, and 2cl lemon juice in a shaker with ice.  Shake and serve in a martini glass)

 

Tourism by the Glass

I am working on a presentation on the Washington state wine industry for my ‘Methodology in the French language’ course (ie how to put your ideas together in French and for a French audience), and was reminded of a paper I wrote at Haverford for a class on the History of the US Built Environment.  In what is officially my first US-wine related post, I am posting the paper which, while admittedly a bit long, toys with the idea of how this particular building, the Novelty Hill-Januik Winery in Woodinville, WA, embodies the transformations in wine tourism that have, essentially, allowed this suburb of Seattle to come into its own as Washington state’s hub of wine tourism, despite its isolation from the heart of WA wine production, in the Eastern half of the state.

Tourism By the Glass: Reshaping of the Wine Industry by Redesigning its Spaces

Passing through the short strip of industrial warehouses on Highway 202 out of Woodinville, Washington, one might initially mistake the concrete façade of Novelty Hill-Januik Winery (NHJ) for a part of this industrial monotony.  However, upon closer inspection the deliberate landscaping becomes apparent, as does the wide driveway inviting passerby to pull into the 100-space parking lot that stretches along the length of the concrete structure.  Most striking from the parking lot is the starkness of the simple, linear façade against the downward sloping landscape, which begs the question of what lies below.

If the designers hopes are realized, the visitor’s interest is piqued and he passes through the cave-like entryway to find himself awash in a contrast of warm wood and cool concrete, still emphasizing the linearity of the façade.  It is here that the intent of this space becomes clear.  The design of NHJ embodies the emphatic adoption of tourism by the wine industry.  Though consumers traditionally had limited access to the winemaking process,[i] this began to change significantly as wineries learned that tourism could be a profitable adjunct to their business, promoting the appeal of wine in general and their vintages in particular.  In the United States, this shift began as early as 1935, just two years after the repeal of Prohibition, when tourism was suggested as a means to teach the public about wine so as to instill a deep love and respect for the product.  After World War II, the travel industry began to swell, and wine tourism followed. [ii]  The infrastructure of the winery had to be changed in order to incorporate those factors meant to attract visitors, including reorganizing space to support tours, tasting and sales rooms, and increasing the aesthetic appeal of winery spaces.[iii]  NHJ expands this focus on the consumer by creating a space providing not only amenities for the visitor, but also an invitation to learn about the winemaking process through the organization of space and its aesthetic components.  However, a boundary is simultaneously drawn between consumer and producer to ensure the maintenance of professionalism and efficiency in the process.

Tom Alberg, the owner of NHJ, deliberately chose the location for his winery with an eye toward the importance of the wine tourist.  In a press release marking the opening of the winery, he cited Woodinville as “rapidly becoming one of Washington’s most exciting wine producing and tasting destinations for quality wines.”[iv]  This rapid growth is surprising as Woodinville is located across the state from most of the vineyards that supply grapes to its wineries.  Elsewhere, wineries and their associated vineyards are typically located in the same region, if not on the same property.  So why are there over seventy-five wineries and tasting rooms located in this small city of 11,350 people?[v]^,[vi]  The answer lies in Woodinville’s proximity to and accessibility from Seattle, about twenty miles away.  In a study of the success of tourism in wine regions, Getz and Brown found that the second most important factor in determining a visitor’s likelihood of patronizing a winery was having “a lot to see and do in the area.”[vii]  There are several direct, highway-linked routes from Seattle to Woodinville, whereas the wine country of Eastern Washington is isolated from populous Seattle by the looming Cascade Mountains.  This accessibility, along with the historical presence of Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery, which was established in Woodinville in 1967,[viii] initially made Woodinville a magnet for the tasting room and winery outposts of Eastern Washington winemakers.  Once wine began to flood the area, Getz and Brown’s sixth most important factor, the presence of many wineries in an area, became a driving force for the success of the Woodinville wine industry, drawing still more wineries to the area.[ix]  NHJ is located on the main thoroughfare into Woodinville’s most concentrated wine district, as well as on the way to Chateau Ste. Michelle, which continues to draw large crowds for wine tasting as well as its summer concert series.   This strategic positioning emphasizes the focus of the winery on catering to the tourist – not only is it easy to find for those who are looking, but it is also easy to stumble upon.  This piggybacking on the success of Woodinville’s wine tourism industry is one way in which NHJ embodies the history of wine tourism and makes the wines of Eastern Washington accessible to the state’s more populous western side.

Alberg wanted the architecture of the building itself to “enhance visitors’ knowledge and appreciation” of their wines.[x]  This aim recalls the original reason for establishing wine tourism, as one speaker at the 1935 Conference of Vintners and Allied Interests advocated for winery visitation on the grounds that visitors would be “imbued with the lore of wine and learn to know it.”[xi]  While many destination wineries have relied solely upon aesthetic appeal to attract tourists, the design of NHJ fosters this educational aspect of the tourism experience, while maintaining a functional division between workspace and tourist.

The use of glass in the building conveys a literal and figurative sense of transparency in the winemaking process.  From the tasting room, floor-to-ceiling glass windows expose hundreds of oak barrels stacked and resting patiently as they await the release of their contents, red stains on the oak the only evidence of the product within.  Down the hall, across from the private event room, a matching wall of glass permits viewing of the fermentation room, lined with enormous stainless-steel vats that protect the infant wine from the outside world as it is transformed into alcohol.  The workspaces are located a floor below the observer, literally giving viewers an overview of the winemaking process.  The view provided by these windows is such that the visitors can observe the different stages of the journey from grape to bottle, but are still isolated from the activity.  This separation reflects another historical trend in winemaking – the increase in scale of winemaking as demand for the product has grown.  In pre-WWII United States, wine consumption averaged two liters per year, but by the 1990s was up to about seven liters per year.[xii]  Larger batches create a struggle for producers of high-end wines as they aim to maximize efficiency through the use of industrial methods while maintaining a sense of artisanship and quality in their wines.  By using the design of the winery to invite visitors to witness the making of wine, NHJ strives for transparency in its methods, thus demonstrating pride in the quality of their technique and products.  At the same time, the distance between the visitor and the process that the windows ensure helps to maintain efficiency, as extraneous bodies will not be present inside of the production areas.  This separation is a vestige of the sense of secrecy in the wine industry that existed before tourism was integrated into the spaces, and limitation of public access to the more “proprietary areas” of the winery remains common even in wineries designed to welcome visitors.[xiii]  This separation establishes a sense of expertise, where the winemaker possesses a body of tacit knowledge unattainable by the public even though they can watch the process from a distance.

The architecture of NHJ leads visitors outdoors to the terraced garden which continues the theme of linearity seen in the structure itself, connecting the interior and exterior spaces.  The gardens are a prominent feature of NHJ, and represent an intention to express the relationship between earth and wine.  More specifically, the landscape design uses a descending series of terraces to “evoke the low hills and agricultural environment of the ‘other Washington’” – east of the Cascades.[xiv]  In so doing, the designers were able to abstractly import the missing portion of the winemaking process – the growing of grapes – to the winery.  Since NHJ is located over 150 miles from its estate vineyard, viticulture is the one aspect of the wine that is not made transparent to visitors by the physical space.  Instead, NHJ’s prominent gardens serve to conjure an image of the vineyards of Eastern Washington.  In this way, space again serves as a quasi-educational tool to expose visitors to the methods of winemaking while maintaining distance.  In this case, the division between process and tourist is not meant to aid efficiency or demonstrate technological prowess, but is a function of consumer demand.  As wine tourism became more prominent, proximity to consumers became more important than proximity to grapes, especially in Washington where accessibility of the vineyard regions is compromised by the presence of a prominent mountain range.

Prior to opening the NHJ facility in 2007, Alberg processed Novelty Hill wines in a nondescript warehouse in Woodinville.  The space had no signs and did not accept public visitors.  The transformation from this purely functional space to NHJ, with its deliberate aesthetic and focus on educating the public while maintaining a professional division between production and consumption, is emblematic of the broader shift in the wine industry from a focus on production to a greater emphasis on tourism.

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[i] Sean Stanwick and Loraine Fowlow, Wine by Design (West Sussex, UK: Wiley 2006), 19.

[ii] Thomas Pinney, History of Wine in America: From Prohibition to the Present (Berkely, CA: University of California Press, 2005), accessed February 20, 2011, http://site.ebrary.com/lib/haverford/docDetail.action?docID=10088448&p00=wine%20history, 217-218.

[iii] Pinney, History of Wine in America, 218.

[iv] Novelty Hill-Januik, “Opening of New Novelty Hill-Januik Winery in Woodinville Marks Important Milestone in Washington Wine Tourism: State-of-the-Art Destination Winery Opens June 8,” press release, 4 June 2007, http://www.noveltyhillwines.com/pdf/NH-J-open-Jun-07.pdf  (22 Feb 2011).

[v] “Woodinville Lifestyle,” Greater Woodinville Chamber of Commerce, http://www.woodinvillechamber.org/Lifestyle.aspx (22 Feb 2011).

[vi] “About Woodinville: Demographics/Statistics,” City of Woodinville, http://www.ci.woodinville.wa.us/live/demographics.asp, last modified January 4, 2011 (22 Feb 2011).

[vii]Donald Getz and Graham Brown, “Critical success factors for wine tourism regions: a demand analysis,” Tourism Management 27 (2006) 152-153.

[viii] “Washington Heritage,” Chateau Ste. Michelle, http://www.ste-michelle.com/winery/washingtonHeritage, (21 Feb 2011).

[ix] Donald Getz and Graham Brown, 152-153.

[x] Novelty Hill-Januik, press release.

[xi] Pinney, History of Wine in America, 217.

[xii] Stanwick and Fowlow, Wine by Design, 18.

[xiii] Stanwick and Fowlow, Wine by Design, 19.

[xiv] Clair Enlow, “A Winery Before its Time,” Landscape Architecture (2008) 44-45.

The Textile of Language

(The River Maine at sunset)

Angers has welcomed me with open arms.  The beautiful small city has been filled with activity over the past few weeks, with Les Accroche-Cœurs (an arts festival that took over the entire city for a weekend), the European Heritage Days, where all museums and monuments in Europe were free to the public, and, of course, the Rentrée – the beginning of the academic year in this city of over 20,000 students.  The 50 or so that I have become friends with hail from across the globe, Argentina, Chile, Madagascar, China, Honduras, Bulgaria, France, Mexico, Romania, Slovenia, Croatia, and Russia to name a very select few.  My ‘official’ program has yet to begin, but for now my days are filled with French courses all shapes and sizes – French as a foreign language, methodology of written and oral French, French textual grammar, etc.  Though anxious to dive into the wine-related course work, I am extracting great enjoyment out of these classes – particularly out of the progress they hopefully represent – and am truly beginning to gain an appreciation for the importance of those nitty-gritty little grammar rules we all love to hate.

          At its crudest level, where communication of basic needs can be realized, language is like a quilt.  Even with a relatively elementary grasp of a foreign language, we are capable of picking and choosing the swatches we need and piecing them together in a patchwork that, while it may not look pretty, serves a utilitarian purpose.  You could say that I spent the past year, while I was in France and in Chile, wrapped up in a quilt.  But now, I am back in classes and realizing that those grammatical particulars are exactly what gives you a tighter and tighter weave.  Mastering the differences between the imperfect and passé compose gives you a crudely woven burlap, but when you add the correct use of the subjunctive your weave becomes a little tighter and suddenly you have a nice tweed.  But language can become something more.  A mastery of grammar gives us access to the subtlest signals and cues embedded in the language, working together to create the most delicately woven silk.  In language, so much is communicated by subtlely.  It is not only the choice of vocabulary, but the construction of phrases, of sentences, the use of tenses, pronouns, moods, all of these things that we never even think about in our mother tongue but weave together a subtext so fine, so lustrous and smooth that we don’t even recognize its existence.  But when you are learning a foreign language this subtext is often lost, unattainable, because of an inadequate grasp of the seemingly trite and pedantic grammar rules.  But this is the dream.  The dream, the motivation, to study, is to be able to weave a silken conversation that glimmers with the subtlest of connotation.  All things in time. 

(First in-class wine tasting!… so I guess it hasn’t ALL been about the grammar…)

The End: A New Beginning

I’ve now been back in the US for about a month, but I’m  actually writing this from the international terminal of the Chicago airport, where I await a flight back to France.  As one chapter ends, another begins. I’m headed to start the Vintage Master program in Angers, France (for the first semester, then I’ll move to Piacenza, Italy and then Valencia, Spain, and finish with a masters thesis project somewhere in the world).  It was a whirlwind last few weeks of the Watson year, followed by an incredible returning fellows conference, and a couple of weeks to get everything prepared to head back out again.  But I wanted to share my final report to the Watson Foundation here.

 

Providence and Planning: Lessons from a Watson Year

“That which you manifest is before you.”[1]

Though originally a bit of an afterthought, it felt almost providential[2] to be standing in the dimly lit cellar at Weingut Hirsch, watching spellbound as Johannes Hirsch pried open an old oak barrel and unburied glass jars of his biodynamic preparations (made from quartz and various types of dung, among other things) from the vineyard soil they’re stored in.  One preparation, in a special take on traditional biodynamics, was itself infused with a bit of vineyard soil in order to further encourage terroir expression.  I was in Austria, homeland of the late scientist and philosopher, and founder of biodynamic agriculture, Rudolph Steiner.  The concept of biodynamics, which I fell into a bit late in my year, functions, in many ways, as the ultimate case study under which to watch the themes of my Watson project play out.

Biodynamics was a concept that had piqued my interest on various occasions throughout the year, as I’d visited several biodynamic wineries in Spain and New Zealand, but my focus at these wineries was never to learn about biodynamic philosophy itself, so it wasn’t until mid-July, when I was staying with the family of winemaker Aleš Kunej in Slovenia (an incredibly multilingual experience – French, Slovenian, Portugese, and English were all flying around between the four of us!), who, in the first of a chain of providential events (okay, not the first, but to recount all of the earlier links in the chain that led me to Aleš would take more than five pages in itself) handed me a copy of Nicolas Joly’s Biodynamic Wine Demystified, which I immediately devoured.  Though I can’t say it was aptly named (if anything I was more mystified after reading it, but also intrigued), but it provided some interesting insight into the philosophical basic for biodynamics.  I was hooked from the preface, in which Joly simply writes:

The sole aim of this book is to forge a link between a knowledge existing since the dawn of time that is profound and endlessly available – but not understood – and a science which, while it knows almost everything, nevertheless understands next to nothing.

 

What could be more perfect?!  Here he is, explicitly setting the intention of dismantling a highly divisive boundary between science (of which he unabashedly questions the authority!) and a theory which few would consider to be scientific.[3]  And, as I dove headfirst into his dense prose, I quickly saw that this was a goal he managed to achieve.  I came away from his book believing that biodynamics, while certainly not based on the same principles as modern science, shares its fundamental roots.  Like any scientific theory, biodynamics is based squarely on first principles, which are essentially fundamental assumptions about how the universe functions that we must make in order for the scientific system to work.  So maybe biodynamic agriculture isn’t “science” as we know it, but from Joly’s description it seemed to fit into the same genre of activity – if we zoom out one level, we might be able to categorize it as a science, it just starts from a different set of first principles.  In the epilogue to the book, Yair Margalit, a physical chemist, writes that “biodynamic theory does not exactly “cope” with the rigors of the scientific method, its practice in grape growing certainly shows unique results.”  But maybe we shouldn’t just be settling for unique results.  Maybe biodynamics doesn’t “cope” because it isn’t built on the same scientific method.  Maybe we need to reexamine that scientific method because we are seeing great results from a system with a different fundamental basis.

So, seeing as Austria was in a way the homeland of biodynamics, and having no plans as of yet for the time I’d tentatively scheduled there, I began my final emailing frenzy of the year, contacting every Austrian biodynamic producer I could find and waiting until someone was intrigued enough by the description of my Watson project to respond.  Thus it was Slovenia that led me to Weingut Hirsch, which in turn led to Weingut Sepp Moser.  And both of these visits allowed me to see how biodynamics plays out firsthand, how these first principles I was so excited about are put into practice, and most importantly, taste the remarkable results.

I begin with this story about biodynamics because it is representative of how providence, or fate, or intervention by some kind of Watson fairy, ensured that I didn’t return home without first grappling a bit with this fascinating piece of the wine world, something that fits in so elegantly with the project I designed.  But the whole year, and especially this last quarter, was an oversized exercise in learning to balance planning with spontaneity, paving my path flexibly enough that it maintained its freedom to wriggle and wind its way out from under my feet.

I had wanted to “put the year into persepective” during the fourth quarter with a visit to South Africa and then a bit of an overview of some of the regions in Europe I hadn’t been at the beginning.  This is exactly what ended up happening, but, as I should have guessed, not in the way I had anticipated.

Let me back up a bit.  South Africa.  A magnificent, overwhelming country, stunning in its natural beauty, shocking (to a post-Civil Rights movement American youngster) in its social idiosyncrasies, and bountiful in its wines.  I profited from the generosity of a winemaker in Bot River, an area outside of some of the most well-known wine regions but rightfully gaining a name for itself, who allowed me to live with his family, work in his winery, taste every barrel of his wine, attend a meeting of the Bot River Vineyard, meet and visit many other producers in the region, and utilize the open space of the farm to practice driving a stick-shift ‘bucky.’[4]  But mostly, PJ Geyer was generous in conversation.  We talked for hours on end, weeks on end, about everything relating to wine.  And he taught me what it is to make wine from the heart.  His motto is “Taste and feel, don’t think and do,” which I found to be, in a turn of irony, a perfectly logical methodology.  After all, why would you overthink your wine, when your product is one meant to be experienced?[5]  Our favorite thought experiment became to assess the explanation for why his friend’s wine matured in 500% new oak[6] doesn’t, supposedly[7], taste purely of oak.  He verbalized what I’d begun to see during my experience in Chile, when he told me the first prayer he made as a winemaker:  “Dear God, give me patience. NOW.”  And he started me thinking about the importance of marketing, even for someone whose primary role (on paper, at least) is to make the wine, something that became a bit of a theme throughout the weeks that followed, as I also paid a visit to Wharton alumnus Anthony Hamilton Russell who owns a very successful micro-wine empire in Hermanus, South Africa, and continued to explore marketing in the small winery context upon my arrival in Italy. 

South Africa wasn’t without its challenges, however, which came mostly in the form of the quite significant social differences between it and the US.  I spent the vast majority  of my time with white people of relatively high to very high economic status,[8] and just the seeming definitiveness of the social/racial stratifications made me a bit uncomfortable.  But nothing irked me as much as the recurring conception that people of different races have different capacities for understanding.  I struggled a lot hearing this idea come up, as I didn’t want to judge the people making these comments for having an opinion so drastically different than my own (which I recognize to certainly be a product of my own upbringing – for goodness sake I even took a course in college that was entirely focused on debunking exactly this idea), but also with breaking bread and, frankly, being associated with these people who held an idea which I find to be fundamentally wrong.  This is something I’m still grappling with, but I think an incredibly important thing to have experienced, especially for an American raised after these issues, once so prevalent in our own society, are seen to be on the decline.  I think, and hope, that seeing social and racial stratification in such a more pronounced way will help me recognize the more masked and hidden manifestations of the same issues in my own country.

            After South Africa I headed back to Europe, and after a brief but determinative detour to France (more on that below), I resumed my tour through regions new to me.  I crossed through the north of Italy, where I visited some amazing wineries, and an incredible wine museum that changed forever how I will think about public displays of wine-related knowledge.  I spent a day touring the Valpolicella region – vineyards, wineries, historical monuments and all – with the technology director of the enormous Bolla winery, with whom I discussed not only science and technology, but also history, marketing, environmentalism, and much, much more.  All of these experiences exactly fulfilled my goal of putting some perspective on how science and art relate to each other in the wine industry, and reminded me of the infectious zeal for wine that permeates the industry.  One night spent in the home of an Italian family who spoke no English, and another of Italian wedding crashing ignited a sharp craving to learn to speak the language in order to integrate into this incredibly rich, resonant culture without any translational middleman.  My lack of understanding in Italy confirmed just how key language was in defining my experiences in France and Chile.

Pour arriver jusqu’au trésor, il faudra que tu sois attentif aux signes.  Dieu a écrit dans le monde le chemin que chacun de nous doit suivre.  Il n’y a qu’à lire ce qu’il a écrit pour toi.[9] 

I mentioned above that I took a bit of a detour to France when I first returned to Europe.  I quickly learned, during my year, that some of the most enjoyable and valuable moments, weeks, and months were unplanned, and thus I felt confident arriving in Rome with five weeks remaining in the year and exactly zero plans.  This confidence was shaken a bit when I arrived at the hostel and found that the two nights that I’d thought I had booked had not even gone through, and this, combined with an unexpected Malaria scare (which, fortunately, a five-hour stint in the hospital revealed I didn’t have), confirmed that my newfound spontaneity had its limits.  This realization led to a semi-impulsive decision to return “home” to where I’d stayed in France, as I felt that the influence of familiar faces and places would help ground me enough to decide how I really wanted to spend my final Watson weeks.  And if this decision wasn’t providential, I don’t know what is.  The weekend I spent in my old ‘pigeonnier’ (former pigeon house-turned-apartment where I’d lived during harvest last fall) turned out to be one of the most emotionally tumultuous of my year, as I stood back and watched all of the post-Watson plans I had made tumble to the floor as the rug was yanked out from under them.[10]  I couldn’t have been more grateful to be surrounded by one of my Watson families, especially to have the distraction of two most adorable French children to keep me busy.

It was a harsh but potent reminder of that key fact that I’d thought I’d learned so well – nothing works out the way you plan.  This had become a sort of Watson-mantra, but still I’d managed to become a bit complacent and fall into that trap of false security that laying plans seems to pull us into.  But those Watson fairies, or perhaps it’s the ghost of Mr. Thomas J. himself, seemed to have a way of keeping me on track.  When I’d made the decision to go back to France, I’d also fit in appointments at the two schools that I’d been considering to apply for Masters programs (both to begin in 2013, as the application deadlines for this year had already long passed).   I headed to Angers, agenda for the next year suddenly blank, and was given the opportunity to apply to start the Vintage Master this September.[11]

At first I was a bit wary of spending Watson time make post-Watson plans, but visiting these schools and deciding what to do next turned out to be a hugely important aspect of my last quarter, as this decision-making process actually allowed me to process and integrate many of the changes to myself that had occurred during the year.  All of this was put into practice as I had to decide whether I would take the offer from the Vintage Master or wait until next year and apply to another program which, ostensibly, would be the more ‘appropriate’ choice given my background in chemistry, as it is more science-driven and technical than the Vintage Master which has a large marketing and language component.  But, looking at this past year, it is clear that two aspects stand out above all else as the most important, the most enjoyable, the most influential – people and languages.  And from that I’ve leaned that I want, even need, communication to be a key aspect of what I do, and that must take precedence over what I think I “should” be interested in pursuing based on my academic background.  I’ve struggled throughout my life with making decisions based on what I think I “should” do, and the Watson year has given me the unprecedented opportunity to make a year’s worth of decisions solely based on what I want to do, and in doing so I have finally allowed myself to begin to learn what, exactly, that is.

It seems a bit wrong to call this a “final” report after coming from the conference where we all came away with an understanding of just how non-final this moment is – the juncture between a Watson Year and a Watson Life.  I am so glad that I don’t have to say goodbye to the Watson, but rather hello to a new manner of interacting with my year.   And what a year it was.  I cannot begin to thank you, the Watson Foundation, enough for this opportunity.  For the opportunity to explore, observe, learn, play, work, love, hurt, laugh, cry, and discover myself.  For the blind faith, the support, the validation to do what I love, without stipulation, without expectation.  I have always been my biggest critic, my biggest hindrance, and your support finally allowed me to fully support myself.  There is no greater gift.  Thank you Watson Foundation for this incredible Watson Opportunity to have seized, this incredible Watson Year to have completed, and this incredible Watson Life to live.

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[1] Quote from The Art of Racing in the Rain, by Garth Stein, which I was reading on my first planeride of the year, from Seattle to Barcelona.  I wrote down the quote on the front page of my journal in hopes that I would look back today, writing my final report, and it would ring true.  It does.

[2] My favorite of a list of ‘key terms’ we came up with in a weighty discussion group at the Returning Fellows conference, this word, in various forms, will be recurrent in this report.

[3] In fact, in the book’s prologue, wine critic Joshua Greene admits that many find the principles of biodynamics to be “romantic or foolish.”

[4] The South African term for a pick-up truck.

[5] Overthinking something meant to be experienced? Hmm… that sounds like a mistake on par with, say, overthinking the Watson But in all seriousness, doesn’t that make perfect sense?  Why ruin something sensorial by complicating it with the mind, which isn’t equipped, on its own, to fully enjoy the wine.  This is exactly the challenge I see with reductive techniques that attempt to understand a wine by analyzing its individual components.

[6] He aged the wine in a new oak barrel for a year, then removed it and put it in a new barrel again each year for a total of five years.  The explanation involved a metaphor using basketballs and tennis balls to express his theory that the wine becomes saturated by tannins more quickly than by smaller molecules, which continue to be extracted.

[7] The bottle goes for about $350, so naturally isn’t poured during a tasting.

[8] Such as the day I spent with the women I dubbed the “Real Housewives of Durbanville” – which was also the day I decided I never want to become rich.

[9] From The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, which I read, in French, for the first time this year, continually finding myself amazed by the inspiration and clarity I found for interpreting my own experiences.  Here I quote the book in French, because that is how I read it, but this means, “To come to your treasure, you must be attentive to the signs.  God has written in the world the path which each of us should follow.  You must only read what he has written for you.”

[10] At least no earthquakes were involved, this time.

[11] This meeting occurred on July 10, a mere 50 days before I’d be heading back to Angers to start the program.  And yes, somehow, I have [almost] everything ready.

Valley of many cellars… both technological and traditional

In a fascinating visit to the Valpolicella region of Italy, home to Valpolicella and Amarone wines, organized by Bolla Winery, I learned about this history of the area, tasted a range of wines coming from here, and got into deep philosophical discussions about technology, marketing, New World versus Old World approaches, limitations, and freedoms, and much, much more with Elio Novello, technical director of the winery.  Valpolicella means ‘valley of many cellars,’ but the history of the region is full of more than just great wine.

(‘Map’ of my discussion with Mr. Novello)

  (Pergola trellis system typical of this region)

(Guyot trellis system, largely adopted in Valpolicello around 20 years ago and now believed to produce lower quality grapes than the pergola system)

At Bolla, the emphasis is on the use of technology, but not at the expense of the natural.  The winery has a huge production, between 12 and 20 million bottles annually, so technology is applied intelligently as a means of reducing labor needs, and potential risk involved in human labor, to produce wine in the same way that it would be traditionally made.  For example, the winery employs a cross flow filtration system, which is a large, high-tech, expensive machine, but in fact uses no filtration material, instead relying on the natural sediments in the wine to, essentially, filter itself.  Another example is the use of an innovative method for pumping over, where they have specially designed tanks that use the pressure of the carbon dioxide naturally produced through fermentation to push down the cap of skins inside of the tank, submerging it in the fermenting must in order to extract compounds from the skins exactly as in a traditional pumpover, but without the need for pumps!

(Bottling lines at Bolla fill an entire room and pump out tens of thousands of bottles per day)

(Cross-flow filtration system – left – and electrodialysis machine for tartaric stabilization – right.  Both are fully controlled by a computer to reduce potential for human error)

I tasted their Soave Classico, a smooth, simple, highly drinkable white wine made from garganega and trebbiano (distinct from the Tuscan trebbiano) grapes, from the appropriately named town of Soave (though the name comes from Swedish heritage in the town, not the Italian word for smooth/sweet/gentle/soft, which actually is quite fitting for this particular wine).  I also tried four red wines all comprised of essentially the same grape varietals – corvina and corvenone with some other local varietals in the mix), but completely distinct as a result of terroir and/or production method.  The first was the Bardolino, a very simple, drinkable, low tannin, fresh red wine.  Then there was the Valpolicella, very different in style but only because of the different growing zone.  This wine had a bit more structure and body, owing to a bit of oak but also differences in terroir, and can hold up to a bit more aging than the Bardolino.  Next was the Ripasso, a particular style of wine made by refermenting normal valpolicella wine on the skins of Amarone wine.  This approach gives the wine a significant degree of complexity and body, though this particular specimine could use a few more months to integrate in the bottle, as the beautiful nose was not quite matched in the mouth.  Finally was the Amarone, a particular wine made after harvesting and drying the grapes in special conditions that allow for the development of botrytis inside (but not outside!!) the berries, dehydrating and changing their composition to the perfect degree, over a period of 1-3 months (but could be up to as many as 6!) before they are put into the tank for fermentation.  This yields a particular, complex, rich wine that is very special in this region.

(Bins for drying Amarone in a special warehouse on top of the hill where there is no fog and a consistent breeze, all prepped and waiting for harvest to begin)

(Dehydrated grapes as are used for Amarone production)

This type of winemaking approach, waiting at the whims of nature of the dehydration of grapes, may seem a stark contrast to the technologically advanced Bolla winery, but in fact lies at the heart of their philosophy, it seems.  The company is committed both to research and technology, but also, first and foremost, to creating a quality product for the consumer.  Something that can stand the test of time, not conforming to one fad or another, but rather a simple, straightforward, people-friendly wine that is, most importantly, enjoyable to consume.

(Wooden cask from 1884, the year after the winery was founded.  These casks =, in a nod to tradition, are still used today as the inside can be shaved every few years to expose fresh oak)

(Ancient Roman Monastery - one of the many relics of a rich, varied history in Valpolicella)

 

** Here’s a NYTimes article published today (Aug 17) about Soave, the white wine from the Valpolicella region 

Italy’s Sparkling Star

(Contadi Castaldi Satèn in traditional Franciacorta flute)

Franciacorta, much like France’s Champagne and Spain’s Cava, is Italy’s home to bottle refermented sparkling wines.  The region began to gain importance around the 1960s, being granted DOC status in 1967 (and DOCG status in 1995), though there is evidence of sparkling wine production in the area long before.  The area is geographically protected by Lake Iseo to the north and Mount Orfano to the south, giving the region a comparably cool climate good for the production of chardonnay, pinot nero (pinot noir), and pinot blanc grapes to be used for Franciacorta wine (*nb that the name Franciacorta implies this sparkling, methode champenoise wine).

(Lake Iseo, so important to Franciacorta’s unique climactic zone)

I spent the day at Contadi Castaldi, Franciacorta’s third largest producer, famous for its Satèn – a blanc de blancs (made only from chardonnay and/or pinot blanc grapes) variety of Franciacorta that must be smoother, more silky and elegant, with a maximum of 4 atm, rather than 6 atm for standard Franciacorta, of pressure, meaning that the bubbles are also softer and gentler.

Contadi Castaldi produces six Franciacorta wines.  A non-vintage brut, and non-vintage rose, both intended to be readily drinkable, approachable wines, and both certainly achieve this goal.  Next up in the line is their vintage satèn – again a softer, smoother, blanc de blancs, and then a vintage rose, a bit more complex and structured than the nonvintage rose, as this one is produced from 65% pinot noir and 35% chardonnay, rather than the inverse for the nonvintage.  They also produce Zero, a dryer Franciacorta with no residual sugar added in the dosage (for a refresher on the terms and processes used in this method of sparkling wine production, see my earlier post on champagne production), resulting in a slightly edgier wine, better to drink with food than some of the sweeter bruts.  Finally, their top tier wine is the gorgeous Soul satèn, produced in the same manner as the vintage satèn, but with particularly selected, highest quality grapes.  This is indeed a gorgeous wine, as external relations director Claudia Spada put it, a “wine of meditation.”

(Bottles of Franciacorta aging on the lees – note the crown caps that are used during this phase of production)

(The waste left over after disgorging – crown caps with the plastic ‘thimbles’ which catch the lees after remuage or riddling moves them into the top of the bottle – I wish I could have captured the potent odor of old yeast that accompanied this scene!)

(Scene from the labeling line)

(Samples of each lot of bottled wine during secondary fermentation with manometers that measure the amount of pressure inside in order to monitor   CO₂ production in the bottle)

(After disgorging of demi bottles of Franciacorta Zero)

(Gyropalatte – the machine used for mechanical remuage, turning, shifting, and moving the bottles in a particular pattern every few hours so that the lees are completely moved into the cap after only a few days, rather than several weeks for remuage by hand)

Barolo Wine Museum

Last weekend, while I was at the Collisioni festival in Barolo, Piemonte, I visited Barolo’s Wine Museum, housed in the sumptuous Falletti Castle overlooking the vineyards of Barolo.  

Interestingly enough, for me at least, the museum prides itself on the way in which its designer and curator François Confino ”has designed a stimulating voyage that combines scientific content and poetry.”

 

The curation of the museum was fascinating, as it uses very simple displays to portray its vision.  Unlike many wine museums, it is sparse in its use of language, rather relying on imagery and sensory experience to send a message to visitors.  This approach serves to educate the visitor, but in a subtle way, preferring to suggest than to inform.

My personal favorite exhibition was one dedicated to the hands that produce Barolo wine.  The walls were lined with gorgeous black and white photographs of hands working in all aspects of wine production, all in a room containing only a player piano, meant to elicit an appreciation for the hands that are integral but invisible.  I thought this was a beautiful and simple concept, and paired with the stunning photographs left a lasting impression.

There was also, to my pleasure, an entire floor of the museum dedicated to wine in culture – art, cinema, food, and literature, which, I think, encourages visitors to appreciate the impact that wine has had in all facets of culture, due to its importance and interrelatedness with history, to which the museum also devotes considerable space.