Book & Film Reviews

Any wine lover with even the slightest interest in wines from the country of Georgia would be familiar with such words as “cradle of wine,” “8000 vintages,” “qvevri,” and “supra.” This tiny country—the size of Tasmania and only slightly larger than West Virginia—arguably has the longest history of winemaking from grapes, and is one of the most grapewine-focused countries in the world. It shares with Portugal the honor of having the world’s largest share of national crop area under vines (almost 10%) but has a heritage of producing wine for four times as many cen- turies as Western Europe. It shares with Croatia the highest unit value among east European countries and former Soviet republics for its wine exports. Moreover, it claims to have more than 400 (possibly 500) native Vitis Vinifera winegrape varieties (Ketskhoveli, Ramishvili, and Tabidze, 2012), thus exceeding even Italy (D’Agata, 2014)—and many of those grape varieties are not grown elsewhere. So even though Georgia produces barely 0.5% of the world’s wine production, it is certainly worthy of being the subject of a volume in the Infinite Ideas Classic Wine Library. The author of this book, Lisa Granik, is highly qualified. She became a Master of Wine in 2006, having previously earned a BS and MS in Foreign Service from Georgetown University, a J.D. from Georgetown, and an LLM and JSD from Yale Law School. She first visited the Soviet Union as a law professor on a Fulbright Scholarship (1990–1991), but a side visit to Georgia piqued her interest in the newly independent country and in wine. Currently, she serves on the governing council of the Institute of Masters of Wine, and the advisory board of the Women in Wine Leadership Symposium, and was a board member of the Institute of Masters of Wine (North America) from 2007 to 2018. During 2013–2015 she was a professor of wine at the New York Institute of Technology, but is now a private consultant and wine writer and continues to frequently visit Georgia. The book begins by briefly exploring the extremely long history of the country and its wine industry, its fascinatingly complex geology, and its traditional winemaking methods. Many archaeologists dream of working in the region, the most famous westerner being the University of Pennsylvania Museum’s Patrick McGovern (2003, 2009; McGovern et al., 2017). In the most-recent two centuries, the country’s wine industry, like most other things in Georgia, has been closely tied to develop- ments in Russia, following Georgia’s official annexation into the Russian Empire in 1801. That means it flourished in much of the 19th century’s globalization era, shrunk as phylloxera belatedly took hold leading up to the Russian Revolution, and then became “industrialized” under Stalin’s collectivization mania aimed at maximizing the volume of production when processing was centralized though a state monopoly (Samtrest). By 1980 around 150,000 hectares were under vine. But in 1985, when Gorbachev abruptly introduced his anti-alcohol policies, huge areas of vineyards were uprooted. The fall of the Soviet Union in 1991 was followed by the collapse of the cooperative system and the civil war, causing further abandon- ment of vineyards—down to perhaps 40,000 hectares—such that less than one- eighth of the country’s wine was available for export in the 1990s. In the new millen- nium production and exports began to grow, and the share of production exported peaked at almost 50% by 2005 before Russia imposed a ban on imports from Georgia. This embargo triggered an export diversification drive, but the area under vines has recovered only to the extent of about 50,000 hectares so far. Traditional winemaking involved maturation in buried clay qvevri (large amphora) that averaged around 1,000 liters but ranged from 100 to 3,500 liters. Grapes and stems are fermented and allowed to mature in these vessels for more than six months, for white as well as red varieties. The “whites” thus become amber in color and more tannic than most other white wines—fitting in perfectly with the current consumer infatuation with “orange” and “natural” wines. Even though today only a small fraction of Georgia’s commercial wine is produced in qvevri, it con- tinues to provide an intriguing point of difference for marketing the country’s product. The book explains in some detail Georgia’s highly integrated wine and food culture. The word “supra” cannot be easily translated into English because it involves far more than just a feast. Wine is integral, as are myriad heart-felt speeches and toasts led by a “tamada” (toastmaster), plus singing and maybe dancing. Few visi- tors to Georgia will forget their first supra. Most of the rest of the book examines the country’s winegrape varieties and regions of production. On varieties, Granik discusses not just those grown currently but also many unique varieties that are beginning to be or could be resurrected by producers. Rkatsiteli and Saperavi are Georgia’s best-known white variety and red variety, respectively. However, the widely varying climate and soils across this tiny country ensure many regions also specialize in one or more other varieties that, over the centuries, have proven their worth in their locale. This diverse genetic stock will be of increasing interest to those seeking alternatives to the world’s most popular varieties, whether just to be different or in response to climate change. Turning to the key winegrape regions, two-thirds of the country’s wine is produced in the Kakheti region east of the capital (Tbilisi) toward the border with Azerbaijan. That is also the region with the most-developed wine tourism infrastructure, and is only about an hour’s drive from the capital. Yet just as many pages of the book are devoted to the regions of western Georgia. This detailed coverage of regions (half the book’s pages), and of winegrape varieties, will no doubt interest those wanting to specialize in working with Georgia’s wine industry, but is far more than the average tourist or wine economist is likely to want. The final chapter briefly summarizes where Georgia currently fits in the wine world and how it might evolve in the future. The industry has moved on somewhat from what was described nearly a decade ago in Anderson (2013), but it is still heavily dependent on export sales to Russia and other formerly planned economies (now including China). Breaking into the United States, the United Kingdom, and western European wine markets is its current challenge—and its most obvious opportunity for returning to its former size. As it does so, more and more consumers in the West who are interested in new wine experiences (wine styles, winegrape varieties, wine tourism) will be able to discover for themselves this unique place and its wine culture.

Kym Anderson
University of Adelaide and Australian National University
kym.anderson@adelaide.edu.au
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.22

Even Burgundy wine enthusiasts, when confronted with a heavy tome called “Burgundy Vintages: A History from 1845,” may take a deep breath. The book’s authors, former banker Allen Meadows and retired lawyer Douglas Barzelay, both not merely enthusiasts but obsessives, have disgorged thousands of personal tasting notes for almost every one of those 175 vintages. The earliest, an 1845 Clos de Vougeot, was on the vine in the year that Texas entered the Union as a slave state. Most of the entries carry detailed impressions from both authors, often based on tastings of multiple bottles of the same wine. Meadows (a.k.a. Burghound, publisher of an eponymous wine-rating periodical) tends to be the tougher grader. As an example, Barzelay highly praises Domaine Ponsot’s 1961 Clos de la Roche as a “brilliant wine, the essence of Clos de la Roche” (p. 255). He awards it 98 points on the 100-point scale. Meadows will have none of it: “I confess to being disappointed, as I had expected great things, particularly given how taken Doug is with this wine. Perhaps one day” (p. 255). His score: 88. That divergence of opinion over the same wine (if not the same bottle), even when tasters are ultra-experienced and respectful of each other, goes to the heart of what keeps us interested in wine: It is a liquid that whispers its intimacies to each of us differently. It would seem to be a no-brainer that even the best bottles of Burgundy’s pinot noir, typically lighter in color and tannin than the Medoc’s best cabernet sauvignon, are doomed to lose out on longevity. That notion is put to rest in these tasting notes. “I couldn’t get over just how spectacular the mouthfeel and unreal complexity were and even at almost 160 years of age, this is cruising along like it will live forever,” enthuses Meadows over Bouchard Pere & Fils’ 1958—oops, I meant to type 1858 —Chambolle Musigny (p. 33). Here, the authors did find common ground; Barzelay judged the same wine to be “both powerful and elegant, with great harmony and still a lot of power on the finish” (p. 33). Astonishingly, the authors discover that it is not only 19th century red burgundy that can dally with immortality. So can white burgundy. The scent of the 1865 Bouchard Pere & Fils Meursault Charmes, Barzelay found, “was spicy, with orange mousse, toast, gingerbread and mineral notes, and it kept expanding in the glass” (p. 45). In the mouth, this white awed Meadows with its “terrific intensity and fantastic length” (p. 45). What an irony that modern white burgundies from esteemed producers have too frequently been beset by dreaded “premox” (premature oxidation) whose cause has yet to be nailed down. Even bottles that have never left their birth site are not spared. At the 300th anniversary dinner of renowned Domaine Leflaive, Meadows reports that three bottles of 1995 Bâtard-Montrachet were opened and “unfortunately, all were premoxed” (p. 437). Tasting notes for long-ago vintages in Burgundy are, even for limitless wine budgets, for daydreaming only. To take an over-the-moon example, you may wish you could source a bottle of 1945 Romanée-Conti, but you will wish in vain. That first post-war vintage of France’s most venerated wine was also the last from its pre-phylloxera vineyard. The time had come for the exhausted vines to be grubbed up prior to replanting. But those old vines produced the single rarest and greatest 20th century burgundy. “The ’45 is a complete wine, capable of speaking to the soul, great but not flashy, sexy but not vulgar, regal but not austere, a living monu- ment to the past yet serving as a model for future…the greatest wine I have ever drunk,” writes Meadows. Barzelay: “It would be hopeless to catalog [its] kaleido- scope of flavors; more important was the shape of the wine, its density, its perfect harmony. A long, brilliant spherical finish kept on going: just as it seemed to end, it restarted” (p. 186). That 1945 was the centerpiece of a 70-vintage Romanée-Conti tasting held at New York restaurant Per Se in 2007. Barzelay had spent more than a decade track- ing down all the bottles. But the 1945 eluded him. Into the breach came wine world rock star Rudy Kurniawan, who would later be convicted of being a master wine counterfeiter. Among his favorite wines to fake was this one. Yet both authors con- cluded, based on the glory of what they had tasted at Per Se, that somehow, some- where, Kurniawan had located a single authentic example of this rarest of rarities. (Elsewhere, the authors do report tasting a scattering of wines in which they detect the hand of the counterfeiter at work.) Tasting notes for vintages the authors judge to be superb, such as 1867, 1910, 1928, 1945, and 1971, make for happy reading. This being Burgundy, with its iffy climate (or so it once was), these knockout vintages are relatively few. What about vintages that are mediocre? Is there pleasure or utility in learning, for example, about “incessantly rainy and all but sunless” 1960, a vintage whose wines are pro- nounced to be “fully in decline?” (p. 251) Still, the authors pull up the small anecdote that makes us feel the misery, as when winemaker Henri Boillot remembers trying to rescue his inundated Volnay vines in 1965, a vintage even wetter than 1960 and “there was so much water that it came up over the top of my boots” (p. 270). About the limitation of massed tasting notes: It is inevitable that descriptors become repetitious—in particular, “sous-bois,” a term that is more a favorite of Meadows than Barzelay. Both authors are judicious in composing their notes—perhaps too much so. I found myself longing for a bit of flash and sass, as one finds in the two volumes of tasting notes by Michael Broadbent, founder of Christie’s post-war wine department. Broadbent , for example, slaps down a Nuits-St-Georges as smelling like an “institutional kitchen (unclean)” (The Great Vintage Wine Book, 1980, p. 201) And, after giving an initial pass to an old Vosne Romanée Malconsorts on first tasting, he dismisses it two years later, having decided that he had “caught it ascending on the third day, for it was [now] well and truly dead” (The Great Vintage Wine Book, p. 200) And there are the lively notes of Acker Merrall & Condit auctioneer John Kapon, online and in his book “The Compendium.” If there’s a way to combine wine and funky sexual allusion, Kapon will find it. Tasting notes bulk up “Burgundy Vintages,” but a bonus woven into these nearly 600 pages is a rich, occasionally quirky, anecdotal history of Burgundy that takes us deep into the texture of this unique region. The authors have dug up from who knows what dusty archive, for example, a protest letter to the mayor of Beaune penned by Maurice Drouhin, then head of his distinguished family wine house, on the eve of the 1936 harvest. In this instance, Drouhin was wearing his cap as head of the local hunting society. His complaint was that the “bureaucrats of the Department of the Côte d’Or” had decreed the end of the autumn partridge hunt to be November 1. That date was just one day after Beaune’s mayor had proposed opening the same hunt—“clearly not enough time to decimate the entire partridge population, even if a few stray vignerons got in the way” as the authors dryly put it (p. 163). Thanks to Drouhin’s influence, the hunt was reset to open five days earlier, on October 25th. More obscure facts and odd anecdotes abound. We learn, for example, that wartime bottles had a blue tint due to the unavailability of chromium, which gives the glass its familiar green tint. And if not for a dearth of copper sulfate to stave off vineyard maladies in those years, Romanée-Conti’s ancient vines might have been continued on life support a while longer. It turns out that there was one benefit from the occupation: the inven- tion of the raised, inverted U-shaped tractor called an enjambeur, which could nav- igate narrow vineyard rows. The authors give credit for this adaptation from standard tractors to a mechanic and his partner who “fabricated elements taken from a destroyed motorized German regiment near Auxey-Duresses in 1944” (p. 174).

Especially rewarding, co-existing with this volume’s multitudinous tasting notes, is a panoramic survey of the long struggle over the creation of appellation controlée laws, in which the “bad guys” are not always whom you would expect. On one side were the powerful negociants; on the other, the vignerons, or growers. For a very long time, their commercial arrangement made sense: the growers, most of them small, sold their latest vintage to the negociants. The negociants then blended the wines to create taste profiles familiar to their customers, and never mind the precise origin of the grapes. Chambertin was not expected to taste like Volnay, and the negociants made sure that it did not. If, in a dilute vintage year, the Chambertin needed to be darkened up with, say an infusion of ripe Midi grapes, so be it. From the other side, beginning in the early 1930s, a few well-off growers began to assert their right to bottle their own wines and put their names, as well as true appel- lations, on the label. Leading the charge were Marquis d’Angerville in Volnay, Henri Gouges in Nuits-St.-Georges, and Charles Rousseau in Gevrey-Chambertin. Looking back now, appellation control laws, guaranteeing the origin of each bottle, would seem to be a no-brainer. But, as the authors explain, it was not neces- sarily so. Suppose a negociant was accustomed to bottling a wine labeled as famed Pommard but did not hesitate to plump it up with grapes purchased from growers in nearby, unfamous, Auxey-Duresses. Under the new laws, those growers would be abandoned—or at least, no longer be paid for contributing to Pommard. Such minor league growing areas were known as villages disinheritees. They could ill afford to lose their negociant income. The battle over strict appellation controlee legislation, finally won in the mid- 1930s, was carried out even as Burgundians had next to no market for their wines. Charles Rousseau, the late luminary of Gevrey Chambertin, who would live to see his wines sell for thousands of dollars per bottle, told Meadows that in the 1950s he embarked on a trip to London where he “tried hard to sell his wines but was forced to return to Gevrey without having sold even one bottle!” (p. 115) Aubert de Villaine, co-proprietor of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, once described Burgundy as a place “bound up with centuries of human input into and around our vineyards. It has led to a winegrowing landscape that’s been divided into parcels and hierarchies almost to excess.” And the winemakers themselves can be neurotic, even nutty, in pursuit of their beliefs. I once listened to a rant by a Burgundian winemaker, as he stood over a barrel of wine in his cellar, about how other winemakers stirred the lees in the wrong way. He was as combative about lees stirring technique as we Americans currently are about politics. That Burgundian obsession with micro-dividing their vineyard landscape and cellar practices would be stillborn without people who are equally obsessive on the consumer side. Happily, there is no lack of Burgundy true believers, even if they must pay painfully for the most sought-after labels. Meadows and Barzelay have gone a step further. They have transformed their own obsession with Burgundian wine—its history and culture, its wisdom and quirks, into this marvelous book— truly a work of love and erudition.

Peter Hellman
New York, NY
peter.hellman425@gmail.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.21

As this volume of work was awarded the 2019 International Organisation of Vine and Wine (OIV) prize for the best new book in the “economy” category, I was rea- sonably confident that this would be an interesting book to review. The volume asks: What models of industrial organization are present in the main wine producing countries? Can different industrial organization characteristics be identified and described? And are the differences in approach between the old, new, and very new wine production countries really that substantial? The 28 contributed chapters are grouped into five parts: Part I is the Structure of the Wine Sectors of the World; Part II is Regulations in the Wine Sector; Part III is Diversity of Organisation in the Wine Industry; Part IV is Backwards Vertical Integration; Part V is Efficiency of the Business Models in the Different Wine Industries. Part I consists of a series of self-contained country specific chapters that provide an overview of the characteristics of the production systems used in each country. The old world is represented through chapters on France, Italy, and Spain; the new world through chapters on the United States, Australia, Argentina, and South Africa; and the very new world by a chapter on China. All of these chapters provide a treasure of facts and figures on what is grown, where it is grown, sales chan- nels, corporate structures, and the relative importance of geographical indicators (Protected Designation of Origin (PDO)). All of the chapters are interesting, and rather than being just relevant to industrial organization research, these chapters represent great country specific references. As the China market is the market I know least well, I found this material especially interesting. At the end of these chapters it is apparent that there are some structural differences between countries, for example, the relative importance of taxation issues as a factor influencing structures (more important in the new world); the role of co-operatives (more important in the old world), and differences in land availability for planting (generally unrestricted in the new world and highly restricted in the old world). Overall, however, there are many factors that are less different than one might ini- tially think. For example, although industry concentration is higher in the new world, the actual size of large firms is not that dissimilar across both new and old world countries. There also seems to be a convergence towards the use of geograph- ical identifiers across all producers, and a broad movement towards higher-quality wine production everywhere, although each country is starting from a different base. Part II first provides an overview of the activities of the OIV and the World Wine Trade Group (WWTG). Although OIV has a long European history, and the WWTG is a modern new world focused group, both organizations are shown to have complementary objectives. There are no formal links between the two organi- zations, but the reader is left with the impression that convergence in core objects is likely. The chapter on European wine policy provides an honest account of policy interventions and their results and provides an excellent historical overview. The trade chapter places wine trade within a broader context of barriers to market access and concludes with coverage of topics that are both important for wine trade and global trade more generally: the current “America first” trade policies of the United States, and the disruption to trade associated with the United Kingdom leaving the European Union. If the Part I chapters drew the reader towards the similarities across wine produc- ing countries, the Part III chapters start by refocusing the attention of the reader on the industrial organization aspects that are genuinely different between the old and new world producers. A transaction cost framework is then used to explain the dif- ferent organizational features across vineyards, wineries, and decisions, such as the extent of contracting at different wineries. This is followed by a detailed examination of co-operative strategies for growth that draws on information gathered through a series of semi-structured interviews with managers that have actually been involved in real world wine co-operative mergers. The section concludes with a detailed Bordeaux region study that highlights the complex relationships between the differ- ent actors along the supply chain. Part IV can be viewed as a set of case studies. The first case study focuses on strat- egies in Burgundy and uses cluster analysis to identify groups, and in doing so, high- lights the diverse approaches that can be used to operate profitable wine businesses. The focus of the second case study is Bordeaux, and Farm Accountancy Data Network (FADN) information is combined with data from France’s Computerised Vineyard Register (CVI) to create a detailed database for 684 farms, that include 258 co-operatives. Following a review of financial performance, the case study focuses on the vertical integration options for co-operatives. Prosecco production is the focus of the third case study, and again, analysis is supported through the creation of a detailed and comprehensive industry sector database. The case study reveals a complex industry structure, but also describes a positive story of industry sector performance. The final case study provides contrasting specific examples of approaches to integration in the old world, where planting rights constraints are present, and the new world, where such constraints do not exist. The role of land availability and land ownership structure in influencing indus- try organization is especially clear in this final case study; however, the role of land availability and land ownership structure as factors shaping industry organization is a common element to all of the case studies. The structure of chapters in Part V presents a balanced view of the relative success of different structures, for example, Brand v. PDO, and shows that there is no single, definitive dominant strategy. There are multiple examples of success, and both collec- tive and individual reputation are important features of the wine market that influence industrial organization structures. Contrasting two different successful strategies— Chile and Switzerland—serves to highlight this point. Different models coexist at the regional, national, and international levels, and both strategy and industry struc- tures are constantly evolving at each level. Part V, and the volume as a whole, con- cludes with some observations about future possible drivers of change. Overall, the volume is an excellent reference for anyone wanting to understand the industrial organization setting of the global wine industry. The volume is also, definitely, a worthy winner of the OIV prize for the best new book in the economy category.

James Fogarty
The University of Western Australia
james.fogarty@uwa.edu.au
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.12

In the Spring of 2011, I was asked to join Karl Storchmann (Editor of the Journal of Wine Economics) in speaking to a group of grape growers and wine makers in Pittstown, New Jersey, home to one of Rutgers University’s several agricultural extension services. After our presentations, and some spirited discussion, we adjourned to lunch, accompanied by barrel samples of wines from the 2010 vintage in New Jersey. Thus occurred my New Jersey wine epiphany! Both Karl and I thought the wines on offer were of excellent quality. How, I wondered, did I live in the state of New Jersey for 50 years without knowing there were such high-quality, local producers? In the nine years since that time, I have come to realize that I was not alone— New Jersey wines are among the most under-rated in the world. That is not to say that all producers or growers are making superior products, but there are many who do, and the number increases almost monthly. That single day in Pittstown led to a decision by the American Association of Wine Economists to hold their 2012 annual meeting in Princeton, NJ. Where, people asked, would we find local wines to serve to our members? It turns out the wines were not hard to find, and some were being made only a few miles away. The culmination of the meeting was a blind tasting, arranged in the style of the famous Judgment of Paris (where California wines were compared to French wines). And yes, in this Judgment of Princeton, the New Jersey wines were not only competitive with the fine (and very expensive) French wines in the tasting, in some cases, they were superior. Indeed, you can read all about it in a Wikipedia entry constructed, in part, by two of the French judges at the Judgment of Princeton. In addition, the Journal of Wine Economics devotes an entire issue to the tasting (see Ashenfelter and Storchmann, 2012, and four more articles). One thing led to another, and in 2015 I even began planting a small vineyard site with vinifera grapes in South Jersey. We have had two small harvests from these young vines, and so far, the wine made from those grapes has not disappointed. It is true that rain in September does reduce grape quality (just as it does in Bordeaux). And we have been lucky enough to avoid, so far, any of the deep winters that can completely destroy a vinifera vine. But you can read all about this and much, much more in this fine book by two of New Jersey’s distinguished agricultural scientists. Larry Coia and Dan Ward have decades of experience with grape growing in New Jersey, and they are uniquely qualified to write this book. I hope that grape growers, wine consumers, and wine makers will take the lessons in the book to heart. There are a lot of mistakes we need to avoid if New Jersey is ever to have the reputation it deserves for fine wine. Things have started to change, but it will be a long, hard road traveled before we see the progress the wine industry deserves. I was present recently at the Governor’s Cup celebration in the Governor’s Residence when New Jersey’s First Lady, Tammy Murphy, announced that henceforth, only New Jersey wines would be served in the Residence. That is a fine start to the journey. This book will be excellent guidance for many people, but it is not yet a fully finished project. There is much to learn about grape growing and grape suitability in New Jersey. This book should really be called Wine Grape Varieties for New Jersey, First Edition. I am already looking forward to the second edition. The book is available to order through Outer Coastal Plain Vineyard Association, at www.outercoastalplain.com.

Orley Ashenfelter
Princeton University
c6789@princeton.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.11

A memoir by someone under 30? Outrageous! What can we learn from someone so young, especially if 30 is the new 18? Quite a bit, actually. In less than a decade, Victoria James has gained important recognition. She became a Certified Sommelier in the Court of Master Sommeliers at age 21. In 2013, she won the Chilean Wine Challenge in New York and was named Best Sommelier of the Sud de France. Two years later, she came in first in the Ruinart Champagne Sommelier Challenge in New York, was named by Forbes as one of the “Top 10 Innovators under 30 in New York City,” and earned a place on Zagat’s 30 under 30 list. She made Wine Enthusiast’s 2016 Top 40 under 40 Tastemakers list and secured the title of Wine & Spirits Magazine “2016 Best Sommelier.” In 2017, she published her first book, Drink Pink: A Celebration of Rosé, which was illustrated by her future husband, Lyle Railsback. Forbes included her on their 2018 30 Under 30 list. That same year, Food & Wine called James the Best Sommelier in New York City. She is now a partner and beverage director at Cote in New York City and cofounder of Wine Empowered, a nonprofit that helps women and minor- ities enter the hospitality industry. But what makes her story so special is what she had to overcome to finally succeed and how she did so. The prologue describes a disturbing encounter with some obnoxious customers during James’ first year as the youngest sommelier in the United States involving a bottle of 2009 Domaine Ramonet Chevalier-Montrachet at which time she was first called wine girl. She then presents her story in seven parts, each covering a span of ages: 7–14, 14–19, 19–20, 21–23, 23–24, 24–26, and 26–28. Each part con- tains three or four chapters with titles including “The Poor Kids,” “The Wine School,” “Wine is a Blood Sport,” “Watch Out for the Wives,” and “The Real World.” In Part I, James, the second born of four children, recounts her childhood from hell. “I grew up in a household of manipulation and neglect, left to fend for myself” (p. 242), she stresses. Her mother was an Italian countess but lacked the basic skills needed to be an effective spouse and parent. Her father came from a more humble background, had strong analytic skills, which he never seemed to apply, and was frequently absent and broke. He eventually fell into alcoholism and developed a gambling addiction. “This juxtaposition of blue blood and blue collar is what I believe groomed me for the eventual role of a sommelier, essentially a highbrow servant” (p. 11), she explains. Her mother homeschooled her brood until succumbing to frailty, an overbearing husband, and to the demands of raising her children. She became reclusive. With their father off on extended trips, the children were left to fend for themselves and had to cobble together meals from what few edibles were around. “We had to make the sleeve of crackers last for days” (p. 16), she recalls. James’ first foray into the beverage business was a lemonade stand. Her father col- lected the cost of materials and a rental fee for the table. Becoming a better shopper and more attentive to customer preferences led her to succeed in her first beverage director experience. A particularly traumatic episode involved eight-year-old Victoria slamming the car door on her mother, as James’ father, fed up with his wife’s neglect, took the chil- dren to live with his mother in their aunt’s house. “The Poor Kids” covers the time of the divorce proceedings, tutoring by an unemployed physically and mentally abusive father, and little money. It also describes the transition to public school, where the children skipped a grade after testing high. “I found that because my father had drilled into me with relentless focus, I always forced myself to learn at an unusually accelerated pace” (p. 34), James acknowledges. At age 13, James was hired as a waitress at a diner in New Jersey, where her father had landed them. Part I concludes with the story of her friendship with the cook and dishwasher. Despite the grossness of many of the tasks, the two never grumbled. “Sometimes the more honest the work, the more honest the people” (p. 51), observes James. During her teens, the era comprising Part II, new challenges and traumas arose. James’ father returned from triple-bypass surgery with a new partner, who later gave him a fourth daughter. Later he succumbed to alcoholism and gambling. During the frequent trips to Atlantic City so that her father could indulge in his vice, James kept busy by becoming an “unofficial drink runner” (p. 64), collecting chips as tips and learning about classic cocktails along the way. James took a job at the Plaza Diner when she was 15 and credited Franky, the most senior waiter, who taught her how to be a “real hospitality professional” (pp. 68–69). “The advice I most appreciated from Franky was about customers. ‘You gotta love ‘em, I mean it…Tell ‘em you love ‘em, too’” (p. 69), she remembers. While this advice generally served her well, it led to her rape by a regular during the graveyard shift. Because he seemed trustworthy, she accepted a ride home. He attacked her in his car not far from her house. She did not discuss the trauma with anyone and suffered nightmares. She also began to abuse alcohol and drugs. Although Part III is titled Age 19–20, it really started earlier. At 17, James was in New York in college on a scholarship. Her academic career ended in less than a year, as she continued to indulge in booze and drugs. An aunt took her to California, but this did not turn out well, and she ended up back in New Jersey living with her father. A few months later, having kicked drugs with the help of therapy, she returned to New York City, where she has been since. In the Big Apple, James took a series of positions in higher-end restaurants in which she expanded her knowledge of cocktails and developed a love of wine. At Lattanzi, she had her first wine and food pairing epiphanies. She enrolled in a wine school where she met her first sommelier. At Harry’s, she acquired a mentor who shared some of the treasures of its legendary cellar, although not with the per- mission of the owner. While there, she assisted in reorganizing the collection when not tending bar. But after teaching her about wine and introducing her to haute cuisine, the mentor began to pressure her. “I so desperately wanted to be in that wine cellar, to learn and touch all those rare bottlings. I needed to make a living, too. So eventually, I gave in” (p. 134), she admits. At the recommendation of her mentor, James worked a harvest in Sonoma. When she returned to New York City, she began to see an acupuncturist/therapist to deal with some of the physical effects of the harvest. James also credits her mentor with helping her cope with her emotional issues. Things started to look up when James was 21 to 23, the period covered in Part IV. With the help of the instructor at the wine school, James became a sommelier at the Michelin-starred Aureole. She continued at the wine school, entered wine competi- tions, and became a Certified Sommelier. She later migrated to Marea, a Michelin two-star restaurant. But as James discovered, Marea was but a way station to Ristorante Morini, a new establishment she would help open. Part V covering age 23–24 details the rise and demise of that venture following a bad review by a New York Times critic, Pete Wells. She returned to Marea and became a full-time sommelier after surviving a grueling trial period.
Part VI, Age 24–26, describes James’ transition from a hectic and toxic environ- ment to an island of tranquility. During this time, James took trips to out-of-the- country wine regions that she had won in competitions. There was also recognition in several publications, as noted earlier. Despite her growing reputation, James lost her job at Medea the day after she learned she was on Zagat’s “30 under 30” list. But there was also another rape, this time by an unnamed boss in a wine cellar. The abuse to which she acquiesced for fear of losing her job lasted months. Now shuttered Piora became James’ next opportunity. It brought serenity and respect into her working life, and when it closed, an even greater chance to grow and excel. It, too, had been Michelin-starred under the proprietorship of Simon Kim, who not only took care of patrons, but, also, the small staff. There James thrived. As wine director, she “instituted a policy where a guest could order any bottle on the list and only commit to drinking half of it, hence paying half price” (p. 254). She also was responsible for purchasing wine. Unlike many restaurants in New York City, which markup wine three to four times retail, James used a factor of 2.9 and sold twice as many bottles. At the end of Part VI, James shares the story of how she met her husband, Lyle, a wine salesman for Kermit Lynch. The final part, Age 26–28, continues with reminis- cences of the courtship and ends with the wedding at the family castle in Piemonte. It also describes the closing of Piora and the opening of Cote, the Korean steakhouse awarded a Michelin star a few months after. There James insists that all wines by the glass are poured from magnums bottled especially at the sources in France because “the wine…stays fresher for longer and tastes better” (p. 289). While at times utterly depressing and infuriating, Wine Girl was an engaging read. James’ style is forthright and unadorned. It must have been painful for her to recount the abuse she experienced or witnessed, which she does in explicit language. Admittedly, I was hoping for some occasional respite from the unalloyed descrip- tions of mistreatment she endured. A little more on notable wines she had tasted, food pairings she recommended, or positive encounters with patrons would have helped leaven her heavy narrative. Nevertheless, I came away in awe of this young star, whose intelligence, persistence, and resilience are bringing her recognition and peace. “I had grit” (p. 220), she proudly declares. Wine Girl is the “wine cellar confidential” in the age of the Me Too movement worthy of our regard. James’ cathartic account of her physical and psychological abuses and indignities over the recent past should serve as a cautionary tale remind- ing us that despite increased opportunities for women in male-dominated profes- sions, attitudes and behaviors remain largely unchanged. A female coworker’s response to a customer who was “calling her the most horrid names” (p. 195) bears repeating: “‘Sir, with all due respect, I am a human being. I would demand, at the very least, recognition as such’” (p. 195). James’ poignant story needs to be told to everyone in the hospitality industry and to those who come in contact with it. In other words, everyone.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.10

This is an interesting and small (144 pages) book by Jérôme Douzelet, a chef and owner of a nice hotel cum restaurant, and Gilles-Eric Séralini, a molecular biologist, political advisor, an activist on genetically modified organisms and foods, who got several times in trouble with Monsanto. Still, this did not refrain me from reading the book, which sets out to show that, at blind tastings, people can detect the flavor of pesticides in wine and/or in fresh water in which a certain number of pesticides were diluted at the same concentration as in wines. And indeed, in blind tastings, subjects seem to be able to identify the flavor of specific “ingredients.” The book is written in French, but a summary can be found in the paper by Gilles-Eric Séralini and Jérôme Douzelet (2017). But I started reading the book with the list of poisons used in the wine “industry.” They are listed in alphabetical order with, between brackets, comments on nose and mouth: Boscalid, fungicide (taste of chlorine, evokes the smell of burning); Cyprodinil, fungicide (burns in the throat, bitterness, astringent); Fenhexamid, fungi- cide (taste of chemical candy, strawberry, chocolate, chlorinated vanilla, cardboard); Folpel and Phthalimid, fungicide (volatile alcohol, dries the palate, pecks the tip of the tongue, bitterness); Glyphosate, weed killer (acidic, burns, blocs detection in the mouth, pecks in the throat); Iprodione, fungicide (irritates, burns, tastes of old plastic, bleach, burnt tire, but also some vanilla); Iprovalicard, fungicide (astringent, taste of chlorine, or chemical drug, mold, but also taste of nuts); Polyethoxylated, tallow amine, used in Roundup and other friendly pesticides and weed killers (drains and blocks papillae, rough, but also scents of flowers); Pyrimethanil, fungi- cide (taste of earth, dust, pine, menthol, aspirin, bleach); and, of course, the best was kept for the end, Roundup, weed killer (putrefied wood, benzene, dries the mouth and the tongue, burns or pecks). Most of this tastes good, indeed, and the authors should be congratulated for having taken the pain to describe the characteristics (nose and mouth) of each poison when it is diluted in fresh water (see more later). The authors claim that, to their knowledge, the experiment they ran was “the first where humans [could] identify pesticides by taste.”1 They met with some 70 other wine professionals and organized a series of blind tastings, each of which consisted of two wines (one bio, the other “normal”) from the same (seven) regions, similar terroirs (as long as terroir can be defined), the same grapes, and the same vintages. Before the blind tastings were held, all wines (16 times two, for bio and “normal”) had been tested in two professional labs to dis- cover which pesticides and heavy metals they contained. Samples of “water” were prepared by mixing the pesticides found in the wines coming from some 30 vine- yards. The glasses of “water” contained the exact same dosages as those found in the wines. The blind tasting of each couple of wines was organized as follows: Step 1. Tasting the two wines, and choosing which one was preferred, and why. Step 2. Detecting pesticides in “water.” Each taster was presented with glasses of “water,” containing the quantity of one of the pesticides the taster had detected in the wine.
Step 3. Tasters had to recognize the pesticides tasted in one or both wines of Step 1. They also had to briefly describe what they noticed, with as much precision as possible. The results of the 195 blind tests that they ran in 2017 and that are discussed in the book are as follows: (a) in 77 percent of the cases, the bio wine was preferred; (b) 57 percent of the tasters were able to match the taste of pesticides in the “water” and the one in the (usually non-bio) wine, but could not necessarily put a name on the pesticide, with the exception of Fenhexamid, however, they fully acknowledged that pesticides changed the taste of natural aromas; and (c) the idea of tasting diluted pesticides in water at the dosage that is found in wines led to sensations that permeate the brain and eventually made it possible to recognize them in wines. According to the authors, some of them taste as artificial strawberries, others as old beards of smokers, or beards of old smokers. To my understanding, the main idea was to determine whether wine tasters, once they are slightly trained, can find and distinguish the tastes of these poisons, and the way I understood the book, the message is fivefold: (a) pesticides change the taste of wines, (b) it does not take very long for experienced tasters to distinguish that the wines they taste contain pesticides they can discern, and how each pesticide tastes, (c) professional wine tasters should be trained to detect pesticides, (d) professional wine critics should perhaps dwell on those additional flavors in the papers they write, and make consumers aware of what they drink, and most importantly, (e) never provoke or mess with Monsanto.2)

Though I used to be quite skeptical about bio wines, after having read the book, my advice would be to go for bio, even if the wine does not taste like the old beard of an old smoker. In fact, a paper published in this Journal analyzed this question empir- ically (Delmas, Gergaud, and Lim, 2016) and reached the same conclusion.

2 Seralini had to retract a study on Roundup that he published in 2012 in Food and Chemical Toxicology 50 (2012), pp. 4221–4231. It is worth reading what happened in an article published by the French newspaper Le Monde, and translated into English. See The Seralini Affair—or the secret history of a torpedo, avail- able at https://www.gmwatch.org/en/news/latest-news/17908-the-seralini-affair-or-the-secret-history-of-a- torpedo. In a few words, the editor of the journal in which the paper was published and later retracted, considered that “no definitive conclusions could be drawn from the inconclusive data,” but forgot to mention, as he should have, that he was “bound by a consultancy contract to Monsanto.” Note, however that, at the time, Nature considered the way Seralini behaved after he had made his discovery to be “a public-relations offensive,” and several “food safety and regulatory agencies condemned the paper.”

Victor Ginsburgh
Université libre de Bruxelles
vginsbur@ulb.ac.be
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.9

Maybe it is because, coincidentally, I had listened to a podcast interview of Nick Jackson, MW, before reviewing his new book that it seemed like I could hear his voice while reading (GuildSomm, 2020). Or perhaps it is because the book is written in a friendly, conversational style that makes the reader feel as if they are getting personal advice and firm guidance from the author on how to improve blind wine tasting results.

Jackson completed his Ph.D. in Theology at Cambridge University, where he dis- covered a passion for wine and a talent for blind tasting. After his studies, he left aca- demia and went into the wine world, first as an auction specialist at Sotheby’s, and then as the buyer for their retail business in New York. All the while, he continued formal wine studies, going from the Wine and Spirits Education Trust (WSET) courses into the Master of Wine (MW). He has since ventured off on his own, into wine consulting, while continuing to serve as an educator and mentor for stu- dents in the MW program.

Dr. Jackson begins with recounting his own experience, studying for the MW exams. Like many students, his tasting exam preparation had focused on flavours. This garnered him a level of success. But during a trip to Germany and Italy, reflect- ing on his recent MW entry qualifying exams, he had a revelation that such a focus was misguided, and if he were to pass the actual MW exams, he had to concentrate more on the structural components in wine. For white wines, this meant acidity; for red wines, tannin.

This focus on structure rather than on flavour is what is behind the title “Beyond Flavour.” However, with flavour being a significant aspect of wines (for tasting and enjoyment), Jackson does not dispense with it entirely; he treats it as an important source of confirmatory evidence, supporting a conclusion primarily based on struc- ture. In what follows, Jackson goes on to examine the most prominent white and red grapes, examining their structure and noting their flavours, and often the relationship between the two. After the first part of the book Structure: The Basics, explaining his approach, he goes on to Tasting for Grape Variety, then discussing ways of Tasting for Region of Origin. These core sections are devoted solely to still, dry white and red wines. He covers a full range of styles in the subsequent section Other Wine Styles, including sparkling, sweet, fortified, rosé, and orange wines. Two short sec- tions, Tasting for Quality and Miscellaneous Advice, round out the body of the book. There are two appendices, offering approaches to various types of blind tasting exams and notes on specific vintages for certain classic wine regions.

After the introduction, Jackson has a short section on How to Use this Book, suggesting that it is to serve as a reference book to be applied as needed, rather than read cover to cover. I might disagree with him here. I first read the entire book, and then went back to certain parts of it, as needed (I am working through my own WSET Diploma studies). Jackson provides tremendous insight throughout, and if one were to treat it solely as a manual without a thorough once-through, some of this might be missed.

In the second section, Structure: The Basics, Jackson lays out his strategy for a focus on the structural aspects of white and red wines. This sets the direction for this crucial section and the theme for the rest of the book.

For white wines, the key structural component is acidity. The acidity level is assessed and examined in many other approaches to tasting, the WSET, for example, but Jackson goes into it from a very unique perspective. He suggests that there are also types and shapes of acidity for consideration: each varietal has its own specific attributes for these. Jackson offers some of his own adjectives for type, such as “bracing,” and encourages students to come up with their own terms. The idea of “shape” is probably more foreign to readers. It relates to the way the acidity behaves on the palate over the time it spends there.

For red grapes, the key structural component is tannin. This he breaks into com- ponent qualities: level, type, and location. He suggests that, in addition to identifi- able levels, wines will have a consistent type of tannin associated with the grape varieties, and a consistent location on the palate where it is felt. As with the “shape” of acidity, this last characteristic, “location,” is the challenging one. Tannins, in general, are commonly known to be “palate-drying.” Further discerning exactly where on the palate this is felt, however, is the key to correct identification.

Contending that these attributes are unique to grape varieties (the ones used for quality wines, anyway), focusing on them in analysis leads the taster to a conclusion about that variety. Once thoroughly done, it cannot be any other. From that conclu- sion, others can be made, such as the region, for example, and later in the book, even the vintage.

In the next two sections, Tasting for Grape Variety and Tasting for Region of Origin, Jackson applies this focus on structural components. In the former, he starts with white grape varieties, and goes through them individually, examining the level, type, and shape of their acid structure. The shape is where the description gets complicated, requiring a bit of imagination and an appreciation for thinking deeply about what it is that one is sensing. His description suggests the shape of the acidity has space and direction, as a physical movement through time (or not, for a variety whose acid “pins down” the wine). Further, the shape is described in relation to the other parts of the wine, such as body and flavour, and whether they are integrated with or separate from the core acid structure. For some of the varieties discussed, he provides a visual representation of this.

For reds, the discussion of the tannin level gives way to the more detailed analysis of its type and location. Jackson contends that there are different parts of the palate here tannins are, and are not, felt, with some varieties actually having “holes.” This discussion is also related to time and space, as wine moves across the palate on a “journey,” some following a straight trajectory, like an arrow, others more indirect, like a horseshoe.

In Tasting for Region of Origin, Jackson’s extensive knowledge and experience become even more evident as he outlines general considerations for identifying wine regions, then going into specifics of individual regions. The author notes that this section is to be read with reference to the previous section on individual varieties, and even with that, the complex connections that he makes remind the reader of an earlier statement he makes, that some background knowledge of wine styles and grape varieties is assumed.

In the next section, Other Wine Styles, Jackson addresses styles not covered spec- ifically by the previous sections: sparkling, sweet, fortified, rosé, and orange wines. He departs a bit from the focus on acid and tannin, and provides simple and succinct, yet very specific strategies, for assessing these other wines. Useful advice includes identifying the keys to assessing sparkling wines and sweet wines.

Two short sections finish the body of the book, Tasting for Quality and Miscellaneous Advice. Tasting for quality provides a systematic approach for assess- ing quality using a mnemonic that ties together an analysis incorporating and apply- ing important points from previous chapters. Miscellaneous advice touches upon two areas, the challenge posed by identifying blends,and a discussion of wine faults.

Finally, in Appendix 1, Jackson outlines approaches to specific types of examina- tion questions, and in Appendix 2 offers brief descriptions of specific vintages in some classic regions. These short appendices demonstrate Jackson’s experience as a student and then as a mentor for the MW program, and as a former buyer for Sotheby’s retail business in New York, where he gained a great depth of knowledge of the world’s finest wines and their vintage variation. Appendix 1 provides short summaries of approaches to a wide variety of blind exam question types. Appendix 2 represents the most esoteric information the book contains: most of us may never sit through an exam where we would be required to know the difference between 2011, “…a tough, unloved vintage,” and 2010, “…a perfect vintage,” for red Bordeaux. Those who have such aspirations will find the short descriptions in Appendix 2 very helpful.

As a whole, the author successfully delivers on providing a unique blind tasting exam approach, with a focus on structure, rather than flavour. Some may dispute this approach, and he freely admits that it might not resonate with all, with various other approaches available. There is also, however, far more to the book than just the structure-based strategy. Throughout, Jackson identifies pitfalls, points of confusion, and similarities that can lead to examination disasters, as well as the key differences that are the road to success.

The amount of advice he provides leads to a small problem with his intention that the book serves as a reference manual: it does not have an index. As daunting a task as it would be to index the vast and varied information that it contains, hopefully future editions of the book do so.

Another noticeable absence has to do with the discussion of acid structure in specific grape varieties. The illustrations depicting the shape of the acid structure are helpful, but Jackson does not provide one for each of the grapes discussed. While it does seem as though the varieties without visual representation perhaps do not warrant it, or that the written description is sufficient for the reader to imagine it, future editions might consider including such illustrations for all varieties discussed.

Dr. Jackson’s book does a commendable job of synthesizing an enormous amount of technical information into a strategy for blind tasting. While he states early on that a level of knowledge about grape varieties and wine styles is expected of the reader, his approachable writing style makes the book appealing to the personal enthusiast as well as to those pursuing formal programs for professional reasons. It is a clear, easy, enjoyable read, offering a useful strategy for approaching blind tasting exams with which wine enthusiasts can challenge themselves, familiarly written in an audible mentor’s voice that wine students need to hear.

Kenneth A. Fox
University of Saskatchewan, Canada
fox@edwards.usask.ca
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.8

In this new book by Ian D’Agata, a sequel to his 2014 magnum opus Native Wine Grapes of Italy (D’Agata, 2014; see also my book review, Coia, 2015), the author describes how Italian varieties serve as interpreters of the terroir. Often descriptions of terroir vary, but generally, many authors emphasize factors such as climate, geology, viticulture, and winemaking practices. In this book, however, the emphasis is on the grape variety. This approach is quite reasonable since, absent shoddy winemaking practices that introduce major wine flaws, grape variety is the most impor- tant factor in determining wine taste. There is some overlap in variety descriptors in Italy’s Native Wine Grape Terroirs compared to his prior book, but it should be con- sidered an excellent companion book rather than a competing source of information.
Unlike his prior book, which introduces us to the native varieties and the impor- tance of preserving such varieties, this book allows us to see how these varieties inter- act with the other elements of terroir. In doing so, the reader can develop a true sense of place for the variety and its terroir and understand why a wine of a given variety can taste so different depending on the terroir. Oddly, the author notes that while Italians have developed these variety/terroir relationships over centuries, many do not believe or recognize the terroir concept (which he calls the “Italian job”). This book should go far to help to rectify that lack of understanding for all readers.
The 371-page book has two parts. Part 1 is just 26 pages and provides a general understanding of terroir and its context in Italy. Part 2 consists of the grape varieties and their specific terroirs. The format for the second part includes a discussion of the specific grape variety, the specific terroirs where it is grown, and finally, benchmark wines of that variety and terroir. A three-star scoring system is used to rate the wines, and the abbreviation of PS (prima scelta) is used for top selections, much like the French use hors classe. The terroir descriptions are fascinating and demonstrate why D’Agata is among the world’s best wine writers and certainly one of the most knowledgeable among writers of Italian varieties.
His typical terroir analysis for each variety includes many factors and demon- strates his great depth of knowledge not only as a wine writer with years of experi- ence but also as a physician and scientist. A brief list of some of the factors he presents in his analysis of terroir and variety includes:
–  Maturity parameters usually achieved by the variety (Brix, acidity, tannins, etc.).
–  Climatic considerations including measures of growing degree days (such as the 
Winkler and Huglein indices).
–  Geographic and geologic factors such as location, site elevation, soil types, and soil drainage.
–  Viticulture considerations such as pruning technique, timing of budbreak, vine vigor, productivity, and grape maturity at harvest.
–  Winemaking techniques like air drying of grapes, fermentation time and temper- ature, maceration time, blending, and maturation time.
–  Specific taste and odor descriptions and the molecules associated with them.
–  Genetic issues are sometimes presented when they are distinguishing features for 
the variety and its terroir. 
What does this book offer that his book on varieties does not? While his earlier book was a major achievement in describing native wine grape varieties of Italy and the great impor- tance and need to preserve these varieties, this book goes a step further. It transports the reader to the ancestral homes of these varieties and affords an understanding of how important terroir is in determining wine taste. It is very difficult to separate the effect that various factors play in determining wine taste. Most wine enthusiasts understand that the taste of wine made from varieties like Riesling and Pinot Noir are highly terroir dependent. Here we gain an understanding that the wines of many Italian varieties, for example, Grignolino or Nebbiolo, also are terroir linked. Where possible, D’Agata offers well-planned case studies of the grape variety and its wine grown and made in dif- ferent locations, that attempt to examine the effects of terroir on wine taste (Nero d’Avola serves as an excellent example). He also indicates that while grape variety, and its under- lying genetics, plays the most critical role in wine taste (you cannot have a deeply dark and tannic Sangiovese without blending or other manipulation), in some cases (e.g., Nebbiolo), terroir can play a more important role than the clone.
It will be a great pleasure for me on my next travel to Italy to have this book in hand as I visit a specific region and examine its wines. For example, I had the oppor- tunity to spend a month in the Valpolicella region and developed an appreciation for its wine and terroir. D’Agata’s section on the varieties of Valpolicella, like Corvina, Rondinella, and Molinara, transported me back to the vineyards and villages that dot the region. Had I had this book with me then I would have had a much greater understanding of not just wine and grape varieties of Valpolicella, but also of the many other aspects of the terroir. I plan to return soon with this book as a companion; however, I will also bring maps of the area.
The book lacks any figures or maps, which significantly limits usefulness. Since each section starts with the name of the variety, it would have been nice if a locator term that indicates the region could have been used at the section’s outset since it often is not until the several paragraphs into the variety description before the author informs of the location of the variety. I understand Italy’s geography and can easily identify its 20 regions, however, despite D’Agata’s excellent description of specific geographies, maps or figures would have been very helpful. I suspect maps were not included because the cost to print them would significantly increase the price of the book.
The book is just over half the number of pages of his prior book. The author apol- ogizes early on in his book for the fact that some regions or varieties did not receive attention due to limitations in the size of the book. An index of varieties covered is included in the appendix. The major and most minor native Italian wine grape vari- eties are discussed in an elegant and well-researched fashion. If one is interested in a region of Italy and does not know the varieties grown there, a bit of work on the part of the reader is required. A helpful list of the terroirs covered in the book is included in the appendix. One region of interest for me is the Trentino-Alto Adige, and only one of its grape variety terroirs (Moscato Giallo) was briefly presented. This was a disappointment since varieties of that region such as Marzemino, Casetta, Teroldego, and Lagrein have gained some interest in the United States. (He does present these varieties in his prior book, but little on their terroirs.) Also included in the appendix is a table, which lists geologic times when specific Italian wine ter- roirs were formed, an extensive bibliography, and a general index.
D’Agata’s experience as a wine taster and writer is not in question as he is known worldwide and has been the recipient of the Comitato Grand Cru, given to Italy’s best wine journalist. I must admit that although I enjoy reading his descriptions of a wine’s taste and aromas and even the molecules associated with them, I often wonder if I am deficient in my sensing abilities or if D’Agata has not occasionally gotten a bit carried away in his descriptions because of his love of these wines. What does a bruised apple taste like? While he has great knowledge and appreciation for science, including biochemistry, he can make a mistake; for example, he states that tartaric acid is sweeter than malic acid. Tartaric acid is a stronger acid than malic acid, and no acid has sweetness!
The author’s engaging writing style provides the reader a great pleasure delving in the complexities of Italian native wine grape terroirs. D’Agata even mentions that the more complex the subject, the more interesting it often is to Italians. This may be true, but I am left to wonder whether there are not also some broad distinguishing concepts that can be said about Italian wines. For example, recently, a well-known wine writer indicated that red Italian wines do share some degree of bitterness that makes one want to take another sip. I, personally, have noticed this as well. Perhaps this statement may seem trivial or banal and not worth considering to someone with D’Agata’s experience, compelling insight, and ability to distinguish nuances in taste, but I do not think it is just a myth.
If you are an Italian wine enthusiast or are involved in the wine industry and want a comprehensive examination of Italian native wine grape terroirs, I highly recom- mend this book. I suggest not reading the book cover to cover but rather choose a grape variety (or region of interest although it will be a bit more difficult) and read that section of the book to best understand the complexities of terroir presented by the author. To accompany Italy’s Native Wine Grape Terroirs, I suggest one should also have a map of Italy that includes the grape growing regions of interest. Another book, which should be of interest to Italian wine lovers, has been recently released entitled, Sangiovese, Lambrusco and Other Vine Stories by Attillio Scienza (2018). This famous Italian grape geneticist traces the lineage of many Italian grape varieties, often using DNA analysis. Like D’Agata’s book, it is solidly based on knowledge and science and provides a delightful story. Both Scienza’s and D’Agata’s books are well researched and add much to the fun that is to be had in learning about Italian wine grape terroirs.

Lawrence Coia
Outer Coastal Plain Vineyard Association
njwineman@comcast.net
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.7

La vid y el vino en el Cono Sur de América Argentina y Chile (1545–2019). Aspectos políticos, económicos, sociales, culturales y enológicos (The vine and wine in the Southern Cone of America Argentina and Chile [1545–2019]. Political, economic, social, cultural, and oenological aspects) is a thought-provoking book. In a very sys- tematic effort, Vine and Wine in Argentina and Chile describes the history of the wine industries of Argentina and Chile since their beginnings as part of royal Spain in the 16th century and until nowadays worldwide presence. Lacoste does so in a story- telling style to convince readers of his pre-eminent argument: “the outstanding issues of the viticulture of Argentina and Chile appear in the field of the identity of their wines and their heritage dimensions” (p. 165). The book is structured in four chronological parts and is presented with drawings, pictures, labels, and cartoons.

The first part, “Artisan Viticulture,” is dedicated to the years 1545–1860 (315 years). Lacoste introduces the history of vines and wine development in the Americas through the presence of Spanish conquistadores and the Catholic church. At the beginning of this section, he explains the primary importance of Potosí (today Bolivia) as the main city and destination at the time for vine and wine prod- ucts. Lacoste pays special attention to the development of the new vitis-vinifera type of grapes once these European vines adapted to the distinctive South American cli- mates and soils; he particularly focuses the analysis on the local grape varietals País (Chile) and Criolla (Argentina). Lacoste describes customs and habits of the time, and the development of local techniques for vine growing and winemaking through the intersection of the know-how of Spaniards, slaves, and aboriginal people for the creation of this region’s initial wine industry practices.

The second part, “Take Off of the Wine Industry,” covers the years 1860–1930 (70 years). This is a period of great expansion of the wine industry for both countries. Lacoste explains that this major transformation of the wine industries of the Southern Cone of South America was encouraged by these main factors: the increase in population (immense influx of European immigrants—especially to Argentina), a prosperous economy, the revolution of transport (a strong expansion of railways and steamboats), and the devastating phylloxera plague in the vineyards of Europe. He describes the exponential growth of vines planted and wine produced, the “discovery” and promotion of Malbec and Cabernet in Argentina and Chile, and what he considers the beginning of the implementation of “the French para- digm” in these countries, an industrial process where farmers and winemakers should “minimize the importance of their own grape’s place of origin and their local peasant traditions” (p. 63), privileging French and European foreign winemak- ing practices. For this historical period, Lacoste emphasizes his concept of “big wine factories” that produce an industrial product opposed to an artisanal product respectful of ancient and local traditions, local grapes, the environment, and sustain- ability. At the end of this part, he discusses the incorrect use of the names of wines for the marketing of local products (“All adopted the culture of imitation, copying, and falsification of the reputed Denominations of Origin of the Old World producers,” p. 87).

The third part, “Wines for the Domestic Market,” describes the period 1930–1990 (60 years). Lacoste presents a time when the wine industries change drastically and are fundamentally oriented to their local markets. Huge variations in stock, produc- tion, logistics, and marketing practices happened at a time of crucial political changes in both countries with the appearance of dictators and populist politicians, Perón in Argentina and Pinochet in Chile. He suggests that Perón incentivized a wine industry focused on the local market, with a strong government presence to “fight the oligopoly” (p. 164), and always contingent to a macroeconomic disaster: inflation, no access to credit, corruption, and disproportionate public spending. He then men- tions that Pinochet stopped Allende’s agrarian reform, deregulated the activity, pro- moted exports, and facilitated the concentration of the industry in large companies. Lacoste then recounts the cases of Giol and Greco, both cases of government inter- vention in the wine industry of Argentina. In a controversial perspective, he finds the opportunity to link the Cuban revolution to the industry “through the agrarian reform in Chile, the action of the Montoneros [a leftist terrorist group] in Argentina, and the claims to make wines with identity” (p. 92).

The fourth and last part, “To the Conquest of the World,” presents the last 29 years (1990–2019). Lacoste summarizes as the main strengths of the period: the improve- ment of the quality of Argentinian and Chilean wines (nowadays comparable to those of the Old World and other New World producers), the expansion of exports, and the local strengthening of the culture of wine appreciation. He recog- nizes as weaknesses: the market concentration (almost 90% of Chile’s wine market is owned by three major companies, and almost 50% of the Argentine market is owned by four major companies), and the lack of development of local territories as Denominations of Origin and Geographical Indications as a means to balance the hegemony of brands. Lacoste recommends that both countries need to learn from each other’s experiences: “in Chile, it is urgent to advance in the decentraliza- tion of the industry, and the case of FeCoVitA [a major cooperative company from Argentina that Lacoste calls ‘a treasure’] can serve as an inspiring model; on the other hand in Argentina, the chronic macroeconomic problems that come from constants fiscal deficit and inflation, could be improved from the emulation of the fiscal discipline of the Chilean model” (p. 164).

The way I see this book is one with a strong agenda. Lacoste is a firm believer in the need for government intervention in the wine industry against the creation of a commercial oligopoly and opposes neoliberal capitalistic practices; those beliefs play a fundamental role in how the storyline is presented regarding the wine history of Argentina and Chile. The book is also one that can make policymakers from both countries reflect on the importance of the preservation of local territories, traditional customs, and original products, and a necessary book that needs an English version to broaden the discussion of such important topics.

Emiliano C. Villanueva
Eastern Connecticut State University
villanuevae@easternct.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.46

According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, a “muckraker,” or purveyor of muckrak- ing journalism (Muckraker, 2019), was a term used pejoratively by President Theodore Roosevelt, but which generally had a positive connotation among the public at large. The muckrakers were the journalists who, in the words of the Encyclopedia, “provided detailed, accurate journalistic accounts of the political and economic corruption and social hardships caused by the power of big business in a rapidly industrializing United States.” The better known of these journalists include legends such as Lincoln Steffens, Ida Tarbell, and Ray Stannard Baker— Ida Tarbell’s writings are, for example, generally regarded as responsible for the break-up of the Standard Oil trust. While the muckraker movement of that time had largely disappeared between 1910 and 1912, the tradition of exposing the power of large corporations has not. The best known of these, John Kenneth Galbraith, for example, analyzed the uses and abuses of corporate power in a number of books, including The New Industrial State (1967) and Economics and the Public Purpose (1973), while Van Beemen himself cites more modern authors who have analyzed corporates both in a positive light (e.g., Bais and Huijser, 2005) and with a focus on the actual or potential damage that they can do (e.g., Bakan, 2004). So what shade of muckraking is Heineken in Africa, given its highly critical approach? Does it represent a fair picture of Heineken’s footprint in Africa?

Van Beemen’s book is divided into 15 chapters plus a Postscript and an Epilogue. The Chapters alternate: eight chapters on individual country operations (Ethiopia, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, South Africa, Burundi, Congo, Rwanda, and Mozambique) and seven thematic chapters (the conquest of Africa, African beer wars, etc.)

Heineken itself does not think the book is very fair. In a communication with the editor of this Journal, they say that “We have made it a priority to carefully consider the content of this book, and we do not agree with many of the claims the author makes.” While accepting that they make mistakes, they object to being typecast as “… a company where misbehavior is systemic…” However, the reader (or at least this reader) needs to place a story such as this in context with questions such as: Is it realistic? Is it fair? Is it a good read?

First, there is a lot of thorough homework that went into the book (and recall that Heineken itself only disagrees with MANY of the claims made by the author, not all of them), and in the process we learn a lot about the African continent, about corporate life in Africa, and about Heineken. Where the first two are concerned, I take the author’s word, while keeping a pinch of salt at hand regarding what he says about Heineken itself. Africa is a continent of infinite variety, and generaliza- tions should be vigorously discouraged: this book hardly makes that mistake, follow- ing Heineken in the numerous countries where it has been operating for up to 100 years (but not directly in South Africa during the apartheid years).

Second, Africa is a difficult place to work in for a number of reasons. This is not a generalization, especially when one regards the logistics of transporting and handling bottles of beer around in a neighborhood with poor infrastructure and a notorious amount of red tape, and the author, in my opinion, does not give enough credit to these difficulties. What, after all, do you do when it takes a year to get a visa to get into the Democratic Republic of the Congo, or when the Ethiopian government bans beer advertising and announces that it is going to increase excise duties on beer by more than 45% (Yewondwossen, 2019) on the advice of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund?

He also does not give sufficient credit to truths such as the fact that running a big cor- poration is a sufficiently difficult challenge, while running one in difficult markets such as India and much of the African continent poses real challenges. Of course, saying this could become an excuse for corrupt business practices, but it is no less real as a challenge to a legitimate business such as selling beer to the citizenry of the continent. How else does one explain the sustainability of more than 100 years of engagement? To my mind only a prohibitionist would argue that the countries within which Heineken has oper- ated would have been better off if this particular corporate citizen had not engaged on the continent. After all, even if the Mozambican government has subsidized Heineken’s entry into their market with a (lengthy) tax holiday it is paying salaries and wages, and will (hopefully) eventually pay taxes. And it is a fair stretch of the imag- ination to take the blame for the genocide in Rwanda away from the superpowers and the United Nations, and lay it at the feet of Heineken. Could they have done better under those circumstances? Of course they could, but so could everybody else.

It is probably also fair to argue that Van Beemen does not recognize (or at least is not explicit about) the fact that beer is itself difficult to work with, although one must be careful: a company that has brewed and sold beer for as long as Heineken will have internalized these difficulties by now. Nevertheless, combine the fact that it is a fast moving consumer good with a relatively low specific (value to weight) ratio, and that consumers generally have very specific taste and brand preferences based on the beers that they grew up with, and you have a case study in the difficulties of operating in non-traditional markets with non-traditional products.

In short, the book would have benefited with a chapter or two that analyzes features of the individual and collective markets in which Heineken operates, and that analyzes the implications of working with a product with the particular charac- teristics of beer.

Finally, the chapter on South Africa resonates to this reviewer, and is a good example of another lacunae in the book. One can argue that Heineken’s eventual direct entry in the South African market had positive spin-offs. The South African market was long dominated by South African Breweries, which, in Van Beemen’s words, is “the jewel in the crown of South African industry,” a sentiment that many would share, but a near-monopoly nonetheless. Heineken brought competition (also in Mozambique), forcing SAB to change its supply chain management practices, and arguably resulting in a more internationally competitive barley industry. The more general point here is that, like all corporates, Heineken has done good things, even if some of that has been done under duress: from governments and temperance pressures, from environmental- ists, from labor unions, etc., and that this book hardly mentions any of these initiatives.

These are some of the lacunae that a reviewer is expected to identify. However, they do not detract from the fact that this is a good and entertaining read, that it challenges its readers to dig below the surface, and that is has in all probability changed at least some of the business practices of this particular African corporate citizen. It should also not detract from the real examples of corporate mismanage- ment and corporate damage that has been done to countries and individuals by Heineken. The story of the “promotion girls” generally, and one particular promo- tion girl and the current CEO of Heineken International that is told in the Epilogue bears witness to the size of the footprint of this particular corporate elephant. Africa’s economies are on the move, and multinational corporations, whether homegrown or foreign, and whether established on the continent or new, are the name of the game. We need more books such as this to educate governments on what to look out for, but we also need more contextually balanced analyses.

Nick Vink
Stellenbosch University
nv@sun.ac.za
doi:10.1017/jwe.2019.47

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