Book & Film Reviews

Most of us know very little, if anything, about Bulgarian, Romanian, or Moldovan wines, and the average wine store in the United States. is unlikely to have an appre- ciable inventory of these. I did a casual search for Bulgarian wines in www.wine- searcher.com and in most instances have found either no stores in the United States that carried the wine or at most one. The situation is similar for Romanian or Moldavan wines and the average reader would encounter substantial difficulties in building a representative cellar of these wines. Nevertheless, some of these wines can be found in some western European countries.

In any event, this volume would be a most reasonable beginning for somebody who would want to deepen his/her acquaintance with the wines of these three Balkan states. The book is divided into three parts and each part follows the same basic pattern: after a brief introduction we have chapters on history, followed by dis- cussions of the modern era, the relationship of the European Union (EU), the prob- able future, grape varieties the wine regions in the various countries, and profiles of the most important producers. Most importantly perhaps, these substantive chapters are followed by excellent summary statistics on wine production and related terms, and an equally useful bibliography. The tables provide a complete listing of Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) for Bulgaria as well as the acreage planted, the vine- yards harvested by geographic region, and the acreage devoted to the several major varieties. For Romania we get historical wine production trends and grape varieties planted, export and import statistics, and regional varietal distribution.

Similar statistics are provided for Moldova.

The cultivation of wine clearly has a long history in the region, and in Bulgaria, for instance, there is reason to believe that wine was drunk in the 9th century: Khan Krum is reported to have fashioned the skull of a defeated enemy into a wine cup.

There is clearly some similarity among these countries. Wine cultivation has a long history in each and they were all subject to Ottoman rule after the 16th century, which did not advance the cause of wine growing and drinking, as peasants were forced to sell their land. They were all impacted by the arrival of phylloxera in the later 19th century with which they all coped in the usual way, that is, grafting vines onto American root stocks. A notable exception was Bessarabia, a region of Moldova, where there were objections to the “Americanization” of wine growing and where they tried to rely, largely unsuccessfully, on pesticides and fumigation techniques. But this was clearly a period that encouraged research into the cultiva- tion of wine. All three countries fell within the Soviet orbit after 1945 with various forms of collectivization, and Bulgaria had established as many as 3,000 col- lective farms. In Romania privately owned land was largely expropriated without compensation and small landholders were permitted to retain 0.25 hectares. They all took advantage of the liberalization that followed the break-up of the USSR and ended up getting more or less technical and financial help from the West, par- ticularly from the EU.

Local varieties (most of which I had never heard of) continue to be planted along- side more familiar ones such as chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, pinot gris, and aligoté among the whites and cabernet sauvignon, merlot, pinot noir, and cabernet franc among the reds. The local varieties are likely to be unfamiliar to western drinkers such as the red Bulgarian wines Mavrud or Gamza (known in Hungary as Kadarka) or the white Dimiat known as Smeredevka in Serbia. One interesting white grape is Raksiteli which is an important grape in the country of Georgia. Romanian varieties include the white Fetească Albă and Frảncuşă, while in Moldova we find whites such as Alb de Oniţcani and Bastardo. It is a pity that we are not given much information about the sensory impression that these and other local grape varieties make. All three countries have introduced some classification of wines by PDO or Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) which bodes well for the future. However, the impression one gets is that none of the wines produced in this region is particularly memorable, and while the book does a good job in describing the climate and the varieties grown, there is relatively little conveyed about the sensory characteristics of the wines and their quality. It is clear that in some regions there is an excess of semi-sweet or sweet wine produced which may suit the Russian taste, but much of the quality was initially at least quite poor, due to inferior equipment left over from the Soviet period. The author remarks in the dis- cussion of Moldovan wines that in 2006 she witnessed some of the worst wine making she has ever seen. While Moldova, for example, does export wine to Poland, China, Romania, Russia, Czech Republic, and Ukraine, some of its wines are just plain bad, dirty old, and green. On the basis of this book I am not eager to invest a lot of time and effort to explore the wines of Bulgaria, Romania, and Moldova.

Richard E. Quandt
Princeton University
requandt@gmail.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.45

For many centuries, France has played a fundamental role in the production, con- sumption, and trade of wine. Throughout the 19th century, when a veritable interna- tional market was taking shape, France’s dominance was reinforced not only because it was the leading country in terms of production and exports, but also due to two important consequences of the phylloxera plague which hit the European wine-growing industry for the first time, precisely in France, during the final decades of the 19th century. First, the need to find a remedy for this vine disease led to the development of the science applied to the growing and production of wine. Second the country’s need to supply wine for domestic consumption and to maintain its exports, gave rise to the development of wine production in traditional wine-producing countries, such as Spain but also in new producing countries such as Algeria or new world countries.

For the first time in English, this book comprehensively addresses the study of the production, consumption, and trade of wine in France from the beginning of the activity to the present day. Throughout the nine chapters, the analysis is carried out from a perspective of the country as a whole and also from a regional point of view. An international readership of academics interested in the subject or simply wine enthusiasts who do not understand the French language, are able to learn about this fascinating history and gain an insight into how France was able to obtain this central position and maintain it until today, despite the increasing challenges posed by old and new producing countries.

The chapters of the book address the issue in chronological order. Almost half of the book is concerned with the period before 1800 and the rest to the last two centuries.

This is a titanic task and to carry it out the author has had to go to great lengths to summarize all the literature, principally, but not exclusively, published in French on this subject. This is its greatest merit for those who do not know this literature in depth and also its weakness for those who have previously read and worked with this literature. However, even these specialized readers will enjoy it due to the quality of the summary, the access to studies that they have not consulted, the details that they will find to delve deeper into the subject, and the agility with which the book is written. In short, despite being based largely on secondary sources, the book constitutes an interesting contribution and an essential reference on the subject.

The book also highlights certain regularities or trends that can be detected throughout history.

First, the heterogeneity of the product that we call wine is made undoubtedly clear, a quality which forms part of the charm and attractiveness of enthusiasts. Different varieties, highly varied regional developments, different methods of production by winemakers have made wine, throughout history in France and the rest of the world, a diverse product which has evolved significantly over time. The difference between the type of wine that is drunk today and that of just a couple of centuries ago is enormous.

The commercial nature of wine in France throughout history is also unquestion- able. Even though a large part of the harvest was consumed until the beginning of the 20th century by the producers themselves, its domestic and international trade is a key element for understanding the development and transformation of the product.

A third interesting feature is the fact that wine in France has historically been subject to a higher degree of public regulation and intervention than the majority of other products, if we exclude wheat-bread, which in most western European coun- tries constituted the basis of the human diet and was regulated to prevent supply crises and famines. Throughout the 20th century, the regulation of the production and trade of wine has increased, reaching its climax with the control of the volume of production or the establishment of controlled designation of origins, mechanisms of public intervention which has extended to the European Union from France.

Finally, the book also enables us to understand how wine has contributed to con- structing the French identity. The avant-garde position of this country in terms of technology, production, and trade has been developed throughout its history and is intertwined with certain decisive moments of this history.

Obviously, in a book of this kind, we can identify certain minor problems, aspects that have been insufficiently addressed or small details, but this would draw attention away from the great work undertaken, which undoubtedly is the summary text of reference on French wine.

Vicente Pinilla
Universidad de Zaragoza, Spain
vpinilla@unizar.es
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.44

The global history of temperance has been overwhelmingly weighted towards the United States and the so-called British “dominions” of Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and South Africa. In some of the latter, there were established wine lobbies, but these were never very large or cohesive. The temperance movements, on the other hand, were well-organized, globally-connected, typically led by Protestant evangelicals and very largely driven by ordinary women. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU) was a veritable colossus that straddled North America, Asia, Africa, and Australasia. The literature on temperance in France and Italy—which were both the most prodigious producers and consumers of wine—is relatively sparse, contributing to the impression that there really was nothing much to report given a consensus that wine was part of the national patrimony. And yet, as Bohling demonstrates, there was a profound transformation in French drinking habits after WWII. Overall alcohol consumption per capita declined and there was a marked shift from the consumption of cheap, “industrial” wines to those that emanated from designated appellations. Joseph Bohling provides an emi- nently convincing explanation for this outcome that explicitly links the production and consumption sides of the equation. Churches and women are pretty much absent from this particular story. This is much more about the efforts of modernizing technocrats to extend the reach of the state in alliance with the defenders of quality wine. Lined up on the other side were wine producers in the south of France and Algeria, whose interests were rarely aligned, as well as home distillers of alcohol across the regions. The latter advocated a free market for alcohol on the grounds of a defense of cultural heritage and of rural livelihoods, and expected their parliamen- tary representatives to fight in their corner. Bohling undertakes a meticulous unpick- ing of shifting alliances over roughly half a century until a point in the 1990s when the sober revolution eventually triumphed within the embrace of the European Union.

When it comes to the production side of the equation, Bohling eschews any temptation to draw a straight line from the sponsorship of the first legislation designed to tackle fraud and to promote appellations at the start of the 20th century, to the ultimate victory of a quality agenda. He highlights the ability of entrenched interests to repeatedly thwart reform through their blocking powers in the National Assembly. The net result was that the wine surplus needed to be dealt with by means of distillation and conversion into fuel at considerable public expense. The prodigious output of Algeria, which was defined as an integral part of France, presented an additional complexity. If wine was construed as quintessen- tially French, as its defenders insisted it should be, the prickly question that arose was where the boundaries of the “real” France began and ended.

In a revisionist vein, Bohling maintains that serious efforts to both refine the system of appellations and tackle overproduction actually began with the Vichy regime, which was relatively unencumbered by vested interests. But after the war a return to the status quo was accompanied by a renewed resistance to reform. Bohling argues that the ground really began to shift once defenders of public health and the advocates of economic modernization began to take an interest in alcohol consumption. Each maintained that while individual lives were being destroyed by excessive drinking, France as a country was being hobbled by its addic- tion to alcohol. Interestingly, some of the critics of the existing system, like René Dumont, whose writings on Africa were seminal, drew direct parallels with the tra- vails of the French empire. For a historian of global temperance, what is striking is that parallel arguments in favor of temperance had been made in other parts of the world at an earlier juncture. The difference in the French case was that the state would intervene directly to address the surplus and the manner in which it was con- sumed. The relative strength of the National Assembly in the Fourth Republic allowed vested interests to momentarily ward off reform. Bohling reveals that the government of Pierre Mendès France actively promoted an anti-alcohol agenda, exploiting its latitude to legislate by decree. It also established a High Commission for Studies and Information on Alcoholism (HCEIA), which began to find common ground with the National Institute of Appellations of Origin (INAO) and the National Confederation of Wine and Spirits (CNVS) in the 1950s. Although the regime collapsed in the context of the Algerian crisis, the government of Charles de Gaulle placed its own backing behind the alliance and drove the reform process forward.

Aside from the transformations in French politics, the game changers were the independence of Algeria, which reduced the need for France to absorb the vast pro- duction of this ex-colony, and the efflorescence of an increasingly urbanized middle class that embraced new consumption habits. In other parts of the world, temperance advocates were forced to strike compromises, which typically took the form of local option provisions that culminated in a patchwork of wet and dry areas. The compro- mise in France was between anti-alcohol advocates and the proponents of fine wine. The shared public message of “Drink Well, Drink a Little, in Order to Drink for a Long Time” was one that temperance purists elsewhere would no doubt have found difficult to swallow. In the French context, however, it seemed to underline that certain modes of wine consumption could still be construed as desirable provided they were associated with moderation. As the “quality coalition” exploited its access to government, the producers of cheap wines felt under attack. The losers were not just the large liquor concerns, but also the many small producers of the Languedoc who actively resisted what they regarded as a campaign from Paris to deprive them of their livelihoods. This has, of course, been dealt with extensively in Smith (2016).

In perhaps the most original chapter, Bohling looks more closely at the cam- paign against drunk driving and shows how a coalition of interests, including the promoters of regional tourism, the insurance companies, and government techno- crats, raised the stakes in the 1960s and 1970s. This was partly justified in terms of the promotion of designated wine routes whose potential was supposedly being blighted by the everyday reality of death on the roads. Here, Bohling hits on the irony of wine tourism being sold through idyllic images of a timeless French coun- tryside whereas in fact the anti-alcohol lobby had fought against the consumption (of beer, cider, and much else) to which rural populations had stubbornly adhered. Towards the end of the book, Bohling also addresses the potential threats surround- ing European integration in the shape of a fresh inundation of cheap wine emanating from Italy. He demonstrates that the French authorities were highly successful in promoting their preferred version of interventionism which sought to reduce the volumes of wine produced while promoting the nomenclature of places of origin. Although this form of protectionism clearly pandered to the narrow interests of quality wine producers in the wealthier regions of France, the model travelled to other parts of Europe and also came to include products such as cheese—thereby establishing a new set of international norms for agriculture more broadly, and a new set of controversies.

Bohling’s rich history sutures together a history of wine production and a history of consumption in a manner that makes infinitely more sense than consider- ing each of these separately. Its strength resides in its close analysis of the politicking surrounding wine and the role of key lobby groups, institutional actors, and individ- ual campaigners in retarding and effecting change. It is an account that is mostly written from the center, although regional dynamics are invoked at various junctures in the story. Again, it is not strictly speaking a social history of wine, but it does offer a convincing account for why drinking patterns changed. The book is also a tremen- dous pleasure to read. For anyone seeking to understand the history of intervention- ism in the French wine industry, and the victory of the campaign against alcoholism, this book should serve as the first port of call.

Paul Nugent
University of Edinburgh
Paul.Nugent@ed.ac.uk
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.21

When I first opened the package containing this massive volume about the fabled Domaine de la Romané-Conti (known by oeneophiles around the world as DRC), my first thought was the episode of Seinfeld, first aired in 1994, in which Kramer pro- motes on Live with Regis and Kathie Lee a new book he has written—a coffee table book about coffee tables. The book has folding legs on its back cover, so that the book itself becomes a coffee table. Kramer’s book was small compared with this new offering by Gert Crum, with stunning photography by Jan Bartelsman. At considerably more than a foot high and nearly a foot wide, and weighing in at close to 10 pounds (and priced quite modestly at 100 Euros), this book could well function as a respectable coffee table in many a Manhattan apartment!

This luxurious version with updated text and new photography is the latest revi- sion of Crum’s award-winning 2005 treatise. This is not a reference book per se, if for no other reason than its dimensions and heft preclude one keeping it anywhere other than on a large living room coffee table. Rather, it is a compendium of well-written essays plus stunning photographs that together tell the story of this most remarkable domaine, beginning nearly 800 years ago when the Abbey of Saint Vivant acquired four and a half acres of vineyards in Vosne, known as Cru de Clos. Apparently the monks were too immersed in prayer to have time to cultivate the vineyards, so they leased the property to others. In the 17th century, the de Croonembourg family obtained the land through marriage, and named it La Romanée, but for reasons that have never been documented.

In 1760, André de Croonembourg sold the domaine to Louis François I de Bourbon, the Prince of Conti. Two years later, the Prince added his own name to the vineyard; henceforth Romanée-Conti. This may have revealed some degree of narcissism, but the Prince was clearly a devout hedonist and lover of the grape, as he refused to sell any of the wine produced, keeping it all for his household consumption!

Over the subsequent hundred years, the Romanée-Conti vineyard was sold from one family to another until Jacques-Marie Duvault-Blochet expanded the domaine with new holdings in Échezeaux, Grands Échezeaux, and Richebourg. It was only “very recently”—in 1933—that La Tâche was added to the Domaine. Since 1942, two families have co-owned DRC—the de Villaine family and the Leroy/Roch family.

Madame Lalou Bize-Leroy, now 87 years old, is well known as the owner and proprietor of Domaine Leroy. (I wrote about her in a previous review in this journal (Stavins, 2014)). In 1974, she became co-managing director of DRC with Aubert de Villaine. Together they helped build DRC’s reputation to its current heights, but a series of disagreements, including her displeasure at de Villaine’s involvement in the “Judgment of Paris” wine tasting, led to her being ousted in 1992. At the Paris competition, de Villaine had favored the French Cabernets over those from California, but had committed the sin of judging the California Chardonnays to be the approximate equal of those from the motherland (Ashenfelter and Quandt, 1999). To this day, Aubert de Villaine, now 80 years of age, remains co-owner and co-director of DRC with Henry-Frédéric Roch.

Today, DRC produces seven red wines from Pinot Noir grapes in seven vine- yards (of seven distinct Grand Cru appellations): Romanée-Conti (4.5 acres produc- ing about 450 cases per year); La Tâche (15 acres); Richebourg (8.7 acres); Romanée-Saint-Vivant (13 acres); Grands Échezeaux (8.7 acres); Échezeaux (11.5 acres); and, since 2008, Corton (7 acres). In addition, the DRC produces from a vine- yard of Chardonnay grapes in Montrachet (1.7 acres).

As is well known, the wines of DRC are among the most expensive in the world, with Romanée-Conti itself at the very pinnacle. According to wine-searcher.com, currently the minimum retail price in the United States for a bottle of the 2016 vintage is $21,000. To place that in context, note that a bottle of 1945 Romanée- Conti sold at a Sotheby’s auction in 2018 for $558,000.

Why do these wines command such staggering prices? An initial answer that is little more than tautological for readers of this journal is that the supply is miniscule (see the numbers noted earlier) and the demand is massive. So, why is the demand so great? Part of the answer is associated with the quality of the wines, due to superb terroir, high-density plantings, old vines, low yields, and only minimal intervention in the winery. Of course, much the same can be said of many other great, but consid- erably less costly wines. Surely, a larger share of the answer has to do with pedigree, prestige, and the existence of extreme wealth in many parts of the world.

The book takes two chapters to cover DRC’s long history, a chapter to describe the terroir, a chapter for a close examination of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, and two more chapters to describe the procedures used in the vineyards and the wineries. One long chapter takes us through each of the eight Cru of DRC, and another features an interview with Aubert de Villaine, which is among the most interesting and satisfying parts of the entire book. A final chapter provides Michael Broadbent’s complete tasting notes going from the 1940 vintage through the 2013 vintage. From the first page to the last page, the beautiful photography of Jan Bartelsman illustrates the text; indeed, in many cases, the text is no more than extended captions for the photos.

At the end of this review, Burgundy aficionados may be offended by my bring- ing into the discussion the existence of new world Pinot Noir, and even more so by my referencing one of my favorite wine films, Sideways, which I reviewed in this journal about 13 years ago (Stavins, 2006). A high-point of the film is when Maya (played by Virginia Madsen) asks Miles (Paul Giamatti) why he is so into Pinot Noir. His response, which is both moving and revealing, is this:

“I don’t know. It’s a hard grape to grow. As you know. It’s thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It’s not a survivor like Cabernet that can grow anywhere and thrive even when neglected. Pinot needs constant care and attention and in fact can only grow in specific little tucked-away corners of the world. And only the most patient and nurturing growers can do it really, can tap into Pinot’s most fragile, delicate qualities. Only when someone has taken the time to truly understand its potential can Pinot be coaxed into its fullest expression. And when that happens, its flavors are the most haunting and brilliant and subtle and thrilling and ancient on the planet.”

That is what makes Pinot Noir wines so distinctive, with the best coming from Burgundy—the highest expression of special terroir. And, of course, no wines of Burgundy are more celebrated that those of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti.

Having gotten through this massive volume about the history and the wines of DRC without ever having tasted even a drop of any of these legendary wines, I should mark the occasion by opening a bottle. But, alas, I cannot afford even the “humblest” of DRC wines, or, for that matter, nearly any other Grand Cru Classé Burgundy. Much to my surprise, however, just now I found listed in my cellar data- base three bottles of 2007 Domaine Chandon de Briailles from the Les Bressandes vineyard in the Grand Cru appellation of Corton. If you will excuse me, I will close this review, and make my way downstairs to my cellar, with corkscrew and glass in hand.

Robert N. Stavins
Harvard University
Robert_Stavins@hks.harvard.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.22

“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” so the saying goes. Nor often by its title. Who could guess the content behind titles like Ulysses, Twelfth Night, The Sound and the Fury, or A Study in Scarlet? There are exceptions, of course. Adam Smith was not hiding anything when he chose the title: An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. And, A General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money pretty much sums up what John Maynard Keynes had in mind.

However, for most books, one needs context to even guess what the title means. R. Jared Staudt’s The Beer Option is an example. His title is a play on words from The Benedict Option, the New York Times bestseller (Dreher, 2017). For those unfamiliar with Dreher’s book, its title is based on the monastic movement of Saint Benedict (480–547 AD). Monks in the Benedictine order withdrew from the prevailing culture, but not fully; they sought to influence and redeem the world around them. This required Benedictine monks to be in the world, but not of the world. Dreher’s “Benedict Option” is a blueprint for Christians to withdraw from the prevailing secular culture—but not too much.

The Beer Option does not have a separatist agenda that matches The Benedict Option. However, a theme that runs through Staudt’s book is that a proper appreci- ation of beer produces a proper appreciation of life—and that way of life stands apart from the vagaries of contemporary culture. Dreher writes, “Recognizing the toxins of modern secularism…Benedict Option Christians look to Scripture and Benedict’s Rule for ways to cultivate practices and communities” (p. 18). Staudt lauds homebrewing as a “practice” and brewpubs as a “community.”

Staudt divides his book into four parts. The title of each section helps unpack what may be cryptic in the book’s title: (1) A Catholic History of Beer; (2) Beer and Culture; (3) The Experience of Beer; and (4) Beer and Cultural Problems. The first three sections are the heart of the book, the first providing a historical foundation for the book’s theme; the second, a taxonomy of what the author means by culture and its nexus with malt beverages; and the third, a description of how the production and consumption of beer can enhance human flourishing. The first three sections assemble the material in a readable fashion and do so in a decidedly Roman Catholic grain (pun intended). The last section is idiosyncratic, describing the sinful side of beer (alcohol abuse) and a comparison of beer with mar- ijuana. I found the section on “Beer versus Marijuana” out of joint with the rest of the book.

There are two links that Staudt develops between The Beer Option and The Benedict Option. The first is that the brewing of beer and the enjoyment of its con- sumption are agents of human flourishing. Staudt defines a “Catholic culture” as one that “provides nourishment and comfort for humanity” (p. 67). He contends that the production of beer as well as the consumption of beer by families and small commu- nities facilitates such a culture. Hence, the book has material on “Feasting, Fasting and Friendship” and “The Economics of Homebrewing.”

The second link is that brewing in monastic orders was, and is today, an impor- tant means of preserving and modeling a “Catholic culture.” The sections of the book on “The Rise of Monastic Brewing” and “The Renaissance of Benedictine Brewing” illustrate this connection. The Benedictines (and other monastic orders) have a centuries-old tradition of religious communities that brewed beer and con- tinue to do so. Within Roman Catholicism, beer has an ancient sacramental nature, as expressed in this Roman Ritual:

Bless, O Lord, this creature beer, which thou hast deigned to produce from the fat of grain: that it may be a salutary remedy to the human race, and grant, through the invocation of thy holy name, that whoever shall drink it may gain health in body and peace in soul. Through Christ our Lord. Amen. (p. 2)

Saint Arnold of Metz was more frugal with words: “From man’s sweat and God’s love, beer came into the world” (p. 116).

As Staudt’s book makes clear, monks did not totally spiritualize beer or confine its consumption to the monastery. Beer was a means to be “in the world but not of the world.” This duality of malt beverages continues to this day. There was and there remains a commercial aspect of monastic brewing that brought the beer, if not the monks, into the marketplace. Fans of craft beer in the United States are familiar with “Trappist beer” and “Trappist ale”—even if they are unaware of the religious roots of this particular malt beverage. Staudt argues that monasteries were the first “firms” to produce beer to scale.

It would be a stretch to write a book called The Beer Option: Brewing a Protestant Culture. One reason is because Protestants, going back to the roots of the Reformation, place more emphasis on the Bible than Roman Catholics. And in a traditional Protestant exegesis of the Bible, beer has no place. The conventional wisdom is that the (English) Bible, when it refers to alcoholic beverages, puts its chips on wine and “strong drink.” James Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible, for example, contains hundreds of references to wine, from Genesis 9:21 to Revelations 18:13 (Strong, 2009). Strong drink shows up in places such as Proverbs 20:1 and Isaiah 28:7. However, even though Strong’s Concordance is “exhaustive,” there is no reference to beer.1

Staudt’s book contends that the Hebrew word shekar (שֵׁכָר) probably means beer. This would be consistent with the history of beer, which dates back to Mesopotamia and would put beer “on the map” both historically and geographically as a beverage known in Biblical time and place.

So, what exactly is a “Catholic culture” with regard to beer? One telling response is from the writings of, arguably, the most famous Roman Catholic novelist of the 20th century: J. R. R. Tolkien. In his fictional work, commercial establish- ments for consuming beer were not the bars and honkytonks of country and western music. Rather, Tolkien created literary pubs like the Prancing Pony and the Green Dragon as venues of healthy and flourishing communities. In The Lord of the Rings (Tolkien, 1965), when the hobbits returned to the Shire, the community no longer had the camaraderie that beer offered. In the fight to restore the previous culture of the Shire, the inns were reopened and the fine beer of the past was once again brewed. With all that has been written to describe the social pleasures of drink- ing beer, few verses match the fetching words of Frodo’s song (p. 170):

There is an inn, a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill.
And there they brew a beer so brown That the man of the moon came down one night to drink his fill.

Staudt sees the Renaissance of craft beer in the United States, with its brewpubs and beer festivals, as real world examples of what Tolkien admired in his world of fantasy. He applauds social events for Roman Catholics that involve beer consump- tion, such as “Pint with a Priest,” “Prayer, Penance, and Pub Nights,” and (my favor- ite) “Beer and Brats with the Bishop.”

Contrary to common portrayal, life in the Benedictine monastery was not one of prayers and solitude. It also involved productive work. Staudt quotes John Henry Newman about the Benedictines: “their poetry was the poetry of hard work and hard fare, unselfish hearts and charitable hands” (p. 108). As Staudt depicts them, “The monks embody the Christian balance of being in the world but not of the world, a balance that models the relationship between beer and culture. Even as the monks retreat from the world, they become the best brewers in the world!” (p. 110).

I began this review by discussing the book’s title: The Beer Option. A rowdy fra- ternity at an American university might glance at this title and think, “Here’s a book worth reading.” However, intemperate beer drinkers will find Staudt’s book disap- pointing, particularly the section called “Drunkenness and Temperance.” Indeed, The Beer Option is, in part, a tract for sobriety in beer consumption—although sobri- ety is an ancillary theme in Staudt’s book. G.K. Chesterton, the creator of the Father Brown mystery novels and a notable apologist for Roman Catholicism, had this to say to consumers of beer and wine: “we should thank God for beer and burgundy by not drinking too much of them” (p. 111).

Oenologists who read the Journal of Wine Economics might wonder: Could Staudt’s thesis about beer be applied to those monasteries whose spiritual output is prayer, but whose commercial output is wine? The answer is yes. Staudt’s book sets forth a Catholic Culture and its connection to beer. A book similar to this one could be written about a Catholic Culture and wine. As Staudt writes:

Beer is a creature of both God and man. God has established in His providence everything human needs (sic) to create it…. Beer does not simply spring forth from the earth; we take the fat of the earth that God has given us, and we shape it and bring about a higher development (p. 67).

Families and monasteries that have produced wine for generations would second this. Staudt writes, “Wine may surpass beer for its subtlety, but beer certainly offers a greater variety of flavors …” (p. 131). He adds, “Drinking beer is much more enjoyable and even healthier than simply eating barley!” (p. 67). The same is true about drinking wine rather than eating grapes.

The Beer Option will not be as influential as The Benedict Option. Nonetheless, in the burgeoning supply of books about the beer industry in the past decade, Staudt’s contribution quenches a niche demand and does so like a Black Habit Ale.2

Kenneth G. Elzinga
University of Virginia
elzinga@virginia.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.20

Ever since I read Maltman’s papers (Maltman, 2013a, 2013b), I bristle when I hear the term “minerality” used in a description of a wine. Geologic1 minerals have no smell or taste, he insists. How incredibly naïve it is, then, to think that a wine is a medium for transporting flavors from the land in which the vines that grew the grapes are planted. After all, when we smell flowers or taste berries in a wine, we know it is not because it contains them. But as others acknowledge: “Although many tasting terms are metaphorical…, there is a strong temptation to interpret ‘mineral’ rather more literally…” (Robinson, 2015, p. 465). Of course, not doing so could undermine a fundamental tenet of terroirists. Since the beginning of this century, “minerality” and “mineral” appear ubiquitously in wine writing. Maltman claims that “apparently it has now become the most widely used taste descriptor” (p. 176). To me, it comes across as a vinous verbal tick that signals an indolent vagueness wrapped around a desire to flaunt a tuned-in palate. At times, I requested more specificity from visitors to a tasting room where I worked when they claimed to have detected minerality, then sought validation from me, which, of course, I never gave. So I was amused and humbled as I was preparing this review when I read a tasting note that I had written while sampling a 1967 Chablis Grand Cru Vaudésir from Domaine Mary Drouhin in 1976: “Taste very flint and earth (sic)…Very earthy, minerally finish” (Hulkower, 1976). Oh, the irony! What was I thinking? Or more precisely, since I was still a novice, who or what was I channeling? The pervasive tasting-note meme clearly has its roots going back many decades.

Since a long-practiced habit dies hard, a strong jolt is required to dislodge it. Maltman’s excellent book is intended to be just that. The retired Professor of Earth Sciences at Aberystwyth University in Wales and amateur vigneron deploys his formidable twin-pronged knowledge and pedagogical prowess in this volume aimed specifically at wine professionals, especially those who are perpetuating the myth of minerality in their writing. So ingrained is the idea that we can taste minerals in wine that numerous labels include the names of or references to rocks, minerals, and land features. In the Preface, Maltman advises: “…these days it’s almost oblig- atory in the wine world to know something about the geology of wine-producing areas and of particular vineyards” (p. xi). But he cautions: “…geology is a highly conceptual subject and not easy to pick up quickly” (p. xi). So will those who are too lazy to be more precise in their descriptions be too lazy to read this challenging work? One hopes that they are as receptive to Maltman’s message as the celebrated British wine writer Andrew Jefford who in the Foreword states: “…he is a scientist – and wine lover – with an open and enquiring mind who merely asks that we should understand what the technical terms mean before we use them and that we respect the journey toward understanding which science has so far permitted us” (p. x).

In the 12 chapters comprising the book, Maltman’s approach is to teach geology literally from below the ground up, starting at the atomic level with the ele- ments (Chapter 1) that build the minerals (Chapters 2 and 3) that make the rocks (Chapter 4 to 8) that weather and erode and mix with biological material, called humus, to make the soil (Chapters 9 and 10). Chapter 11, Vineyards and the intended audience, Chapter 12, Epilogue: So is Vineyard Geology Important for Wine Tasting? complete the lessons.

Maltman reminds us: “…all rocks and soils are made from (geologic) minerals, not some more than others” (p. 173). Throughout the book, Maltman drives home the point that no geologic mineral can be sensed in a wine. For example, regarding slate, which is prevalent in many vineyards, most famously in those on the Mosel and Rhine in Germany, he asserts: “…like most rocks, slate lacks any taste or odor. To have taste, a substance has to dissolve, and manifestly that is not the case with an inert material that makes practicable kitchen countertops and durable roofs” (p. 99).

There is another type of mineral, however, nutrient mineral, and therein lies some of the confusion. In addition to water, a vine only needs sunlight for photosyn- thesis and essential nutrients to thrive. Maltman explains, “Mycorrhizal fungi living in the soil can extract some [nutrients] directly from geologic minerals and transfer them into the vine’s roots but otherwise complex weathering processes and ion exchange have to act to release the elements into the soil’s pore water” (p. 167). These nutrients are sometimes called mineral nutrients because they are extracted from the ground. But, he notes, “most nutrition typically comes from the top few tens of centimeters or so of the soil” (p. 167). In particular, “the greater part of the nutrition comes from the organic matter in the soil” (p. 173). The critical process of cation (positive ion) exchange in soil water with the vine roots is master- fully explained in Chapter 2. Vine roots that grow deeper into bedrock are in search of water, not nutrients.

So since vines absorb nutrient but not geologic minerals, can we taste those? Well, for one thing, wines do not have much of them. “In normal wines, mineral nutrients typically comprise less than 0.2%, in total,” Maltman informs us (p. 176). Based on studies using water, a far less complex beverage than wine, “[i] t’s possible that the tiny amounts can interact to produce some aggregate effect, but, tellingly, tasters report that as the presence of metal ions becomes increasingly detectable, the water becomes more and more disagreeable” (p. 177). He concludes “describing a wine as mineral or possessing minerality should not be referring to actual minerals – geologic or nutrient – but should be recalling some cue, some mental association” (p. 177).

For those willing to face the scientific facts but not all the details, the last chapter is a valuable summary and a firm persistent pushback on popular beliefs regarding the connection between the taste of wine and geology. The flavor of wine is largely created by our senses of smell and taste. Maltman reiterates, “The taste components mainly involve ions and compounds in solution and geologic min- erals are practically insoluble” (p. 217). Sodium chloride is an exception and gives a salty taste. But because “growers avoid salt in vineyard soils, and grapevines try to reject sodium…wine normally contains little salt, less than the minimum…most people require to be present in water in order to recognize it: a perception of saltiness in wine is usually metaphorical” (p. 217).

What is it then that is creating the impression that we are smelling and tasting rocks? Highly aromatic organic compounds like microorganisms are likely a source. A popular term in wine notes these days is petrichor, the smell of rocks after a rain, which is caused by “the vaporization of certain organic oils (lipids, carotenoid, etc.) …” (p. 219). Maltman addresses the iodine smell of the ocean in some Chablis and makes the case that any iodine present would be in too small a concentration to be perceptible and “has to be a metaphor and unrelated in any direct way to the actual vineyard geology” (p. 219). Investigations are underway looking at bacteria lodged in the cleavages of minerals as a possible influence on wine, but nothing is clear yet.

Maltman has produced an important work that should give pause to those addicted to glibly tossing around “mineral” or “minerality” when referring to a wine’s smell or taste. Though geology is a hard subject relying on its own sometimes confusing terminology and a bit of chemistry, his explanations, leavened with sly, wry, and even, once in a while, lame humor, as well as numerous charming digres- sions, are lucid. He draws from his deep and detailed knowledge of vineyards, wines, and wine growing regions around the world to continually relate the geology to the interests of the intended readership. Black and white illustrations mer- cifully breakup the dense text, but sometimes are not sharp enough to highlight the features of interest. Fortunately, two dozen of them are also included as vivid color plates, albeit without the captions, so flipping back and forth is required. Most chap- ters conclude with an annotated list of suggested references. A six-page two-column index assists the reader in finding a definition or first mention of a term and is essen- tial in the absence of a glossary.

Despite all of the science refuting the notion of minerality in wine, I still per- ceive saltiness in a manzanilla or a grower champagne and chalk in a Pouilly- Fuissé. Is it real or is it a metaphor? Who am I going to believe, Maltman or my own palate? In the end, as Maltman, I accept that science must prevail and that even- tually it will render these questions false dichotomies.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.19

If the body of law regulating the American wine industry was not so absurdly incon- sistent and infuriatingly intrusive while at the same time mute on what would seem to be critical issues, it would be humorous. Attorney Jordan Lipp and his wife, Heather, a finance executive and wine blogger (www.10kbottles.com), offer the reader “Part cocktail trivia and part Myth Busters – a book explaining thirty-eight bizarre rules that most of us wine drinkers only have a vague notion about, yet they define what is in our wine, how we buy it, and how we enjoy it” (p. 2). Many of these rules were enacted after the 21st Amendment to the U.S. Constitution repealed the 18th Amendment that led to the era of Prohibition. Section 2 of the repeal has been interpreted to cede to the states the regulation of alcohol within their borders. The result is a hodge podge of laws, some of which have come into conflict with the Dormant Commerce Clause that prohibits states from discriminat- ing against interstate or international trade. And then there are the federal regulations. “Prohibition may have officially ended in 1933, but our nation is still reeling from its effects,” (p. 129), the Lipps confirm.

The book’s 38 chapters are grouped in five parts: Naming and Identifying Wines; Making Wines; Labeling and Warnings on Wines; Selling, Shipping, and Consuming Wines; and Crime, Religion, State Warnings, and Home Winemaking. A Summation and Final Thoughts conclude the short volume.

Part One (Chapters 1 to 8) deals with the laws pertaining to the percent of a variety that must be in a wine labeled with its name, naming wines for foreign wine regions such as Champagne, the percent of wine designating a particular American Viticultural Area (AVA) that must come from it, and the percent of a vintage dated wine that must have been harvested in that year. These regulations might seem unex- citing and perhaps irrelevant, but they remain at the heart of contemporary high- stakes conflicts. For example, Chapter 6 looks at the efforts to protect the name, Napa Valley. Ironically, a Napa-based winery has recently been challenged for its labels by the state of Oregon based on some of the regulations mentioned in Part One.

As this is being written, a labeling dispute is raging between Copper Cane Wines in Napa Valley and the Oregon Liquor Control Commission (OLCC). Two of Copper Cane’s wines, Elouan and “The Willametter Journal,” are made from Pinot Noir grapes grown in Oregon, but are produced in California. The 2017 Elouan is labelled with the names of the three Oregon AVAs, where the grapes were grown, along with the tagline “The Coastal Standard. Purely Oregon, Always Coastal” and a statement by the winemaker, Joseph Wagner: “We produce wines that define Oregon’s coastal regions. For our Pinot Noir, we bring together three diverse valleys along Oregon’s coast…” There are a number of problems including the fact that these three valleys are not on the coast where Pinot Noir grapes could not be expected to ripen. Furthermore, each of the valleys listed is a separate AVA that is noncontiguous with the others. If an AVA is listed on the label, 85% of the grapes must come from it. The label of “The Willametter Journal” refers to the wine being sourced from the Territory of Oregon, ignoring its becoming a state in 1859 and implying that the grapes come from the Willamette Valley AVA. Upon review at the request of the state of Oregon, the U.S. Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) reversed itself and ordered changes to seven labels they had previously approved. In the meantime, the OLCC revoked Copper Cane’s certificate of approval to do business in Oregon. The decision is under appeal.

A key concern in the Copper Cane case is the fact that the winery, which produces the wine from Oregon grapes is in California, a state that has more relaxed standards for additives and percentages. Yet in Chapter 19, the authors declare “the location of the winery…is too boring a topic for a chapter…” (p. 99). Amusingly, though, they admit “this topic is not too boring for a lengthy footnote!” (p. 99, footnote 1).

The Introduction to Part Two is a brief and simple description of how wine is made with enough references to pooping out alcohol and burping out carbon dioxide in less than three pages to delight most three year olds. And if a reader still has not had enough, these bodily functions reappear at the beginning of Chapter 9. Striving for approachability can lead to excessive cutesiness.

Laws that address what additives are permitted in wine are discussed in Chapters 9 to 14 with the last answering the question that is the book’s title. Spoiler alert: tech- nically speaking, the answer is that fermented apple juice can be added to grape wine and not have to be called apple wine. In fact, there is no requirement for a winery to list any ingredients on a bottle (Chapter 12).

Otherwise, wine labels are regulated at least as much as the liquid they describe, but with some surprising, although not always unwelcome, exceptions. Chapters 15 to 23 that comprise Part Three cover what is required to appear, what may appear, and what is strictly prohibited on a bottle of wine. Among the topics addressed, the authors explain the historical reason no nutritional information including calories must be listed, while wishing that it was, and why, mercifully, there is no quality rating for wine like there is in many European countries.

The folly of Federalism in the realm of fermented beverages is laid out in Part Four (Chapters 24 to 33). Each state dictates its own rules for selling and serving wine, charging corkage, and receiving shipments. While there are no longer any totally dry states, there are still dry counties and municipalities. During my undergraduate days in Evanston, Illinois, for example, no alcohol could be sold within city limits. The reason was the charter of Northwestern University was amended in 1855 to ban the sale of fermented beverages within four miles of campus and had nothing to do with the fact that the township was later to become the headquarters of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. This, of course, did not stop upperclassman from making runs to liquor stores that lined Howard Street, the border between Evanston and Chicago, and sharing the haul with those of us who were underage. In June 1972, before I returned for graduate school, Evanston permitted the sale of alcohol with a meal, however that is defined. Chapter 24 includes examples of how that ambiguity has been resolved, mostly for the worse. Since liquor stores did not appear in Evanston until after I graduated, I was forced to acquire my wine in neighboring Skokie and occasionally in Chicago.

“Trying to figure out the labyrinth of state regulations on shipping wine in the United States makes it seem like it would be easier to ship Uranium than wine from one state to another,” (p. 146) the authors complain. In fact, keeping track of the evolving laws reg- ulating the shipment of alcohol between states has led to the creation of businesses that assist wineries with compliance. While after Granholm v. Heald, the case that the U.S. Supreme Court narrowly decided in favor of out-of-state wineries wanting to ship to states under the same rules as wineries within them, thus, giving dominance to the Dormant Commerce Clause over the 21st Amendment, things have gotten somewhat better, but each state still has its own limits and peculiarities.

Two other issues were recently litigated that again pit the two constitutional clauses against each other. In November 2018, the 7th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in the case of Lebamoff Enterprises, Inc. et al. v. Bruce Rauner, et al. and Wine & Spirit Distribution of Illinois overturned a ruling by the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois that permitted Illinois to prohibit out- of-state retailers from shipping liquor to its residents citing the Dormant Commerce Clause as the basis for the decision. On 26 June 2019 in a seven to two decision, the U.S. Supreme Court in the case of Tennessee Wine and Spirits Retailers Association v. Clayton Byrd held that Tennessee’s two-year residency requirement for out-of-state residents to obtain a retail liquor license violated the Dormant Commerce Clause and was not saved by the 21st Amendment.

Part Five (Chapters 34 to 38) is a collection of “several miscellaneous laws about wine that we just did not feel belonged in the other parts of this book” (p. 163).

This self-published paperback, while certainly a worthwhile read, suffers from a lack of careful editing. There are missing words, too much repetition of ideas, and errors (“chalk full” (p. 125) instead of chock full). While the extensive, mercifully same-page, footnotes cite the primary sources of the regulations, secondary sources, especially The Oxford Companion to Wine, 4th Edition by Jancis Robinson et al., are referenced for wine related claims and even for a discussion of the Italian government quality rating system (Chapter 21) where primary sources are available. A list of references or bibliography and an index would have been useful.

Despite its flaws, Is There Apple Juice in My Wine? is a breezy account of an inher- ently ponderous subject that affects all aspects of the U.S. wine industry. For the investment of a few hours and the price of a modest bottle of wine, a reader can enjoy a somewhat frothy, opinionated, but well-informed overview of the regulations behind many of the controversies still raging and gain insight into what may actually be in that bottle of Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.18

Wine and Place is best described by its sub-title: A Terroir Reader. It is a reference par excellence. Every library and serious wine aficionado should have a copy of this lively book on the shelves. And, of course, this includes the libraries of wine economists

even though most of the pages are devoted to topics not directly related to our field.

This reviewer appreciates that Wine and Place does not shy away from controver- sies. For example, anyone who has much experience tasting wine is familiar with minerality. But there is an open question about exactly what that descriptive term means. After all, basalt—which is associated with minerality—has no aroma or flavor. Some go so far as to say that minerality is so vague a description as to be meaningless. The authors devote 26 pages (pp. 197–222) to teasing apart this controversy.

A Browsable Book but with a Linear Narrative

Patterson and Buechsenstein have divided their subject into nine chapters, each devoted to a particular topic. Then they add excerpts, often lengthy excerpts, from various writings on the subject. In the book’s “Introduction,” the authors advise the reader, “We do not expect many people to sit down and read through this book cover to cover in rapt concentration. More likely, the self-contained chapters should provide food for thought, a chance to meditate on discrete aspects of terroir, whether the minutiae of soil composition or the perils of promotional hyper- bole” (p. 4). In other words, the reader is invited to treat this book as a volume of short stories or as a reference book, dipping in where interested and bypassing other topics. The authors make a point of selecting material reflecting a variety of opposing viewpoints. After adding their own opinions and critiques of an expert, they add narrative which smoothly segues to the next excerpt and the next chapter.

The Book’s Ten Theses Framework—Does Terroir Even Exist?

In addition to the nine chapters, the “Introduction” is essential reading. Think of it as Chapter 0. There the authors explain in some depth the “framework” motivating their chapter narratives—“Ten Theses on Terroir.” The ten are numbered using Roman numerals, in order to stress their importance no doubt. Let’s examine a few of the ten theses, starting with:

“I. We believe the effects of terroir are real and undeniable. … This is true for both macro- climate regions—Alsatian Riesling is different from Austrian, from German, from Finger Lakesian—and for specific vineyards and sites.”

II. We believe that many if not most of the standard depictions of this phenomenon, however, are worthy of skepticism. …” (pp. 4–5)

It’s hard for this reviewer to argue with those sentiments. And the book’s first chapter, “The Lure and Promise of Terroir,” presents a balanced historical perspec- tive on both sides of the controversy over whether the independent effects of terroir are real or imaginary. The opening excerpt is a passage from Matt Kramer’s Making Sense of Burgundy (1990). Kramer develops the idea of “somewhereness”—the word

Kramer coined to describe how terroir expresses itself in wine.

“The ideal is to amplify terroir without distorting it. Terroir should be transmitted as free as possible of extraneous elements or style or taste. Ideally, one should not be able to find the hand of the winemaker. …” (p. 12)

That “ideal” terroir purity may be expecting too much. But it is consistent with state- ments made to this reviewer by a number of winemakers: “We try to get the best fruit we can, then not screw it up.”

Let’s jump to Thesis VI.

“VI. A pair of observations that aren’t strictly speaking, thesis statements, but need to be included in our [the authors’] initial salvo.”

First, we note that two critical dimensions are almost entirely missing from standard dis- cussions of terroir. First, … precious few rigorous sensory studies have been conducted …

Second, … almost no attention has been paid to what the vines do, to the photosynthetic and physiological mechanisms that actually create the chemical behind the distinctive flavors and aromas of terroir-driven wines. …” (pp. 5–6)

Their second point is well-taken. As far as this reviewer knows there has been little, if any, terroir research into wine grape plant biology. How do the vines translate terroir into fruit? Attention researchers: additional work is needed.

But their first point seems overstated. There has been recent work on the relation- ship between terroir and the chemical makeup of the underlying sensory flavors of grape juice. Significant research progress has been made in the science of the taste of terroir since the book was written. This is, of course, one of the hazards faced by authors writing about selectively about prior research—previously unstudied topics eventually get studied. This reviewer will mention such research below.

The Book’s Chapters—A Wide Spectrum of Disciplines

There are nine chapters in the book: “The Lure and Promise of Terroir,” “History and Definitions,” “Soil: The Terre in Terroir,” “Climate: Limits and Variations,” “Grapevines: Bringing Terroir to Life,” “Winemaking: The Human Element of Terroir,” “Sensory: Validating Terroir,” “Marketing: Terroir for Sale,” and “The Future of Terroir.” Let’s dip into a couple of the chapters – “Soil” and then “Marketing.”

Chapter 3, “Soil: The Terre in Terroir”

This is the first of several chapters featuring some hard science technical discussion. (The “Climate” and “Grapevines” chapters are also quite technical.) In the “Soil” chapter, there are several scientific studies excerpted beginning with Kevin Pogue (2010) who was interested in the effect of basalt on wines. Basalt has high iron content. Iron is important for wines, with higher concentrations creating longer wine aging potential. Working in the Columbia Valley AVA in Washington, Pogue measured available iron in soil depths accessible to roots. He found that more access to basalt meant more available iron. But he did not directly test the grapes or the wine.

In the late 1960s, Gerard Seguin (University of Bordeaux) took a different approach. He looked for similarities in the soils of great winegrowing regions. He dis- covered that the physical structure of the soil mattered more than its chemical compo- sition contents. Good drainage, access to an aquifer early in the growing season, and rainfall after the grape harvest to replenish the aquifer during the winter are important factors. This optimal, seasonal water availability explains the importance of gravel, slate, and other loosely packed soil structures in making great wine.

But here are three instances where the march of research progress overtakes the authors’ manuscript.

1. Their manuscript was completed before Dr. Kathryn Nora Barnard (2016) actu- ally studied the chemical composition of the taste of the wine produced from grapes grown at various terroir sites in the Willamette Valley (Oregon). (Earlier she performed a similar terroir and taste analysis for Missouri wine (2009).) Although the Willamette Valley wines were tasted, the analyzed results are not yet public.1 Yet this reviewer feels including Dr. Barnard’s Missouri 2009 results in this book would have been useful.

2. In the commercial sector, James Cahill (2018) manager of the Soter Vineyard’s new North Valley label, has recently done considerable work on the relation between the terroir—physical soil composition, exposure, and climate—of diverse Soter fields and the resulting distinct pinot noir taste profiles.

3. Orley Ashenfelter and Karl Storchmann (2010) have studied terroir effects in the Mosel Valley. They rely on data from a detailed survey of the altitude and angle of all of the vineyards in Mosel. Using well-known results from physics they calculate the quantity and quality of sunlight on each vineyard. They add other explanatory variables such as soil composition and use the data as predictors of land prices. Ashenfelter and Storchmann then use their model to predict the impact of global warming on vineyard prices in that region.

And let us not overlook that the book mixes in dashes of wry humor. For example, the authors note that although terroir has a significant effect on human efforts to make wine, humans in turn can have a significant effect on the terroir.

“Tom Burgess remembers planting his vineyard on the steep slopes of Howell Mountain by cracking the bedrock with dynamite to make room for vine roots. … When Jan Krupp devel- oped the 650 acres of Stagecoach Vineyards in the region of Atlas Peak, he ripped an esti- mated half million tons of boulders …” (pp. 66–68)

Chapter 8: “Marketing: Terroir for Sale”

As economists we are interested in certain aspects of marketing including pricing. This chapter on marketing includes valuable information as well as many entertain- ing anecdotes. One example is the history of Bordeaux which, as it happens, was largely invented in the late 1800s by the vineyard owners in the region. A more illu- minating tale is the story of Chalk Hill California chardonnay. Today that label is one of the top premium chardonnays in the United States. But in 1996 their wines were relegated to American grocery store shelves at very low prices. As a consumer of those wines back then, this reviewer remembers that the wine was a true bargain. The owners decided to make a commitment to change the marketing of their brand. Note that they did not improve the wine itself very much. Instead they worked with consultants and focus groups to identify the unique elements their chardonnay offered. And, sure enough, those elements were partially the result of terroir in the form of the chalky soil in which the grapes were grown. They achieved what every business owner dreams of: higher price, higher revenue, and very little change in cost.

How to Know If You Need This Book

This book is essential for your library if you are at all serious about wine. As the authors advise, use it as a reference book when you need information about a topic or just a few pithy quotes. The authors have performed a real service cataloging and connecting a well-selected multitude of writings and presentations about terroir.

In the Oxford English Dictionary, the definitions of dummy that could refer to a potential reader of this book are most unflattering: “a dumb person” and “a dolt, blockhead.” And yet, since the first book in the For Dummies series appeared in 1991, more than 200 million books with about 2,500 titles are in print. There is even a competing collection with a much more offensive name, The Complete Idiot’s Guides. There must be a following that is not put off by the insulting titles since Wine for Dummies recently released a seventh edition.

Husband and wife, Ed McCarthy, a Certified Wine Educator, and Mary Ewing- Mulligan, the first American woman to earn a Master of Wine, unquestionably have the credentials to produce this guide ambitiously aimed at an audience well beyond dummies. In addition to someone who knows little about wine but wants to learn more, the book is pitched to those who “know something about wine… but want to understand it better, from the ground up” as well as to those who are “already very knowledgeable but realize that [he or she] can always discover more” (p. 3). The results are certainly competent but mixed.

The text consists of an Introduction and eight parts that are subdivided into chap- ters: “Getting Started with Wine” (five chapters), “Wine and You: Up Close and Personal” (four chapters), “Wine’s Classic Face: The ‘Old World’ of Wine” (three chapters), “Wine’s Modern Face: The ‘New World’ of Wine” (two chapters), “Wine’s Exotic Face” (two chapters), “When You’ve Caught the Bug” (three chap- ters), “The Part of Tens” (two chapters), and “Appendixes” (three appendixes). Icons in the margins are standard features in the For Dummies series. Six are used in this book: Real Deal denotes bargain wine; Remember highlights material that bears repeating; Technical Stuff, Tip, Warning, and Worth the Search are self- explanatory. Oddly, the icon for Tip is called a bull’s-eye despite being a light bulb.

Part 1 covers some of the fundamentals about wine. Chapter 1, “Wine 101,” charges through in 12 pages the basics on how wine is made and its colors and styles. Though the authors claim to incorporate recent changes in the wine world, there is no mention of orange wines, certainly a hot topic these days. They offer useful tips on how to taste, what to say when tasting, what the components of taste are, and how to identify good and bad wine. An overview of major and some less familiar grape varieties includes a nice concise discussion of personality traits versus performance factors. The lesson on how to read wine labels should be helpful to the uninitiated. Unfortunately, the authors maintain terroir has no fixed definition, ignoring the one given by the Organisation Internationale de la Vigne et du Vin (OIV). The section concludes with a short chapter entitled Winemaking Matters that touches on jargon, vine-growing, and turning grapes into wine.

The second part offers advice on purchasing wine to take home or to consume in a restaurant. Sometimes in an attempt to be helpful, the line to insulting is crossed by stating the obvious, for example: “The glass of wine that you order can be ordinary or finer, inexpensive or higher-priced, depending on the restaurant” (p. 93). A chapter on serving wine recommends cork removers including the Screwpull, the two-pronged Ah-So, and the waiter’s corkscrew. Curiously, the authors also mention The Durand, a high-priced combination corkscrew and Ah-So designed to extract a cork from a very old bottle without pushing it in or breaking it. While I have had my share of adventures opening decades-old bottles, I have not felt com- pelled to purchase one of these. A novice would be better advised to spend the money on an interesting case of moderately-priced wines. The remainder of the chapter does do a fine job of describing all the facets of wine service at home. The second part concludes with a very short chapter on wine pairings that should provide some comfort to those with no experience.

Part 3, the longest, takes the reader to Europe with extended visits to France and Italy and quick trips to Spain, Portugal, Germany, Austria, Greece, Hungary, Croatia, and Slovenia. The chapters on France and Italy offer a good though not exhaustive overview of the wine regions in both countries. Each has its own sep- arate volume in the For Dummies series for which I can offer no opinion, but neither are up-to-date. Likely for the benefit of more knowledgeable readers, there is more discussion in these chapters of high-end wines than what might be expected for mere dummies. In contrast, the brief summaries of the wine scenes in the other countries should be enough to whet the appetites of the uninitiated but leave the cognoscenti thirsty for more. Missing are suggestions for low- and moderately-price wines from the Eastern European countries cited as well as some others, for example, Bulgaria, from which great value bottles are appearing in the United States.

The wine scenes in the United States, which gets its own chapter, Australia, New Zealand, Chile, Argentina, and South Africa are described in Part 4. With 18 pages, California, of course, claims the most ink in the chapter entitled “America, America.” The reader looking for more is referred to the authors’ California Wine for Dummies, released in 2009, which I have not read. Oregon, Washington State, and New York are each discussed in under five pages. Covering the countries in three continents, the 20-page chapter on the Southern Hemisphere concludes the part, making no mention of Uruguay, which produces moderately-priced wines that should appeal to those looking for good value.

Two chapters comprise Part 5, one on Champagne and other sparkling wines and a second on fortified and dessert wines. Both are very well done and provide a broad if somewhat shallow overview. A plug for McCarthy’s Champagne for Dummies, released in 1999, of course, is included.

If you began reading this book uncertain if you are a “dummy for wine” and dis- cover that you are, Part 6 provides advice on buying and collecting wine, learning more about your new favorite adult beverage, and describing and rating it. The rec- ommendations are well presented and sound. The lists of books, magazines, newslet- ters, and online resources (pp. 354–360) are particularly good.

On the other hand, Part 7 could have been entirely left out. “The Ten Common Questions about Wine” and “Ten Wine Myths” repeat some of the information con- tained in earlier chapters for no apparent reason and with no obvious benefit.

The three appendixes in Part 8 are a useful pronunciation guide and a glossary of wine terms, and a less useful, incomplete vintage chart with ratings of wines from a few regions produced from 1996 to 2015, but curiously missing 2003 to 2005. A two- column, 18-page index facilitates locating even minor topics in the text.

Despite the impressive credentials of the authors, occasional inaccuracies and imprecisions crept in. For instance, the Muscadet grape is referred to (p. 167) but it is not the name of the grape but the name of the region where the Melon de Bourgogne grape produces a wine that is sometimes called Muscadet. Another example, Hillcrest Vineyard was established in 1961, not 1962, as the first post- Prohibition winery, not the first, in Oregon (p. 252). The French were adulterating clarets with Syrah in the 19th century making the claim that Australia invented the “completely original formula” of Shiraz with Cabernet Sauvignon (p. 264) open to question.

Ironically, the one major problem with this book is that its intended audience is broader than the title suggests. In their attempt to be all things to readers of all levels of wine expertise, the authors have produced a work that covers too much and too little. A guide for the novice learning about wine should be more focused on the basics and include many recommendations that are not expensive. Is a dummy going to pay more than $25 for a bottle of wine or three figures for a cork extractor? It should also be portable so it can be consulted in a shop or restaurant. This gangly volume is certainly no vade mecum.

Untypically, the book’s dedication “to all who have the courage to buy a book called Wine for Dummies” (p. 430) appears almost as an afterthought at the end of the book on an unnumbered page. The reader is praised as “intelligent, not dummies, because you have the wisdom to realize that in the complex world of wine, everyone has something more to learn” (p. 430). True enough. Admittedly, I did learn a few things reading this book. But unless you are on the less knowledge- able end of the wine wisdom scale, consulting specialized references would be more enlightening.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.8

Sometime in the mid-1970s, I opened a bottle of inexpensive claret that had been stored in the living room closet of my apartment in graduate housing. It smelled of damp basement and wet newspaper. I thought that perhaps being stored with winter coats had somehow introduced these unfortunate aromas into the wine. Had a book like Flawless been available, I would have discovered that the bottle was afflicted with cork taint. On the other hand, “Although the wine industry was aware of musty taints from affected corks for a long time, it wasn’t until the early 1980s that Swiss scientist Hans Tanner and his team published research that iden- tified [2,4,6-trichloroanisole] TCA as the main culprit in cork taint” (p. 123). The good news is that while not everything about wine flaws is known, much is and research continues to discover more.

Dr. Jamie Goode, who holds a Ph.D. in plant biology and is an award winning wine writer, has authored an important guide to what can go wrong with wine, how to recognize problems, and if anything can be done about them. While the title is oxymoronic, Goode defends it in the first chapter, “Introduction,” by explain- ing “I deliberately chose the title—Flawless—to emphasize the positive. The absence of flaws may not actually be a positive quality in itself…Sometimes, small levels of what might at higher levels be fault compounds can help beauty express itself…” (p. 2). He invokes “the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi…the idea that flaws can bring out beauty, or that flaws are in fact part of beauty” (p. 5).

Goode acknowledges that defining fault is difficult since there is a subjective aspect; one taster’s flaw is another’s nuance. Nevertheless, he contends that a “some- what more objective definition [can be] based on an ‘average’ taster—one with average sensitivity to all potential fault compounds, along with the educated ability to recognize them… [This is] how we tend to operate in the wine trade and in wine competitions” (p. 9).

The second chapter, “The Chronology of Wine Faults,” summarizes what can go wrong at each phase from wine grape growing, starting with planting and managing a vineyard through harvest, production, bottling, transporting, and storage of the wine. This sets the stage for the next 13 chapters which cover the faults in more detail. The wine faults examined in these chapters—”Brettanomyces,” “Oxidation,” “Volatile Acidity,” “Reduction and Volatile Sulfur Compounds,” “Musty Taints: Cork Taint and Its Relatives,” “Smoke Taint,” “Geosmin,” “Eucalyptus Taint,” “Light Damage,” “Heat Damage,” “Greenness in Wine and Ladybug Taint,” “Mousiness,” and “Faults of Malolactic Fermentation”—are rem- iniscent of the ten plagues recited during the Passover Seder while spilling a drop of wine from a cup onto a plate. But if one encounters any of these faults, especially if it is pronounced, or even worse, multiple faults, which is certainly possible, he or she is more likely to dump the entire bottle instead of a few drops.

Chapters 3 through 15 each begin with six questions and answers about the flaw: What is it? What is the flavor impact? What causes it? Is it always bad? How can it be prevented? How common is it? These can serve as a reference when a taster is trying to quickly identify a problem. A more in depth discussion follows with a brief summary paragraph at the end. Because some of the chapters are short, Goode’s adherence to the “tell them what you are going to tell them, tell them, and tell them what you told them” format occasionally leads to repetition of some of the same phrases even within a page.

Chapter 3 is about Brettanomyces or brett as it is commonly known. This common flaw caused by a yeast, Brettanomyces bruxellensis, manifests itself in many, though not always unpleasant ways. Goode notes that “Some bretty wines show more earthy and spicy; others are more at the fecal/barnyard end of the spectrum” (p. 23). He con- cludes with “Brett is such an interesting topic. It’s a fault, yet it’s an accepted element of some fine wine, particularly those with age. It’s a superb example of why we should take a more nuanced view of wine faults, rather than a binary ‘fault or no fault’ view” (p. 41). An example of an appealing bretty wine that I recently tasted is the 2013 White Rose Estate Nysa Vineyard Pinot Noir from the Dundee Hills in Oregon. The obvious but restrained barnyard aroma added to the complexity of this whole cluster fermented wine from a challenging vintage.

Goode contends “that oxygen management is probably the most important factor in wine quality” (p. 41) and spends 35 pages making the case in Chapter 4. Oxidation is another fault that does not always yield an unacceptable result and, in fact, is an essential component of several wines including tawny port. We learn that there are two types of oxidation: (1) enzymic and (2) nonenzymic or chemical. The former causes the browning of fruit. The latter involves complex interactions among oxygen, iron, and phenolics, which are flavor chemicals in red wine.

Chapter 5, “Volatile Acidity” (VA), another common flaw that gives a wine the smell of nail polish remover, is one that I have noticed in many wines that I have tasted lately. Goode writes, “At low levels, volatile acidity can add a bit of a lift to the nose of wines and can be positive” (p. 77). The lower the level, the better, I would say. At the same length as the previous chapter, Chapter 6, “Reduction and Volatile Sulfur Compounds” (VSCs), extensively examines “one of the most compli- cated and intriguing of all wine faults” (p. 87) that in most cases is truly repulsive— think of the rotten smell of hydrogen sulfide—yet is a “fundamental component of wine aroma in some varieties such as Sauvignon Blanc” (p. 86). Goode mentions that some experts have heard of flavors from VSCs being attributed to terroir.

Goode explains that “reduction, chemically speaking, is the opposite of oxidation” (p. 87). As with brett, yeasts are the culprits but reduction can also happen after bottling if the closure does not transmit enough oxygen as was the case with the screw tops early on. The problem was addressed by creating liners that are more permeable but Goode notes that it is too soon to tell if these will bring the problem under control.

Chapter 7, “Musty Taints: Cork Taint and Its Relatives,” is about a type of flaw that is always bad and the one that I had noticed in the claret. It is caused by the interaction of chlorine with microbes. While TCA is the main source, there are other compounds that cause these problems. At the winery where I work, I have witnessed diametrically opposite reactions to a corked bottle, one clearly suggestive of an allergic reaction, albeit short-lived, but nonetheless temporarily incapacitating, and the other anosmic. In the latter case, the individual unleashed a stream of adjectives and nouns grandiloquently extolling the aromatic virtues of a wine so clearly corked that the rest of us sat in utter disbelief. I wondered if there was such a thing as an X-ray nose!

Chapter 8, “Smoke Taint,” covers a hot topic in the western United States which suffered record breaking wildfires during the growing seasons of 2017 and 2018. It is an insidious problem because the effects may not be obvious until the wine has aged in bottle for a while. Although Goode deems smoke taint always bad, the Biscuit Fire in the Siskiyou National Forest in southern Oregon yielded examples of wines that some found attractive. For example, the 2002 Troon Biscuit Fire Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon became a collector’s item that sold for $700 a bottle (Eastman, 2009).

“Geosmin” (Chapter 9), is another flaw caused by microbes and, like TCA with which it has been confused, deemed irredeemably bad. “Eucalyptus Taint” (Chapter 10) is appealing to some and can bring out fruit notes. “Light Damage” (Chapter 11) and “Heat Damage” (Chapter 12) are both always bad but completely avoidable if the wine is handled properly. “Greenness in Wine and Ladybug Taint” (Chapter 13) can be caused by picking the grapes too soon or by ladybugs in the clus- ters. If resulting from the former, a little greenness might be acceptable. If it is caused by ladybugs, it is too intense.

“Mousiness” (Chapter 14), which can be caused by lactic acid bacteria, is admit- tedly one that I had never experienced possibly because you cannot smell it but must wait until it is in your mouth to detect it. But it can be even more deceptive. Goode states, “Up to a third of the population aren’t able to spot it at all. So, some wine- makers may be bottling wines that they think are fine, while two-thirds of their cus- tomers find them unacceptable” (pp. 180–181).

“Faults of Malolactic Fermentation” (Chapter 15) can result when malic acid is converted by bacteria to softer lactic acid. The results are favored by some and dis- liked by others, especially when the wine becomes too buttery.

Chapter 16 is a very short look at “Laboratory Testing for Wine Faults.” Because of the high cost of equipment needed to run some tests on samples, many wineries rely on commercial operations such as ETS Laboratories to do it for them. But Goode also recognizes “that technologies that were previously available through expensive third-party laboratories are now in reach of winery labs…[and] can do away with the need for defensive winemaking” (p. 201).

Chapter 17, “Conclusions,” shares Goode’s observations based on his experience in charge of monitoring flaws for the International Wine Challenge (IWC). He claims, “Wine faults seem to be less common than they used to be…More common than clear-cut faults are wines in which quality has been lost through the presence of fault compounds at levels that detract from the wine” (p. 202).

Quotations from experts in the area of wine flaws Goode interviewed lend credi- bility to the discussions as well as insights into the current research. The book includes references to the technical literature and an adequate index of four two-col- umn pages. A glossary of terms and an acronym list would have been helpful additions.

Someone without a background in chemistry is likely to find the chapters on indi- vidual flaws difficult reading. Goode does not hold back on the technical details or the use of long names of chemical compounds. Amusingly, though, after the chal- lenging discussion of brett, he realizes in the next chapter on oxidation that he has likely left some readers behind: “You probably won’t be pleased to hear that the mechanisms of chemical oxidation are really complicated. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I will try to explain them clearly in ways that won’t make you fall asleep, keeping the chemical jargon to a minimum” (pp. 47–48). He is suc- cessful only briefly before reverting to the jargon.

The intended audience for this book is unclear though there are some clues. In addition to his attempt to keep the lay audience awake, Goode also seems to be speaking directly to winemakers when he writes “depending on which country you are working in…” (p. 192). The emphasis on the detailed chemistry of the faults could be helpful to those involved in wine production. Oenophiles without the tech- nical background will gain important insight into how their beverage of choice might be compromised and what signs of problems to look for when tasting.

Because of his scientific background and well-honed writing abilities, Goode serves as an able and dispassionate link to the experts and active researchers in the field of wine faults. Flawless, while not flawless itself, is an important contribu- tion at whatever level of understanding a reader might require. I am certainly happy to have this reference to turn to now whenever I experience something unseemly in my glass.

Der Wein des Vergessens (The Wine of Oblivion), written in German, may be the first book published that deals with the wine industry in Nazi Austria. In general, there is only scant literature about the German and Austrian wine industry during the Nazi regime, 1933–1945. Only in recent years have a few authors shed some light on various aspects of the Third Reich’s wine policies, particularly on the role of the German-Jewish wine trade. Daniel Deckers, editor of the daily Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, was one of the first, who, in his outstanding German language book Im Zeichen des Traubenadlers. Eine Geschichte des deutschen Weins (Deckers, 2010), devotes more than 40 of 220 pages to the wine industry in Nazi Germany.1 From the book, as well as from a few subsequent articles (Deckers, 2012, 2017), we learn that up to 60% of the German wine trade, particularly the wine export, during the 1930s was handled by German-Jewish businesses. However, starting in the early 1930s, Jewish wine traders and brokers were harassed, denounced as wine adul- terators and currency scammers, and finally pushed out of their businesses.2 Most did not survive the Holocaust; the “lucky” ones left Germany, moved to the United States or the United Kingdom, and often successfully rekindled new wine businesses. Emigrants such as Max Fromm, Alfred Langenbach, Otto Loeb, S.F. Hallgarten, or Peter Sichel, the man behind Liebfraumilch Blue Nun, are also known as authors of authoritative books about German wine. Peter Sichel’s autobi- ography provides an excellent account of the life of a Jewish wine merchant before, during, and after WWII (Sichel, 2016).

In the fall of 2018, after Bernhard Herrman and Robert Streibel published The Wine of Oblivion, Austria’s wine world was in turmoil. Even in Germany and Switzerland, The Wine of Oblivion made it to prime-time news. In essence, the book argues that one of Austria’s largest wine producer, Winzer Krems Sandgrube 13 in Krems (Wachau), is an aryanized business, illegally taken from a Jewish wine merchant and his gay lover in 1938.

The fact that this had been forgotten for more than 80 years is amazing. Even a recent book, devoted to the history of wine in Krems (Frühwirth, 2005), does not mention the aryanization and, instead, honors local farmers’ chief Franz Aigner as the “founder of the wine cooperative” (p. 135) Winzer Krems Sandgrube 13— the winery he supposedly “bought” from Paul Robitschek.

The book, written as a historical novel, was conceived when one of the authors, Bernhard Herrman, found a trove of documents, letters, photos, and footage in an inherited house in Styria. The documents tell the story of the Jewish businessman Paul Robitschek and his lover August Rieger. It is the story of a wealthy Viennese wine merchant and the life of a gay couple in glamorous pre-Nazi Vienna. Robitschek and his mother Johanna owned several wine cellars, wineries, and vine- yards in Austria—one of which was Sandgrube 13 in Krems. In 1938, in an increas- ingly hostile climate towards Jews (and homosexuals), Robitschek sold the winery to his partner Rieger. The sales agreement was written under Austrian law, when Nazi approval was not yet required for the sale of Jewish property. However, several local Nazi leaders, notably Franz Aigner, the local Bauernführer (farmers’ chief) quickly challenged the contract exploiting the (illegal) homosexuality of Rieger, the new legal owner. After a short but intense bureaucratic battle, Rieger and Robitschek lost the winery; the Nazi administration handed it to the local cooperative.

Supported by various friends including a Nazi police chief, Robitschek escaped to Italy, and, after being interned in France, fled to Venezuela where he launched another successful wine business. His mother Johanna died in a Nazi concentration camp. And despite some trials and tribulations among others with the Gestapo (secret state police), August Rieger survived the war in Vienna. In 1949, Winzergenossenschaft Krems and Robitschek settled the sale for a final payment of 600,000 Austrian schillings, and the story was forgotten thereafter.

Aside from the fact that The Wine of Oblivion is a captivating read from the first page to the last, it also provides an excellent and detailed account of an aryanization process in the wine industry; a topic that has received little or no attention. In addi- tion, without this book, nobody would have remembered—and all would have been forgotten. Instead, Winzer Krems Sandgrube 13 wants to find out more about its own roots and commissioned three historians, including Herrman and Streibel, to compile all relevant historical documents.

Rod Phillips has been busy of late. In the span of five years, Phillips has written several important books, including 2016’s French Wine: A History (University of California Press). His industriousness has been our gain, as Phillip’s most recent book, Wine: A Social and Cultural History of the Drink That Changed Our Lives, may be his best work yet. In Wine, Phillips, a Professor of History at Carleton University in Ottawa, locates that elusive balance between structure and expressive- ness; while we find surety in the hands of an objective historian, we revel in knowing that Phillips—who also writes for GuildSomm.com—is a great wine enthusiast.

Wine is organized thematically rather than chronologically. In each of the book’s eight chapters, wine is paired with a broad, topical accompaniment, including reli- gion, war, and crime. This multivalent approach keeps the content from becoming flat and allows Phillips to demonstrate his mastery of the secondary literature. Subtopics within each chapter are dense enough to whet the appetite of the reader (I tallied a list of almost two dozen topics that I want to read more about), but, at the same time, the content never reaches the point of oversaturation.

The first three chapters tread on fairly well-trammeled ground, exploring wine’s relationship to bodily health, gender, and religion. While the experienced reader of wine books will have encountered much of this material elsewhere, I am hard pressed to think of a better introduction to these central themes for the undergraduate or educated reader. “Wine and Wellness” traces wine’s relationship to the body from the ancient period to the present, and includes a description of Galen’s humoral theory and the infamous French Paradox. “Wine, Women, and Men” explores the place of wine in the construction of gender roles by analyzing, among other topics, ritualistic drinking, drunkenness, and the temperance movement. The most conventional chapter in the book may be “Wine and Religion,” which offers a straightforward (but nevertheless useful) introduction to wine’s position in the classic monotheistic texts and the Christian church.

While the first three chapters could appeal to social and cultural historians who have only a marginal interest in wine, Chapters 4–6 hone in on cultural categories that cater more to the wine scholar; terroir, tasting descriptions, and food and dining. In “Wine and Landscape,” Phillips provides a contemplative glimpse into the quarrel about whether or not (or how much) soil, climate, and other environmen- tal factors shape the profile of a wine. The goal for Phillips is not to settle the matter, but rather to articulate some of the many previous attempts to do so. “Wine and Words” offers a similarly captivating look at how wine has been judged and described. From Pliny the Elder to Robert Parker, Phillips treats the wine enthusiast to a grand tour of the many styles and techniques meant to convey the nuanced dif- ferences between growths. Unfortunately, Phillips misses out on the foremost taste- shapers of our own period, that is, the global, digital voices that drive websites like Cellartracker.com and WineBerserkers.com. “Wine and the Table” engrosses the reader in wine’s connection to food, which, it seems, was not always viewed as seri- ously as it is now. Phillips thinks carefully about how wine and food pairings intersect with other facets of life, including one’s social class and personal health. Despite this attention to detail, an otherwise intriguing section on representations of wine and food in painting loses some of its punch because very few of the described images are reproduced in the text.

The book closes on a high note with chapters on war and crime. As in the rest of the book, Phillips makes good use of the secondary literature to inform and entertain, in addition to punctuating the text with historiographical points (the Norman conquer- ors of England carried their own wine in barrels rather than relying only on captured stock, as is sometimes thought) and humor (Phillips refers to this as an early example of BYOB). Phillips does more than show how wine facilitated a fighting spirit among soldiers (from the ancient period through WWII). He demonstrates how war affected growers and the trade, and even helped shift paradigms of regional taste. In “Wine and Crime,” Phillips takes on vinous misconduct, including adulteration, which oftentimes was more fluid in its (il)-legality than would seem to be the case today. For example, haptalization and de-acidification, now fairly routine practices around the world, were once seen as insidious forms of manipulation. Less controversial but no less important are the more recent cases of fraud committed by Rudy Kurniawan and Hardy Rodenstock, both of whom Phillips discussed in the context of contemporary wine crime.

Wine is an eminently worthwhile book. Just as Hugh Johnson’s The World Atlas of Wine (2013) is the go-to reference for vineyard geography, I would make the case that Phillips’s new book may be the best general introduction to the social and cultural history and historiography of wine. While I often found myself excitedly looking ahead to see where Phillips was leading, I was just as frequently drawn to the material on the current page, mentally wandering off into ruminations about wine and land- scape, words, crime, etc. Thankfully, the book’s thematic format invites jumping around with limited opportunity cost. This is truly a thought-provoking book.

Kevin Goldberg
The Weber School, Atlanta
kgoldberg@weberschool.org
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.5

I strongly suspect that for those of us who are coffee and wine enthusiasts, this book will become our must go to encyclopedia. Written by Morten Scholer, with an eye to detail that probably only someone with an engineering background can bring to the subject, it explores two seemingly unrelated worlds. I say “seemingly” for there is no doubt that many in the coffee trade look up to the wine industry, wishing that they could find the magic wand that will transform the quality end of the coffee market into something approximating what wine has achieved. And it is in that spirit that Morten has explored the similarities and differences between the two, and, indeed in doing so, has clearly demonstrated that the wine industry can also learn a thing or two from the coffee industry.

With around 2.5 billion cups of coffee and 0.5 billion glasses of wine consumed each day, these industries are important components of not just world trade, but of everyday consumption and it is somewhat surprising that the literature comparing the two industries is so thin. This book is, therefore, long overdue. Morten has care- fully maintained an objectivity that is uncommon among aficionados, although he does allow his love of both products to shine through. This is not, however, a book that can be read from cover to cover in one session, but rather a reference book that not only contains the basics, but also contains precious nuggets that inev- itably will make you cry out loud “Wow, I never knew that!”

The book is designed to appeal to players in both industries, explaining both sectors in a simple, yet effective, style, allowing the reader from either the wine or coffee trade to understand the mechanics of how the other industry works and the challenges each face. On the other hand, it must be said, that the juxtaposition and constant zig-zag shift between coffee and wine has the potential to be, at times, a little confusing. But the clever use of colour codes together with many illus- trations and maps, as well as a very detailed list of contents overcomes this, making the book more reader friendly than might have otherwise been the case.

As you would expect Morten starts off looking at the long and illustrious history of both products, although wine can certainly be traced further back than coffee. He then moves on to statistics (maybe not everyone’s cup of tea), but his unique and definitely quirky approach encourages the reader to continue delving into the differ- ent tables covering production, conversion ratios, and area devoted to both crops.

The authors of this engaging and informative bilingual volume open with the state- ment “[y]ou may think it unlikely that a quality wine can be produced in Japan. … You are however advised to update your world map of wine … Japan has a history of about … 150 years of making wine” (p. 5).

This observation sets the scene for a book which had its origins in a conference at the University of Tokyo in 2011, and is the first serious publication of its type in English. Historically Japan’s wine industry was very small. It dates from the start of the Meiji era in 1868, when the government first encouraged its production. But until recently wine was relatively unimportant in Japanese drinking and cuisine. In fact, wine was considered unsuitable for its cuisine. Moreover, the country’s soils are pre- dominantly volcanic ash. Rainfall is typically heavy during the flowering period, especially in June, while typhoons are common during the maturation month of September. In addition, summers are hot and humid, creating problems with fungal disease. As the authors put it, wine was considered a “classy” drink, reserved for special occasions. All this was based on the widespread view that the Asian monsoon region (not just Japan) would always produce its alcoholic drinks made from starches in rice and other grains.

Things began to slowly change in the 1960s. As Japan became rich and more global, and as international tourism expanded, there was a growing interest in wine. Several pioneering winemakers studied and lived abroad, principally in France and the United States, and they began to experiment with domestic produc- tion. These winemakers began to enter their wines in international shows, and in time received recognition for their efforts.

However, the authors emphasize that the industry is still, in some respects, in its infancy. It may not be widely understood that most wine “produced” in Japan is, in fact, made from imported grape juice or concentrate. These are the major bever- age companies, with factories in Japan’s main port cities. Only about 18–19% of the total is made from grapes grown in Japan. The country will probably always be a net wine importer. About 70% of wine consumed is imported. The country is not, and may never be, a significant wine exporter, and its wines are not commonly found abroad. In addition, Japanese wine consumption is relatively low compared to most high-income countries, just 3.3 litres per adult per year.

Nevertheless, the authors clearly demonstrate that things are on the move. Wine is becoming increasingly popular. In October 2015, the first official labeling regulations were introduced, requiring that only wine produced from locally grown grapes could be termed “Japan Wine.” A system of Geographical Indications (GIs) has been intro- duced, and is gradually spreading across the country. Wine imports were liberalized as far back as 1970, and the foreign competition is forcing the local industry to lift its quality. Accompanying these changes has been the growth of wine tourism and culinary innovation in the major wine areas, especially those renowned for their scenic beauty.

One of the most interesting features of the book is the survey of the major wine producing regions and winemakers, including interviews with the owners of more than 40 wineries. This constitutes six of the seven main chapters. The authors care- fully document the continuous experimentation with grape varieties, regions, sites, horticultural practices, and vinification technologies. Gradually some patterns are clearly emerging. The industry is expanding mainly in the east and north of the country, in the higher altitude regions of the main island of Honshu, and in the northern island of Hokkaido. A variety of European grape varieties that tolerate wet climates have been introduced, with mixed success. Merlot and chardonnay appear to have adapted better than most. But the major success story to date has been the white grape variety known as “koshu.” This is, in fact, an indigenous variety that has existed in Japan for centuries, mainly in the country’s major wine producing region, Yamanashi. This region, which produces about one-third of the country’s grapes, is located in a valley (and, hence, more protected from typhoons), with somewhat less rainfall. In 2013 Yamanashi was the first region to be officially recognized for its GI status. It is also quite close to Tokyo and the country’s famous Mt. Fuji, and, thus, has potential for growing wine tourism.

The industrial organization of the industry is segmented. It consists of five major firms, mainly using imported material and all with a history in the food and beverage industry, alongside about 280 smaller wineries. The latter typically use locally grown grapes, often from their own vineyard. In total, only about 10% of the grapes are grown by the wineries themselves, in part a legacy of earlier land regulations. Although Japanese winemakers have studied abroad, the foreign presence appears to be relatively small, as it is in the Japanese economy in general. There are no major foreign investors in the industry, while the practice of “flying winemakers,” so common in new world producers as a means of rapid technological learning and diffusion, is uncommon.

Appropriately, the authors’ pioneering work was recognized in September 2018 at a ceremony in Paris with an International Organisation of Vine and Wine (OIV) award in the “wines and territories” category. The volume has paved the way for other researchers in this field. For example, there is passing reference to the high costs of production, but the economics of the industry is not examined in any detail. The very strong yen for much of the past three decades is presumably a factor in the high cost structure. It may also be the case that agricultural protection, especially for rice, has inflated land values and, hence, agricultural costs. The rela- tively closed Japanese labour market, in this case for example, for the wine harvest, could be another factor. One might therefore hypothesize that Japan will remain a relatively small but interesting niche producer, its wine of particular interest to a loyal domestic clientele and to a select international market with a particular interest in Japanese wine and culinary culture.

More generally, the authors point to the need for more accurate wine production, consumption, and trade statistics in Japan (and its neighbours, particularly China), a subject on which one of the authors has co-authored an important recent paper in this Journal (Anderson and Harada, 2018). One can only hope that this volume will stimulate more work in this field.

The background of the authors is eclectic: two of them are academics at Tokyo universities (one in finance, the other in agriculture and life sciences); one has a law doctorate and worked mainly for the Japanese government and the United Nations; and one has a graduate education in wine and direct commercial experi- ence. The president of the Japan Wine Association also provides a brief, interesting Afterword.

The book is beautifully illustrated and written in a lively and accessible style. For anybody interested in knowing more about wine in this, the world’s third largest economy, and understanding its recent evolution and adaptation in a country with a deep and ancient culture, this is the volume to read.

Hal Hill
Australian National University
hal.hill@anu.edu.au
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.46

Rosé is experiencing an identity crisis. Is it a unique wine defined by color or is it an amalgamation of its better known red and white cousins? The answer to this question largely depends on wine region, wine maker, and grapes used. In her new book, Rosé: Understanding the Pink Wine Revolution, Elizabeth Gabay (MW) provides a thoughtful, comprehensive analysis of rosé’s history and variations around the world. Gabay also delivers an approachable consumer’s guide to various wine regions, style, and selected producers. While this might seem like a lot of ground to cover in a single volume, she has successfully balanced the technical aspects of rosé, including the importance of terroir, with practical knowledge that could assist both experienced and novice wine drinkers choose a rosé as their next bottle of wine.

Gabay begins by focusing on how rosé is a different type of wine, while also high- lighting how it shares many characteristics with other styles. She establishes that for many, rosé is historically linked with clairet—a light red wine designed to be con- sumed sooner, rather than later. This association exists because since at least the mid-1600s, clairet has been described as “rubis orientalis (the red of the setting sun), oeil de perdrix (the pale pin of the eye of a dying partridge) and hyacinth pink, tending toward orange” (p. 6).

In the United States, rosé is often synonymous with white zinfandel. Bob Trinchero, of Sutter Home Winery, is credited (or blamed) with creating the sweet style of white Zinfandel—many American’s first experience with rosé. Mr. Trinchero started pro- ducing a pink wine from Zinfandel grapes in the early 1970s as a way to increase the concentration of his premium red wines. These wines were “tinged with pink” from the bleeding off of some grape juice before fermentation. While not initially sweet, in 1975, “the white Zinfandel experienced ‘stuck fermentation,’ a problem that occurs when the yeast dies before consuming all the sugar” (p. 108). In what turned out to be a happy error, Mr. Trinchero liked this sweet, pink wine better than the pale, pink wine he had been selling. White Zinfandel was born.

While rosé might be historically a subset of other wines (clairet) or a sweet mistake (white Zinfandel), today it has become its own style defined by its color, economics, and marketing. In fact, for many, rosé is distinct from clairet or white Zinfandel, with French rosé, especially light, pale wines from Provence considered be the gold-stan- dard of pink wines and among the few that can be drunk immediately, or aged (pp. 289–290).

More than any other characteristic, color sets rosé apart from red and white wines. A rosé’s color has traditionally varied by wine region and style of grapes used. Overall, color can range from “bluish pink, dark pink red, orange, tawny pink, bright pint to a clear pink” (p. 26). For example, Provence rosé’s are made using “rel- atively light-pigmented varieties” of Grenache, Cinsault, and Tibouren, which produce pale wines that could “technically, be labelled vin gris or blanc de noir,” because of their color (p. 73). These pale wine stand in contrast to darker Bordeaux clairets (p. 92) or wines made in Australia, which are darker pink because of the predominance of Shiraz and Grenache (p. 133).

How a producer chooses to bottle rosé reflects the importance of color. Traditionally, rosé has been packaged in bottles typical to the wine region. In other words, rosé produced in Bordeaux has traditionally been bottled in standard Bordeaux bottles and Burgundy rosé in Burgundy bottles. Provence rosé has been the exception, with the region known “for using innovative bottle shapes … [which] often … make their wines stand out” (p. 291). Gabay further highlights some more unusual bottle shapes, including square bottles and packaging rosé in alternative containers, including cans and boxes (p. 295), as examples of rose producers trying to market their wines.

While bottle shape can be a distinguishing factor, rosé producers also want to highlight the wine’s color. Consumers often buy with their eyes. To encourage pur- chases, producers work to establish a brand and convince potential purchasers to buy their wines over others (Orth and Crouch, 2014). While labels continue to be a popular way to distinguish wines (Lecoq and Visser, 2006), for rosé, the bottle is also essential. As Gabay demonstrates, “most rosé is sold in colourless glass bottles, with the colour of the wine easily visible” (p. 294). Clear bottles, however, are “not good for rosé wine because the UV light breaks down the color and the wines turn brown” (p. 294).

The balance between being able to see the wine and protect it from UV light steers Gabay’s inquiry toward whether rosé can, and should, be aged, instead of drunk as young wine. The results here are mixed, as some producers have been creating more complex rosé’s that are designed to be aged, while others maintain the more tradi- tional style of creating rosé for more immediate consumption. Use of clear bottles certainly favors more immediate consumption, while other bottle colors (e.g., brown, green) can more easily promote aging.

As with many consumable products, and certainly other types of wine, economics plays a significant role with the success (or failure) of rosé wine. More than just the consumer price point, the economics of rosé can allow producers to realize a faster return on investment. In an easy to access and compelling example, Gabay shows how producers might balance the production of red wine and rosé by explaining that it might take several years to get a red wine to market (after it is fermented and aged) and to recoup costs of production, but rosé wines might be harvested in the fall and put on sale the following January, a much shorter time period (p. 300). This is not a part of the wine making cycle that consumers generally con- sider, but is an essential part of wine economics that could determine whether to produce rosé at all, and then in what quantity.

Once a product is produced, it is time to sell it. How to sell pink wine has been a challenge in some markets. Many media outlets have highlighted that rosé wines are the choice of millennials, women, and summer. These types of marketing tools have allowed rosé to expand its footprint and sell in markets that have traditionally been more difficult to access. Focus on these groups, however, has caused rosé to be seen as “girly,” while at the same time, news articles “regularly feel the need to affirm the presence of men as rosé drinkers, as if they—men—need to justify their drinking a pink wine” (p. 283). Labeling a whole class of wine for one gender over another is, of course, not fair, and Gabay rightly calls out this type of marketing, showing instead that rosé is consumed by everyone, all over the world.

In Rosé: Understanding the Pink Wine Revolution, Elizabeth Gabay successfully demonstrates that rosé wine can be made anywhere, from almost any type ofgrapes. Subsequently, different regions have created distinct pink wine styles that are suited to various purposes. France, Spain, the United States, and Australia have tra- ditionally driven the rosé marketplace (p. 306), but other, emerging regions are sure to produce interesting and approachable wines in the future.

Jacob R. Straus
University of Maryland Baltimore County, Shady Grove
jstraus@umbc.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.44

Similar themes, ideas, and historical references to time and place tie these three books together as they trace the advent of food and wine culture and enjoyment in the United States. Guided by the overarching influence of French culinary ethos, they explore the evolution of American cooking, restaurants, and food person- alities through a biographical approach. Within this context, Justin Spring’s The Gourmands’ Way explores six American food and wine writers who lived in France and incorporated the most detail about wine in relation to food; Paul Freedman’s Ten Restaurants That Changed America described the way these ten res- taurants both influenced and responded to American society; and Alice Waters’ Coming to My Senses relived the life and ideas of one food legend through the opening of her iconic restaurant in Berkeley, California. Taken together, these works leave a lasting impression of eating and drinking as an irrefutable part of life and culture.

Similar themes, ideas, and historical references to time and place tie these three books together as they trace the advent of food and wine culture and enjoyment in the United States. Guided by the overarching influence of French culinary ethos, they explore the evolution of American cooking, restaurants, and food person- alities through a biographical approach. Within this context, Justin Spring’s The Gourmands’ Way explores six American food and wine writers who lived in France and incorporated the most detail about wine in relation to food; Paul Freedman’s Ten Restaurants That Changed America described the way these ten res- taurants both influenced and responded to American society; and Alice Waters’ Coming to My Senses relived the life and ideas of one food legend through the opening of her iconic restaurant in Berkeley, California. Taken together, these works leave a lasting impression of eating and drinking as an irrefutable part of life and culture.

Similar themes, ideas, and historical references to time and place tie these three books together as they trace the advent of food and wine culture and enjoyment in the United States. Guided by the overarching influence of French culinary ethos, they explore the evolution of American cooking, restaurants, and food person- alities through a biographical approach. Within this context, Justin Spring’s The Gourmands’ Way explores six American food and wine writers who lived in France and incorporated the most detail about wine in relation to food; Paul Freedman’s Ten Restaurants That Changed America described the way these ten res- taurants both influenced and responded to American society; and Alice Waters’ Coming to My Senses relived the life and ideas of one food legend through the opening of her iconic restaurant in Berkeley, California. Taken together, these works leave a lasting impression of eating and drinking as an irrefutable part of life and culture.

Beeronomics tells the story of how the growth and evolution of beer and brewing across the world has been shaped by the economic forces of supply and demand. It is a story that stretches back far, before the arrival of Budweiser and even long before European monks honed their craft. Throughout all this time, beer has been a major force in shaping diverse markets and cultural practices and preferences across the world. I have been drinking beer since my days in the dormitories at the University of Massachusetts, and I have studied beer on and off for several years. Nevertheless, reading this fairly compact book, I learned something new, and often surprising, on nearly every page.

The book is roughly chronological in order and begins millennia in the past, telling the story of how brewing beer, through its association with farming, was long thought to be associated with civilized cultures. This manifested most clearly in ancient Egypt, where beer was the preferred beverage of choice among the ruling class for centuries. The story advances, inevitably, to the monks of Germany, Scandinavia, and other parts of Europe. These monasteries are often thought to be the original craft brewers, and Beeronomics is, both implicitly and explicitly, also the story of how brewing in the United States and other developed nations has returned to consisting of many small, highly differentiated brewers.

From here, we learn how hops completely transformed beer and its industry. By altering the brewing process and the makeup of beers, hops led to dramatic changes in the pricing and taxing of beer, the homogeneity of beers across geographic regions, the storability and transportability of beer, and, of course, its taste. One fas- cinating thread throughout the history of beer is how the key inputs to beer have served as crucial currencies and, therefore, how beer demand and taxation has had ripple effects across diverse markets.

The economic impact of beer, historically, is perhaps no better exemplified than through the taxes and tariffs used to fund England’s imperialist wars through the late 1600s and the early 1700s. I found it particularly fascinating to learn how the crown used propaganda and import policy to encourage Brits to drink beer rather than wine, which was the preferred beverage of the French. The high taxes levied on domestic beer consumption, in turn, provided the funds necessary for Great Britain to wage wars and expand its empire and interests across the globe.

Much of the middle of the book discusses the rapid and unprecedented wave of consolidation and concentration that took place in brewing beer in the United States and, to a lesser extent, in European nations. Between 1950 and 2000, the number of brewers in the United States fell from 350 to 24, and the market share of the four largest brewers rose from 20 to 90%. These figures are staggering and I struggle to conceive of other industries that have undergone such dramatic structural change in such a short period of time. As it happens, we have beer to (largely) thank for the technological innovations of pasteurization and refrigeration. These practices, in turn, led to sharp increases in the industrialization and standard- ization of brewing beer, which helped to open the doors to consolidation on the national stage. It is worth clarifying that these advances are not solely responsible for these changes in the beer sector. Perhaps the anecdote from this book upon which I will rely the heaviest at future cocktail parties is the pivotal role that the Dust Bowl of the 1930s played in rise of the big three U.S. macrobrewers: Budweiser, Miller, and Coors.

From there, the book progresses in time and trots the globe to tell the story of how beer and the brewing industry became truly global while gradually laying the stage for the craft beer boom. We learn much more about the InBev acquisition of Anheuser-Busch than was readily gleaned from the news at the time of the takeover. We hear the story of how international investment on the part of brewers upended barley markets throughout Eastern Europe. I particularly enjoyed reading about Russia’s slow and ongoing transition from vodka to beer, progressing with the march of generations, as well as the note on President Jimmy Carter’s legacy in fueling the rise of craft beer production in the United States. The story brings us to the present day and America’s love affair with craft beer, which embodies “local” and “independent,” two descriptors that increasingly garner favor among consumers in the age of international megacorporations.

Beeronomics is a fast and entertaining read. In reading it, I was reminded of a number of lessons I have learned over the years in my studies and beyond. First and foremost, things are not always what they seem. Beer can seem like one of life’s simple pleasures, but this book puts into perspective the story behind how a cold pint arrives at the local watering hole. This is a story that includes wars, extreme weather events, and technological advancements that changed the world. Second, incentives matter. Again and again throughout the book, Swinnen and Briski remind us that markets revolve around incentives and that the players within markets will make decisions, often bold ones, when faced with changes in incentives. And third, particularly when discussing food and beverages, it is amazing that supply chains function at all. After reading this book and learning so much more about how beer inputs have been sourced, how laws and regulation have impacted brewing and distributing, and competitive challenges that brewers have faced over the centuries not just from their peers but from other beverages, it amazes me that hops grown from the earth ever manage to end up in my refrigerator in any liquid form whatsoever.

This book addresses a range of topics in economics and business; it is written to be accessible to the layperson. In an academic setting, Beeronomics could support or supplement courses in industrial organization, economic history, supply chain man- agement, brewing, microeconomics, and probably more. But more broadly, it is my experience that many people who enjoy beer are also fascinated by what has gone on behind the scenes in the making and distributing of the beer. There are plenty of books for those who are particularly interested in the science behind beer and brewing, and I think it is wonderful that we now have a highly readable book for those who are also interested in the economics and history of beer.

Richard J. Volpe
California Polytech State University, San Luis Obispo
rvolpe@calpoly.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.20

There are at least three different kinds of wine guides one might imagine for a new wine country such as India: a traveler’s guide for exploring wine regions of India; a taster’s guide for finding the best among available wines if you live in, or happen to be visiting, India; and a wine guide for those acquainted with and knowledgeable about more established wine regions. This guide accomplishes each of these to some extent, but each imperfectly.

As a traveler’s guide, the book does a good job of getting the key information across: where the wine regions of India are and where the wineries are located. But it does less well in other practical information that a visitor would want such as contact information, visiting hours (if such even exist), and suggested itineraries. Wine tourism is a nascent industry in India, but it does exist. Sula, one of the largest Indian wineries, now runs its own resort. The days of wine crawls through Nashik or northern Karnataka are probably not that far in the future. In its current form, this guide does an admirable job of telling who and where, but less so how.

As a taster’s guide, Csizmadia-Honigh takes an admirable first stab at imposing some order on the wine chaos of India. And a wine chaos it is. Because of India’s state-driven wine and liquor production and distribution rules it is impossible even in large Indian cities to find a consistent cross-section of India’s better wineries. What is worth trying and what best avoided is basic but valuable information, and you will find it in this guide. Csizmadia-Honigh categorizes producers by a star rating (one to five) and then rates individual wines on a 20-point scale. Notwithstanding lengthy digressions on the criteria and the inherent subjectivity of wine ratings, the rankings, while useful, are rather opaque: Is a 17.5 meaningfully better than a 17.3? Setting aside subjectivity, without tasting notes or basic descrip- tions it is impossible to tell. To find them, you end up flipping between different sec- tions of the book. But Csizmadia-Honigh has provided enough information to point you to the upper end of the wine list if you happen to find yourself in India and wish to drink local wine.

As a guide for those trying to understand Indian wines, Csizmadia-Honigh’s guide has both strengths and weaknesses. He does an excellent job establishing both the big picture of the Indian wine industry and a plethora of fine-grained details. The con- temporary Indian wine industry began in the mid-1980s with Chateau Indage and Grover Vineyard, and then really took off in the 2000s, with the arrival of Sula, which remains along with Grover, one of the big players, at least in quantity, today. One of the challenges in the Indian context was, and remains, that wine pro- duction is regulated at the state level, and states either prohibited production (with total alcohol prohibition in some instances) or did not offer clear guidance. Maharashtra was the first state to create an explicit policy in 2001, followed by Madhya Pradesh and Tamil Nadu in 2006 and Karnataka in 2007. Whether by cause or effect, many new wineries took off in this period, with 42 wineries in oper- ation by 2015, centered mainly in Maharashtra and Karanataka. The same period saw the arrival of international houses, including Pernod Ricard and Moët Hennessy. As the numbers suggest, despite its rapid growth, the Indian wine industry remains small, cultivating approximately 2,300 hectares (indeed tiny for example compared to the more than 40,000 hectares under cultivation in Bordeaux).

Csizmadia-Honigh does an even better job in his review of the viticultural chal- lenges and choices in South Asia. The chief challenge in India is the full-year growth cycle, which is a blessing for bulk but less conducive to quality production. As a result, winemakers in India use only the winter growth, discard grapes from other seasons, and prune heavily, resulting in yields comparable to international growers. Although India was initially known internationally for its ripe reds, as the guide documents much experimentation has occurred with whites as well, with notable success in sparkling wine.

What the guide does less well in addressing is the elephant in the room: How do Indian wines compare to their counterparts in other global regions? Living or trav- elling in India, the question is moot: With high excise taxes on wine, domestic bottles cost around $15 and imported bottles begin at twice that price for wines that in the United States would be little better than jug wines. But setting aside the question of price: Do these wines achieve a level of quality that make them worth the atten- tion? At a higher level, do they express their terroir and the winemaker’s vision with subtlety and sophistication? The guide rates two wineries (KRSMA and SDU, both from Karnataka) as five-star, and another 12 (Alpine, Soma, Chandon, Four Seasons, Fratelli, Grover, Nine Hills, Reveilo, Sula, Valloné, and York) as four-star.

How good are their wines? Csizmadia-Honigh’s decision to use a 20-point scale in his ratings hints at his reluctance to tackle a direct comparison head on. Is a Charosa Viognier at 17.7 points really in the same ballpark as an 88.5 point Robert Parker rated wine? Even with this reviewer’s limited knowledge and the inherent challenge in such comparisons, I am inclined to believe that the answer is no. Nonetheless, the relative rankings of the wineries and wines are useful starting points, pending a Judgement of Nashik.

But rather than to damn with faint praise, the goal here is the opposite: to praise with faint damnation, both Csizmadia-Honigh’s guide and the Indian wineries he so enthusiastically catalogs. As we know from other new and non-traditional wine regions, ranging from South Africa to New Jersey, progress is measured in decades rather than years. And by this standard the progress that Csizmadia- Honigh documents is impressive: from non-existence to plausible, drinkable wines in less than 20 years in most instances. Of course, it is the next non-incremental step that would be the most exciting: to something truly spectacular and uniquely Indian. In this evolving setting, Csizmadia-Honigh’s guide is ultimately best seen as a useful reference book: providing an historical and contextual overview, a point-in-time snapshot, and a useful geographical and quality grouping of wineries. While all 440 pages of this guide are unlikely to accompany me on my next trip to India, selected pages certainly will.

Rajeev Dehejia
New York University
rd875@nyu.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.8

Andrew W.M. Smith’s Terror and Terroir is a case study of the effects of national and global agro-economic policies on the winegrowers of the Languedoc region in France. Smith begins his chronology with the abortive 1907 révolte du Midi, France’s largest social disturbance since the Revolution. A substantial portion of this first chapter deals with the pre-révolte industrial atrophy in the region and the subsequent expansion of small-scale vineyards producing low-quality wine. Smith carefully traces out the cast of characters—winemakers large and small, local and national-level politicians, and labor leaders—who will reappear as the study’s main characters in the subsequent chapters. This first chapter is also a sketch of the rise of the various groups (both unions and other sorts of associations) among winegrowers, and, of course, of the 1907 revolt of Languedocian workers (principally but not solely winegrowers). The subsequent chapters are in the main chronological, tracing the economic challenges first of the worldwide depression, then of the Vichy- imposed regulations on the industry. Smith focuses the middle chapters of the book on the post-war history of the central union, the Comité Régional d’Action Viticole (hereafter, the CRAV), and their use of the memory of 1907 to galvanize support. These chapters also show the winegrowers’ attempt to link Occitaine regional iden- tity (evolving in the 1960s) to their struggle. Chapter 5 focuses on the lethal clash of winegrowers and security forces at the town of Montredon in 1976. The final two chapters chart the CRAV’s decline and the dramatic changes in the Languedoc wine industry at the end of the 20th century as power over policy shifted from Paris towards Brussels.

Smith’s prose is clear; he gives enough context to make the debates accessible even to a non-specialist in French history or the history of wine production. Labor and social historians, well-versed in the modification and recycling of the past by labor movements, will recognize much in Smith’s book that is familiar. His punctilious use of sources from regional and national archives, local newspapers, and even oral histories reveals that the CRAV’s struggle was not revolutionary or anti-statist. The author shows that despite continual references to the 1907 “révolte” and frequent extra-parliamentary (and often illegal) measures used by the winegrowers, their goal was more, not less, central government intervention in the Languedocian wine economy. In his Introduction, Smith indicates that his historiographical interven- tions are in historicizing both the Languedocian winegrowers’ movement and regional heritage, then connecting the two. He succeeds in accomplishing both goals. Winegrowers’ protests over the 20th century have been motivated by economic realities but have made use of the tools of regional identity to broaden its appeal. Smith argues that terroir is “the key to unlocking the complex and contested signifi- cance of wine to French national identity (p. 2).”

This intervention, when it came, was not what the winemakers’ movement wanted. The true value of Smith’s narrative is perhaps the articulation of a powerful counter-argument to the mythology of terroir. The winemakers’ core demand, despite discourse about fraud and “tradition,” was not support for a high-quality tra- ditional product that could only be produced in a delimited zone with special “tra- ditional” techniques. Rather, Languedocian winemakers essentially wanted the central government to subsidize their continued production of low-quality table wine, undistinguished except for its mediocrity and incidental production within departmental boundaries. Instead of acceding to these demands, French and EU officials spent decades promoting the reduction of production, the replanting vine- yards with better-quality varietals, and the improvement of production standards through technological modernization. The creation of a Languedocian AOC wine zone in 1985 was premised not on traditional grape varieties or methods of produc- tion, but rather a wholesale modernization. The traditional varietals—Aramon noir, Cinsault, and Carignan—were all high-yield and low-quality, and were almost totally replaced in the closing decades of the century. Cabernet, Merlot, Sauvignon, and Chardonnay vines, of which zero acres had been planted in Languedoc in 1968, were covering tens of thousands of hectares in 2008. Smith’s narrative, then, is a welcome counterpoint to the typical food studies paeans to terroir emerging from tradition; good wine from the Languedoc is recent, and has more to do with EU-subsidized replanting with high-quality varietals and stainless-steel machinery than Languedocian heritage and traditional winemaking techniques.

Scholars of terrorists and terroirists, take note: Despite the title, there is no real terror, or terroir. Militant winegrowers destroy property throughout the book, but violence against people is rare and almost always accidental. There is a brief discus- sion of terroir in the Introduction and an oblique reference to the difference in wines from the hills versus the plains on p. 167, but the impact of the land on the wine is almost entirely absent. There is not much discussion of Languedoc as an actual, physical place—Smith’s actors give speeches, march in rallies, occupy train stations, and dump wine, but he only occasionally shows them in their vineyards. Smith dwells at times too long on the particulars of the many labor leaders that people his pages.

Smith’s case study, while perhaps too detailed to be an undergraduate text, opens the avenue to other important comparative research that could be done. Alongside this excellent example of a long-term (and ultimately unsuccessful) struggle of Languedocian winemakers to have Paris subsidize their continued production of plonk, it would be interesting to see if winemakers in Italy, Spain, and Germany were using similar tactics, and with similar results.

Zachary Nowak
Harvard University
znowak@umbra.org
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.7

Beginning in 1953, the University of Oxford and Cambridge University each fielded teams for annual blind wine-tasting events at which typically six undergraduates from each institution met to blind-taste a dozen or so wines, half white and half red. The wines had to be identified by the contestants, and points were awarded for correct identification: In the 1960s, for example, guessing the type of wine correctly was worth 5 points, the vintage 2, the district 1, the commune 1, and the name of the wine 1. The winning team received a prize (e.g., a magnum of cham- pagne) and, of course, untold amounts of glory. The winners are listed at the end of the book, with Oxford garnering slightly more than half the triumphs. Senior members of the wine trade such as Harry Waugh, Hugh Johnson, Michael Broadbent, and Jancis Robinson participated as judges or got otherwise involved in helping the wine societies, and large firms in the wine trade (e.g., John Harvey & Sons) provided financial support; in addition, dues were paid by members of the Oxford University Wine and Food Society (OUWFS) and the Cambridge University Wine and Food Society (CUWFS). The student organizations from among whose members the contestants were selected changed over time as in the case of the Oxford University Wine Society (OUWS) and the corresponding society in Cambridge which supplanted their predecessors.

The book is organized by decades, from the 1950s through the 2000s. It starts with several short essays: an “appreciation” of Harry Waugh, an important figure in the British wine trade and in the history of the Oxford–Cambridge wine-tastings, by Robert Parker, a brief biography of Harry Waugh, an interview with his widow, Prue Waugh, and a brief history of the firm John Harvey & Sons of Bristol. The wine-tasting history of the six decades is covered by letting the participants speak about their experiences: who participated, what they drank, what pranks they played, how well they competed, and how this all unfolded. What emerges quite con- vincingly is that the undergraduate participants took all this extremely seriously. They held training sessions in preparation for the annual tasting, and it seems at least superficially that many of the tasters were quite sophisticated, in spite of the occasional horrible blunders, like mistaking a Burgundy wine for a Bordeaux. New World wines and wines from Spain and Italy were practically unknown in the early decades, and even in the later ones their appearance at a tasting was only occasional. One of the wine societies seems to have held a private tasting of Russian (Georgian) wines and pronounced them undrinkable. The dinners were characteristic of the age and would today be considered hopelessly old-fashioned: At a meeting of the CUWFS in a restaurant in 1962 the food served was

Pâté du Patron au Cognac
Mousse de Brochet Dieppoise
Filet Mignon Chassseur au Cognac
Petits Pois au Beurre
Haricots verts sauté comme en France
Pommes Parisienne
Crèpe Simone flambé
Petits Fours
Café Moka (p. 66)

The food was accompanied, in turn, by Vin Blanc Cassis (what today we would call a kir), Puligny Montrachet 1955, Château Léoville Barton 1952, Château La Fleur Petrus 1952, Château Lafaurie-Peyraguey 1937, Reserve Malmsey Solera 1830, Rouyer Guillet 1910. A quite acceptable dinner, even if old-fashioned! Life at Oxbridge seemed to have been pleasant (Jonathan Harris of Trinity notes “We shot, we beagled, we punted and played games for the colleges” (p. 68)) but the good times did not interfere with many of the students going on to distinguished careers, quite a few in the wine trade. Of course no women were members of these societies or of the Oxford and Cambridge student bodies until much later. Quite a bit of attention is paid to John Harvey & Sons and its rival, Avery’s of Bristol and to the fact that by the 1970s women had arrived at Oxbridge (for the story of that see Nancy Malkiel, “Keep the Damned Women Out,” Princeton University Press, 2016.) The first American competitor was Charles Moore of Pembroke College in 1970–1972. The CUWFS is remembered by Dennis Dugdale, also known as Lord Crathorne, as is “real tennis,” described as “a perfect game for those who find squash and tennis too energetic” (pp. 72–75). A useful essay on the Institute of Masters of Wine describes the grueling three-part examination that has to be passed to receive the coveted degree of Master of Wine (MW), first introduced in 1953. The examination consisted of (1) theory (four three-hour examination papers on viticulture), (2) three 12 wine blind-tasting events each lasting several hours, and (3) a 10,000 word dissertation, which had to be an original study on some relevant subject (p. 168).

By the 1990s, financial problems began to rear their heads as Harvey’s proved reluctant to continue its role of sponsoring the contests, which were ultimately taken over by Pol Roger. Some internecine struggles temporarily rocked the CUWS as two undergraduates attempted a take-over and behaved very badly at a legendary luncheon, which so incensed Jancis Robinson that she made a point of writing the incident up in the Financial Times. Hugh Trevor-Roper, a famous histo- rian, is mentioned more than once; he was master of Peterhouse for a while, and is referred to several times as being responsible for the “(mis)-authentication” of the purported Hitler diaries–no love lost there!

As should be obvious by now, this is not a standard “wine book.” No systematic analysis is provided and the content is, on the whole, episodic, but nevertheless thor- oughly enjoyable. It is worth mentioning that the book is profusely illustrated with photographs of Oxford and Cambridge colleges, students and faculty, menus, wine lists, which by itself makes this a sort-of “coffee table” book that you might just like to have around and dip into from time to time. The episodic nature of the expo- sition is illustrated by the fact that there is an interesting analysis of Clos St. Denis (pp. 218–219), but this is really one of the very few wines that is analyzed in this depth (Château Lafite is a notable exception, pp. 53–54). If you want to know how the elite get educated in England, this is clearly the book for you. But in addition to that, it contains an enormous amount of interesting tidbits about wine and food and the enjoyment thereof, as well as the quaint habits of the denizens of Oxbridge, with occasional additional comments about what was happening in the world outside of wine drinking and academia. The Editor did an enormous amount of work compiling all the details and must be congratulated on doing a huge job well, and she also provided a solid Index, which makes the volume much more useful than it would have been otherwise.

Richard E. Quandt
Princeton University
requandt@gmail.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.6

The best documentaries—on any subject—are informative, entertaining, and even touching. Think of Ken Burns’s PBS series, The Civil War, or—in the realm of oenonomy—Jason Wise’s Somm (reviewed, volume 8, 2013, pp. 238–241). Rudi Goldman’s new film, Burgundy: People with a Passion for Wine, meets at least the first two requirements, which are necessary, if not sufficient conditions for documen- tary film excellence.

Goldman’s film surpasses another recent documentary about the Burgundy wine scene, David Kennard’s A Year in Burgundy (reviewed, volume 9, 2014, pp. 100–103). Both offer high-quality cinematography, beautiful to view from a Blu-ray disc on a large-format, high-definition display. But whereas Kennard employed a ponderous narrator to tell his viewers what to think, Wise and now Goldman trust their respec- tive audiences to come to their own conclusions, stimulated by the pictorial, musical, and verbal inspiration the films provide.

One reason we do not miss the presence of a narrator in Burgundy is that several of the film’s dozen talking heads—all winemakers and wine lovers—are both articulate and insightful. It is fortuitous that we can benefit repeatedly from the thoughts of an American, Alex Gambal, who left the world of real estate decades ago to explore Burgundy, and after attending the adult viticultural school in Beaune, launched Maison Alex Gambal in 1997. His Pinot Noir grapes range from those sourced from Grand Cru vineyards in Charmes-Chambertin and Batard-Montrachet, to Premier Cru, and more modest Communal and Regional bottlings.

In a striking segment that will be of particular interest to readers of this Journal, Gambal describes what he calls “the irony” of Burgundy. Only two cépages may be grown and vinified in the region—Pinot Noir and Chardonnay; and the Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée (AOC) rules on planting, growing, harvesting, vinification, and bottling are exceptionally severe. Yet, these constraints, this discipline leads to the production of celebrated products—the Grand Cru and Premier Cru wines of Burgundy.

We are reminded of the discipline that is provided by a musical form, such as a Baroque trio sonata (or—for that matter—by an academic discipline, which may limit scope and acceptable methodology, and thereby lead to rigor and insight). Gambal laments those who operate within the discipline of Burgundy, possess a superb instrument (their particular terroir), but due to their lack of skill or temper- ament, fail to produce a product that measures up. They possess a Stradivarius, but play it like a fiddle.

Of course, this raises the ongoing issue of the relative importance of terroir versus the skill and dedication of the winemaker in the winery. To some degree, Gambal’s critique flies in the face of conventional wisdom. For many years, it has been accepted that terroir is the greater determinant of quality in old world wines (hence, the convention of naming wines by their location), while there has been con- siderable doubt about this in the case of new world wines (hence, the convention of naming wines by varietal).1

A somewhat different—and distinctly French—take on the Burgundian irony is offered by Jacques Lardière, retired head winemaker of Maison Louis Jadot in Beaune. Reflecting on how the combination of excellent terroir married with the con- straints of the AOC system can produce such a sublime product, he concludes with a mischievous smile, “C’est magique.”

The person with the second-most air time in Burgundy is not only interesting, but charming—Véronique Drouhin-Boss, the fourth-generation winemaker of Maison Joseph Drouhin in Beaune (as well as Domaine Drouhin in the Dundee Hills of Oregon). She takes us into the 11th century cellar, where she played as a small child, and opens a series of bottles, beginning with a Chardonnay—the Maison’s Clos des Mouches, from a vineyard purchased by her grandfather. Tasting this Premier Cru, she is captured by the nose of the young wine, and reflects with us on how the nose will evolve as the wine matures. Later, we return to her cellar to taste the superb 2009 vintage of Joseph Drouhin Chambolle-Musigny and Gevrey-Chambertin.

That Burgundy produces excellent vintages perhaps no more than once per decade is a consequence of its climate. The weather is a significant challenge, with its short growing season at 47 degrees latitude (albeit with many sunny days). The conse- quence and drama of the stochastic relationship between climate and weather is brought home through our experience of a hail storm, which lasts only four minutes, yet results in the loss of 50% of the year’s crop!

In this world, dedicated small-scale vignerons (owner-grower-winemakers) con- tinue to operate. Sixty-year old Bernadette Ecobichon, sitting in her modest home in Meursault, aspires to maintain her family’s long tradition of excellence. In Puligny-Montrachet, each sub-area is incredibly small, ranging from one hectare to 10 hectares (and totaling no more than 25 hectares). From this terroir come wines that age gracefully for 30 years or more, such as in Chassagne-Montrachet, where Philippe Duvernay, the winemaker and co-owner of Domaine Coffinet- Duvernay, uses his pipette to extract and taste a sample of the young wine, aging slowly in oak barrels.

Those barrels are also a key part of the creation of the wines of Burgundy, and we are privileged to visit one of the most renowned of all cooperage—Tonnellerie François Frères in Saint-Romain, where we go through the process from sawmill to final toast, guided by Romain Schneider (who insists, of course, on the complete superiority of French to American oak!).

Like most wines, those of Burgundy are best enjoyed when dining, and fortunately there is abundant opportunity for good pairings throughout the film. We stop at Le Charlemagne, where Laurent Peugeot, the chef/owner of a Michelin-starred res- taurant in Pernand-Vergelesses, emphasizes that just as every small part of Burgundy differs in regard to wine, so too with regard to cuisine. At Château de Santenay, we join a dinner for winemakers, where Jérôme Brochot, Michelin-starred chef/owner in Montceau-les-Mines, explains his thought process for pairing wines with a meal. And Olivier Leflaive, the winemaker and owner of Maison d’Olivier Leflaive, sits at a table in his restaurant in Puligny-Montrachet, and explains the importance of balance, which for him means that “the best wedding between the wine and the food” must be executed with “finesse and elegance.”

What is a French wine documentary without some visits to the banquets that are such a large part of the wine scene in that country? We visit the Palais des Congrès de Beaune for the Great Burgundy Wine Festival, a three-day event of tasting during wine auction weekend. Three thousand different wines are tasted!

A visit to the Hospices de Beaune provides an opportunity for retired winemaker Roland Masse to taste the 2013 vintage in barrels and predict how it will taste in two to ten years. This leads to the November 2012 auction, the 152nd such annual auction for charity for the local hospital. It is important each year, because it is the first pre- sentation of the harvest.

Finally, at Château de Meursault, we join La Paulée de Meursault, a dinner with abundant wine for winemakers and invited lovers of Burgundy from around the world. The wines are poured by the winemakers themselves for the 800 assembled guests. Here we see many of the winemakers we met earlier in the film, now sitting for dinner or standing to pour their wines. Remarkably, one invited guest, Anthony Hanson, British Master of Wine and senior consultant to Christie’s, pro- ceeds to swirl, sniff, … and then pour his entire glass into a spit bucket without so much as putting the wine to his lips. The winemaker is crushed, but so it is in the real world.

Overall, the film’s testimony to the people who have a very special passion for the wines of Burgundy reminds me of a high-point in Alexander Payne’s feature film, Sideways (reviewed, volume 1, May 2006, pp. 91–93), when Maya (Virginia Madsen) asks Miles (Paul Giamatti) why he is so enamored with Pinot Noir. He responds with a memorable statement that might have been uttered by any of the real-life characters in Burgundy:

“It’s a hard grape to grow. … It’s thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It’s not a survi- vor like Cabernet that can grow anywhere and thrive even when neglected. Pinot needs cons- tant care and attention and in fact can only grow in specific little tucked-away corners of the world. And only the most patient and nurturing growers can do it really, can tap into Pinot’s most fragile, delicate qualities. Only when someone has taken the time to truly understand its potential can Pinot be coaxed into its fullest expression. And when that happens, its flavors are the most haunting and brilliant and subtle and thrilling and ancient on the planet.”

Near the end of Burgundy, New York sommelier Michael Madrigale (recently of the Boulud restaurant empire), is one of the guests at La Paulée de Meursault. Clearly in love with the wines, the cuisine, and the passion that permeates the luncheon, he turns to the camera and confesses that each year “there’s something magnetic about Burgundy that brings you here.” Enough said, except for some personal advice, based on my own experience with the film. Make sure you have a good bottle of Burgundy available in your cellar—perhaps a Premier Cru, if not a Grand Cru – that you can open and enjoy, as I did, with the film or shortly thereafter. You will not regret it.

1 An econometric analysis of this debate can be found in this Journal (Cross, Plantinga, and Stavins, 2011, 2017).

Robert N. Stavins
Harvard University
robert_stavins@harvard.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.5

References
Cross, R., Plantinga, A. J., and Stavins, R. N. (2011). The value of terroir: Hedonic estimation of vineyard sale prices. Journal of Wine Economics, 6(1), 1–14.
Cross, R., Plantinga, A. J., and Stavins, R. N. (2017). Terroir in the New World: Hedonic esti- mation of vineyard sale prices in California.
Journal of Wine Economics, 6(1), 267–281.