Book & Film Reviews

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This volume represents an amazing amount of work, and results in what is probably the first global economic history of wine(s) covering almost 200 years. It is supported by a unique and freely available Excel database1 compiled by both editors and a syn- optic Statistical Compendium2 which goes back to 1835 for numerous time series in 47 countries—real bonanza for wine econometricians and quantitative historians.

The volume includes 18 chapters, of which 15 are devoted to the economic history of most countries or regions producing wine: France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Portugal, Spain, the United Kingdom, other European countries, the Russian Commonwealth, the Levant, Argentina, Australia, Chile, South Africa, New Zealand, the United States, Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, Asia, and finally, other emerging regions. Twenty-nine authors contributed to the volume, which is more than 570 pages thick. This will make it difficult to give credit to all authors,3 and I will exercise my right to cherry-pick.

The Introduction starts with a couple of statistical facts that I am sure not many people are aware of. In 1920, Europe accounted for 95% of wine production, and only 5% of it was exported to other countries.4 Today, wine is produced in all con- tinents, and world exports represent 40% of what is produced. Although we have become used to large production and trade swings generated by globalization, these changes are huge for a commodity that represents less than 1% of consumers’ expenditure, and uses less than 0.2% of the world’s cropland. And we are just at the beginning of a much larger revolution according to Philippine de Rothschild, the late owner of one of the most renowned French vineyards, who supposedly said: “Winemaking is really quite a simple business; only the first 200 years are difficult” (p. 3).5 The baroness may, however, not be fully right: The famous 1976 Judgment of Paris6 tasting ranked red and white French wines after Californian wines, whose commercial production started only 122 years earlier.7

Even though the volume of wine production today is roughly the same as in 1960, much has changed in terms of quality and producing countries. The editors remind us that “a report commissioned by the French Ministry of Agriculture in 2001 con- cluded that: ‘[u]ntil recent years wine was with us, we were the center. Today the bar- barians are at our gates: Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Chile, Argentina and South Africa,’” while, at about the same time, the “president of the Union Interprofessionnelle des Vins du Beaujolais, likened Australian wine to Coca Cola and called ‘philistines’ the consumers who purchased it” (p. 8). Comparing Penfolds’ Grange to Beaujolais Nouveau is an insult that should lead inhabitants of Adelaide to declare war on those of Villefranche sur Saône.

The quality of most wines—including Beaujolais Nouveau—increased, and so did their variety, although globalization could have led the industry in the other direc- tion. Meanwhile, the share of French (including Algerian until 1962), Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Austrian, Hungarian, and German production dropped from roughly 95% of the world production in the early 1860s to 60% in 2010–2015 (p. 36). The former European Union (EU)15 (which already included all large European wine producers) accounted for 80% of the value of wine exports in 1988. This dropped to more than 50% by 2014 (p. 38). Will it decline further by 2025? That is what Chapter 18 on projections tries to figure out. Asian, especially Chinese, con- sumption and imports will continue to increase dramatically.8 While its import volume will increase by a mere 9%, its dollar value will go up by a staggering 50% given the switch from non-premium to commercial-premium and fine wines. That looks good for producers, less so for me as a consumer. Brexit will make it even more terrible for the United Kingdom than for me, as its wine imports will decrease by one billion dollars (p. 505). They will have to go back to Scotch, unless Scotland decides to remain in the EU. If so, England’s consumers will be left with their bubbly or sparkling wine, water, and pale ale.

Let me now get to the largest part of the volume, with its 15 chapters devoted to almost all producing regions or countries. The chapters are constructed along similar lines, and describe historical facts or events that changed the course of wine produc- tion: Phylloxera, disruptions during wars, local or more global public interventions such as those imposed by domestic regulations, or on all EU countries by the European Commission, the use of excise duties and tariffs to limit imports, but also the carbon footprints that vine and wine experts leave during their flights across continents while winemakers try to go biological. The chapters summarize detailed data on production, domestic consumption, exports, yields, comparisons with other alcoholic beverages, and future prospects. As some national borders have changed since 1835, contributors used current boundaries and amended data accordingly. My cherry picking across these 15 chapters had me dropping small wine-producing countries (whose share never exceeded 5% over the 1835–2014 period, including even Germany), and focusing on the three large producers (France, Italy, and Spain) and one large consumer (Britain).

France is the country that lost most in global production volume share (from more than 40% in 1860–1864 and 1930–1934 to 17% in 2014)—partly as a consequence of losing in 1962 part of “its country,” namely Algeria. Italy lost much less (it went from 20 to 16%), and Spain stayed put at 14%. France used to produce, trade, and drink the finest wines (Bordeaux and Burgundies were classified in 1855 and in 1861, respectively), but it recently became much challenged by the New World. It is also the country that increased the unit value of its wine exports by 700% (in nominal U.S.$) while Italy, Australia, Argentina, the United States and especially Spain were far behind (p. 80). Even though France’s annual per capita consumption has halved since 1975, it is still around 50 liters.

During the late 19th century, Italian wine (and by-products) represented 21% of the gross value of Italy’s agricultural output, while wheat represented only 20%, and wine’s share of GDP and of private consumption amounted to 8.6 and 11.6%, respectively. “Conventional wisdom suggests that Italian wine in the 19th century was quite bad because most consumers were interested only in getting as much alcohol as possible at the lowest possible price” (p. 139). In 1938, “quality wine” rep- resented only 4.5% of the 3.4 billion of liters produced (p. 145). This volume doubled between 1946 and 1980 (p. 153) with half of the output being exported. Yields went from 500 liters/ha to 3,000, yet quality increased, and Angelo Gaja’s as well as Sassicaia wines may beat many French Bordeaux in blind tastings.

Spain’s international position benefitted from the havoc created by phylloxera in France in the mid-19th century, although until 1980 “most of the focus was on output of ordinary wines for the domestic market” (p. 208). Exports went to wine- bankrupt France (81%) and to Latin America, while 80% of sherry was sold in Britain. The numbers are really impressive: Spanish wine production increased by 500% between 1871 and 1895, and dropped to its 1871 level in 1906–1910 in the aftermath of the phylloxera outbreak that subsequently plagued Spain. The Pyrenees were obviously not high enough to prevent exporting Spanish wine and importing the French bug. New production technologies were introduced 30 years later than in France, during the early 1980s, and then Spain’s accession to the EU allowed her to quadruple her bulk-wine exports between 1992 and 2014. Even though quality increased, prices remained low in Spain in comparison with other European countries.

I knew that some wine was produced in Canada, Upstate New York, and even in New Jersey zip code 08360, but I was very eager to learn something about the United Kingdom. The British Isles indeed produced a few grapes in medieval times and in the very early 1500s, and tried again during the late 1900s. I was nevertheless relieved to read that both Ireland and the United Kingdom “have always been dependent on imports of wine” (p. 239). During a couple of seconds, I thought indeed that maybe Ricardo had peddled fake news with his theory of comparative advantages of England producing cloth and Portugal producing wine. No, Ricardo was right, and I was happy to learn that its wine consumption dramatically increased from two to 20 liters per head between 1835 and 2015.9 Still, I am not sure whether Portugal buys lots of Burberry’s pure wool coats. The fact is that the author of the chapter did not have to spend much time on production and export statistics. He instead delved more into history and nice anecdotes, including the following one: “The forty-year period of almost continuous war from 1775 until 1815 witnessed a dramatic increase, if not even a historical apex, in British elite and middling male drunkenness… Even if statistical evidence of heavy drinking is ambiguous, anecdotal evidence is overwhelming. Stupefaction from alcohol was positively fashionable. ‘Drunk as a Lord’ [became] a socially charged phrase… and the hard-drinking aris- tocracy and gentry surpassed even their own formidable standards” (pp. 253–254).

Chapter 10 brings us to Georgia (the former Soviet republic that lies in the Caucasus) where wine started, and spread to the Levant, Egypt, and Ancient Greece some 2,500 years B.C., or even long before (see Phillips, 2017), since there is some evidence that wine was transported “down the Tigris and Euphrates rivers to Babylon and to the kings of Egypt before 3,100 B.C.” (p. 273). The chapter also discusses countries such as modern Greece, Hungary, Romania, Turkey, and Russia, among others. Surprisingly, their world export volume reached 17% during the 1970s and 1980s, but decreased to 6 or 7% more recently.

Chapters 11 to 17 deal with “newer markets”: Argentina, the 6th largest producer in the world; New Zealand and Australia, which started as a prison for Britain in 1788, at about the time British Lords started to become heavy drinkers, but became more reasonable and today grows Penfolds’ Grange; Chile, where the first grapevines arrived 475 years ago; South Africa, the 7th largest world producer; the United States, where the wine industry “is new by Old World standards, but old by New World standards” (p. 410); Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria, the largest world exporter (in fact, to France) of wine in 1960. Finally, Asia and especially China, which, although it was in contact with Europe a very long time ago, was a very small wine player. Recently it not only started producing wine, but also import- ing especially “ultra-premium wines for gift-giving and banqueting. A love affair with Bordeaux…” (p. 470). The share in the global value of wine imports by China and other Asian countries increased from 2% in the early 1980s to 12% in 2012–2014. It became the fifth largest world importer, and is probably not going to leave it at that.

I am certain that Kym, Vicente, and all other contributors know this rubaiyat by the Persian poet Omar Khayyam: “Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.” I hope they are still going strong, and will not stop (drinking, or writing, that is the question). The work they did and their volume is really very impressive. Though much has been published on some individual countries, what they have achieved here is a fully integrated view of what happened during the last two centuries in all wine-producing and wine-consum- ing countries.

I still have a couple of wishes for the next (and hopefully extended) edition. Each country chapter could have referred to other chapters a little more often; this would have avoided repeating things. Global warming and its influence on grape varieties and the competition between wine regions should be given some consideration.10 And, though I am far from being fanatic, something could have been said about the 1,500 to 2,000 organic and bio wines that are produced today, of which more than 800 are in France alone.

Finally, while reading this volume, I also had on my desk Phillips’ (2017) book 9000 Years of Wine. Kym and Vicente carried data back to 1835, but there is still some way to go before reaching the year 6,992 B.C.

1 https://www.adelaide.edu.au/wine-econ/databases/global-wine-history/ 2 By Anderson, Nelgen, and Pinilla (2017).
3 A list of authors and chapters is provided below.
4 At the time, Algeria was part of France, which counted its large exports to France as French production and not exports.
5 Page numbers refer to the volume’s uncorrected page proofs, so they may vary slightly from the final pub- lished version.
6 Of which a full account is given in Taber (2005).
7 The first commercial Napa Valley vineyard was planted in 1854 by John Patchett.
8 Asian grape wine consumption grew 50-fold between the 1960s and the early 2010s (p. 480).
9 This is what happened to me as well, though I started much later than in 1835.
10 In the meantime, you could have a look at Anderson (2017).

Victor Ginsburgh ECARES
Université libre de Bruxelles
vginsbur@ulb.ac.be
doi:10.1017/jwe.2018.4

Let’s start at the end where it all began. In 2003, Yale School of Medicine professor of neuroscience Gordon Shepherd was invited to a private tasting with Jean-Claude Berrouet at the headquarters of Château Pétrus, the crown jewel of the Pomerol Appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC) on the Right Bank in the Bordeaux region. Berrouet, at the time the chief wine maker and technical director, assembled ten bottles from four vintages ranging from one to thirteen years old to tutor his guest in wine evaluation. The appendix of the book contains descriptions of four of the wines, representing each of the vintages that were tasted in ascending order of age. Shepherd records his observations of color, bouquet, taste, and longueur or finish and includes a summary of his impressions. Berrouet’s remarks, invariably more detailed and precise, are also recorded. Although Shepherd’s “basic judgments … turned out to be in line with Jean-Claude’s” (p. 182), he concludes that he “lacked the linkage between the sensory impression and the appropriate vocabulary” (p. 182). On the train back to Paris, he reflects on the tasting and asks himself, “Could this lead to a book on the brain and how it creates the taste of wine?” (p. 183).

The title of the resulting volume was apparently coined by Shepherd. Building on his earlier book, Neurogastronomy: How the Brain Creates Flavor and Why It Matters, Neuroenology specifically focuses on wine tasting. This three-part exposi- tion describes “Fluid Dynamics of Wine Tasting,” “How Sensory Systems Create the Taste of Wine,” and “How Central Brain Systems Create the Pleasure of the Taste of Wine.” Shepherd’s main point in the first part is that to understand how wine tasting works, we have to go with the flow: “[A]ll the sensations created by the brain are due to movements of the wine in our mouth and throat and the move- ment of the volatile molecules released into the air in our respiratory tract” (p. 7). Throughout the text, he builds on figures of the human head in cross section to illus- trate how and where wine travels and is perceived. Aiming at nonspecialists, he includes boxes that summarize fundamental facts in nontechnical terms. For example, the first one lists “The Main Steps in the Fluid Dynamics of Wine: Taking a sip, mixing with saliva” (p. 9), and so on. We learn about orthonasal and retronasal olfaction: the former occurs when sniffing the wine through the nose, while the latter, which is more critical for creating the taste of wine, happens once the liquid is in the mouth and swallowed. “[R]etronasal smell is a new frontier in the science and art of wine tasting and therefore should be a central focus of neuro- enology” (p. 128), he asserts. The five chapters of Part I go deeper and broader to explain the physiology, anatomy, biochemistry, and, of course, fluid dynamics of what happens once wine is sipped and eventually swallowed.

Combining wine with saliva begins the process of breaking it down. “Since the amount of saliva varies substantially among individuals, this can be a significant var- iable in wine tasting” (p. 20), Shepherd advises. My immediate reaction is that this factor alone should cast doubt on the usefulness of wine critics, whose state of saliva is never reported. Furthermore, Shepherd declares that “swallowing is one of the most critical functions for wine tasting” (p. 48). It is necessary for the creation of the aroma burst, the “initial strong perception” (p. 53) of the wine taste, and for the finish. This assertion begs the question as to what a wine critic should do when faced with a couple of dozen wines that have to be evaluated over a few hours. If the samples are spit out, are the assessments complete? If they are not, how reliable are the observations as intoxication increases?

In Part II, Shepherd lays out the current understanding of how the senses combine to create the flavor of wine. We see the color of the wine. Olfaction is orthonasal and retronasal, and each contributes differently. We sense the mouthfeel of the wine. Our taste buds react to its constituents. Each sensation creates images in the brain. Referencing a study by researchers at Stockholm University, Shepherd notes that “the ability to form mental images is weaker for smell [than sight], and there is more individual variation. Those with more experience and who possess a richer vocabulary for describing odors are best at olfactory imagery” (p. 95). Through mul- tiple levels, the brain merges these images to create the flavor of the wine.

But as we learn in Part III, many other factors influence our reaction to wine. Effects of age and gender on smell are briefly summarized. Memory and language each merit a short chapter. Shepherd calls pleasure “The Final Judge in Wine Tasting” (p. 162) and explains the status of research into how the brain creates it. The final chapter, “Practical Applications of Neuroenology to the Pleasure of Wine Tasting,” looks at what wine makers do to attract consumers to their products. The literature he cites focuses on alcohol content, price, and expertise. A Spanish team monitoring brain activity while high and low alcohol wines were consumed observed that, contrary to their expectations, the low-alcohol wine was perceived as more intense. “[T]heir results ‘seem to support the intuition of some professional wine experts’ that lower-alcohol content wines ‘have a better chance to induce greater sensitivity to the overall flavor expressed by the wine’” (p. 170). Shepherd cites a widely publicized study that “showed that the high-priced wines were judged to be more pleasant, even though they were the same wines as the lower priced one” (pp. 170–171), as an example of a phenomenon studied in neuroeconomics. (This relatively new field spawned its own professional organization, the Society for NeuroEconomics [www.neuroeconomics.org])

. So our perception and opinion of a wine result from a complicated synthesis of sensory images and extrinsic factors. “[W]hen our brain creates the taste of wine, it combines the integration of sensory inputs with the complex top-down modulation by our central brain systems” (p. 171), Shepherd concludes.

Attempting to educate nonexperts in a topic that is inherently technical and involves multiple disciplines and their terminologies is fraught. By breaking down the subject, and using illustrations and sidebars, Shepherd endeavors to do so in this book. The result is imperfect. Frequent repetition of material serves to break up the flow rather than facilitate it. The reader is continuously sent to figures in earlier chapters or prom- ised deeper discussion in the text ahead, thereby creating a disjoint narrative of complex processes. In one case, a typo (Figure 7.3 on p. 112 should be 7.2) in the midst of a description of taste receptors is disorienting. A descriptive list of figures with page numbers and a glossary of terms would have been helpful. The tone of the exposition vacillates between what would be expected in an academic journal or trade magazine and what you might see in a wine tasting 101 course. Because this book synthesizes the results of research across a number of disciplines, specialists in any of the fields might be interested in seeing how their work contributes to a new discipline and in learning about open questions. An extensive index aids in navigating the text, and the bibliog- raphy lists some of the primary sources that serve as the foundation of the discussion.

On the other hand, the benefits for the wine taster who is not a specialist are scant. Discussions are filled with jargon, and in some cases, the advice can even be naïve. Would a likely reader need two reminders that wine glasses should not be filled to the top? Certainly an understanding of what happens from the time wine is sniffed and sipped until its finish fades can inform us of ways to do our sampling to maximize pleasure. I suspect, though, that for many of us, this level of understanding could be gained from reading a popular article.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2017.34

It is a journey through five-and-a-half decades recorded contemporaneously, one can fancy, by your favorite old English uncle by marriage, during which the world of fine wine expanded from a handful of European countries to the entire globe. With wit, wisdom, and warmth, Johnson chronicles these changes in an annotated collection of his columns, excerpts from books, and even something found in his desk drawer, written between 1960 and 2016. Refreshingly, his approach to wine is at variance with what he claims is his nation’s forte: “Britain is right in front … in critical author- ity” (p. 162). He eschews, however, the label of critic: “Critics are obliged to be objec- tive in their assessments. … Which is why ‘critic’ is a term I have never accepted. ‘Commentator,’ certainly” (p. 189).

Our commentator began writing about wine in December 1960 for Vogue. The section on the 1960s opens with his first column, “Old Money” (p. 12), which wrestles with the issue of what to drink with turkey. “Unless you have a strong preference for white wines with all food – and there is no earthly reason why you shouldn’t – you will probably find that red is more suited to the rich meat” (p. 12). Wine economists should enjoy the prices for the venerable burgundies and clarets listed at the end of the piece. In “The Case for White” (p. 274), first published in Decanter 54 years later, Johnson elaborates on his unusual de facto bias hinted at in his first article: “This is a curious household. We open more bottles of white wine than red. … [P]erhaps most of all we … drink more white because we eat quantities of fish and seafood … , the whole healthy and so-called Mediterranean diet” (p. 274).

During his early years, he wrote columns for various periodicals, including the Sunday Times under aliases Giles and John Congreve to avoid the wrath of his employer, Condé Nast, which did not want its employees contributing to any publi- cations they did not own. The introduction of his first book, Wine, published in 1966, is included in this section (pp. 20–21), the first of many “tastings” of his longer works and of his prefaces to those of others that appear throughout the book.

The introduction to Johnson’s The World Atlas of Wine begins the section on the 1970s. Unwaveringly true to his Albion origins, his annotation justifies the premature inclusion of England and Wales: “In 1971 this was pretty optimistic; I was being patriotic, I suppose” (p. 31). In 1973, the Sunday Times Wine Club was formed, and Johnson became what is turning out to be President for Life. This and all sub- sequent sections contain many selections from its newsletter, Wine Times. Another milestone during this decade was the publication of the first Pocket Wine Book in 1977. The foreword (or Agenda, as he started labeling it in 2002) to this and several subsequent versions, including the 40th anniversary 2017 edition, appear in the appropriate decade’s section. Each gives a glimpse at the proliferation of regions producing noteworthy wines.

In the section devoted to the 1980s, Johnson is already proclaiming “the Golden Age of one of life’s great pleasures. … There never was a time when more good wine, and more different kinds of wine, were being made” (p. 54). And while he admires the progress being made in the New World, he remains unequivocally British in his preferences.

“Vintage Port” (pp. 71–72), first published in Wine Times in 1985, is four para- graphs that pay homage to the isles’ quintessential postprandial moistener with Britishisms, humor, guilty iconoclasm, and concision – the distilled essence of Johnson’s style. The section ends with an eye to the next decade, “Into the Nineties: A Spot of Prophesy” (pp. 94–99). It is a gutsy piece that forecasts with parlous specificity: “Pinot Noir will become the flagship wine of Oregon in the north- west” (p. 98). So far so good. “But it is in the state of Washington that it will blossom” (p. 98). Whoops. How does Johnson think he did overall? He awards himself a somewhat generous score of 8 out of 10.

n the section on the 1990s, Johnson takes on Robert Parker in a review of his The Wine Buyer’s Guide (pp. 112–113). Here is one of the barbs: “Its [sic] funny, isn’t it, that the man who invented the world’s fastest wine-measuring system is so insensitive to overwriting” (p. 112). He continues his attack in “And the Score Is …” (pp. 129– 130): “(In Parker’s scale … , 0 = 50 and vice versa. Jonathan Swift would have based a whole fantasy kingdom on it.)” (p. 129). He offers instead the Johnson System “that reflects with inescapable honesty the enjoyment (or lack of it) that each wine offered at the time it was tasted or drunk” (p. 130). It rates the wine by how much one is willing to consume, ranging from one sniff to the whole vineyard. He exhorts us to “[l]ove them for themselves; don’t give them marks out of a hundred” (p. 170).

When he was 84, 62 years Johnson’s senior, André Simon became his patron and mentor. His life is sketched in “By Request” (pp. 140–143), which first appeared in Wine & Food in 1998: “When he chose, described and explained wine it was the same: directness, no more than was necessary” (p. 142). Johnson learned well and even went beyond. The elegance of his writing is not sacrificed to an economy of expression.

The 2000s is the longest section, made so by numerous articles from Wine Times, Decanter, The World of Fine Wines, and Agendas from most of the decade’s editions of Johnson’s Pocket Wine Book. About one-fifth comprises a sampling of Johnson’s memoirs, Wine: A Life Uncorked, which appeared in 2005 (pp. 186–206). The topics are contemporary and nostalgic. Australia’s output is admired, while old Bordeaux and Burgundies are venerated. Although a lover of claret, Johnson is realistic about the dramatic increase in the prices of classified growths, especially since the beginning of this century, which has left them unaffordable by all but the wealthiest. “[D]oes my Château Batailley or Cantemerle (₤240 a case each) … taste any less deliciously satisfying because there are sleeker models with more horsepower on the road” (p. 246), he asks.

The 2010s section begins with a plea to reconsider Riesling and ends with the Agenda from the 2017 edition of the Pocket Wine Book. Best to stop here lest I further deny the reader the pleasure of discovery. Because the Table of Contents only lists the major sections, the reader must rely on the three-column, five-page index to navigate the book. Unfortunately, not each entry captures all appearances. For example, the entry for Oregon only lists page 98, omitting pages 16, 138, and 266.

Throughout this charming compilation, Johnson’s palate exhibits characteristic British “tasteoir”: “If there’s a more conservative wine-drinker than I am, I’d like to taste from his decanter” (p. 232), he admits. He loves Champagne, his favorite, but also port, claret, and sherry. His go-to white is Chablis. But he also sings the praises of Napa Valley Cabernet and bottlings from Australia and New Zealand. Reversing a comment he made about traveling to the latter (p. 227), reading this compendium is like going all around the Old World and eventually finding yourself in the New.

Johnson’s selection of subjects reflects quaintness dappled with the realization that the world has moved beyond just port and claret. Even the contemporary binding to which a burgundy (or is it claret?) ribbon bookmark is attached manifests an earlier sensibility. So do the pencil drawings by the late Paul Hogarth that grace the begin- ning and end of every section. Each is an understated yet complete thought, like the text it adorns.

Johnson reminds us that in his country, “[m]ore wine books and better magazines are published here than are in all the rest of the world” (p. 162). On Wine is a deli- cious way to sample the works of this commentator, one of the most prolific and archetypical contributors to that impressive output. It is also compelling evidence that on matters vinous, we should drink broadish but read British.

In an interview with the Santa Barbara Independent, Comiskey describes how he set out in 2007 to compose a guide to US Rhône wines and producers. The purpose of the book shifted after he became enthralled by the outlandish histories of the Rhône Rangers, and how they came to make the wines that define them. There is a certain parallel here with how many of the key characters in the book become similarly enthralled by the Rhône varietals, often by unintended and fortuitous means, but then choose to make them their lives’ work. The approach taken by the Rangers rein- forces the perception of them as mavericks, from ignoring the disdain for the simple idea of imitating French wines in the United States to the illicit importation of cut- tings. A sense of the steadfastly individualistic, entrepreneurial psyche lends a con- spicuously American flavor to this book and its characters. The power of “one-bottle epiphanies” to infuse people with a singular zeal runs beneath the surface, illustrated by Mat Garretson’s dogged pursuit of John Alban. Not knowing he is phoning a modem line serving a weather station in the middle of a vineyard that only has a handset connected intermittently, he phones at all times of day and night for 3 months before his persistence bears fruit; their meeting gives birth to the Hospices du Rhône (p. 223). Similarly, graduate student Gary Eberle (p. 80) decides in 1972 upon tasting a Saint-Julien from Ducru-Beaucaillou that he no longer wishes to pursue a promising career as a geneticist but just wants to drink; it is safe to assume that many others have had similar thoughts after a particularly nice bottle, but few have made the career change stick.

In his opening lines, Comiskey qualifies himself as a writer who fell in love with wine, as opposed to a lifetime oenophile who embraced writing. He has enjoyed success using the writer’s toolbox of vocabulary and metaphor to describe what he is tasting and how it makes him feel. This skill comes through in his descriptions of people and places, from dusty wine retailers to foggy mountain vineyards. His use of language creates a visceral sense of place and engages the senses. The story balances a depth of information not possessed by the Rhône Rangers themselves, with an approachability that does not preclude the book from wider consumption, fulfilling his self-prescribed duty to “bring people closer to these experiences” (p. xiii).

It is pleasing that the author does not fall for any unrepresentative romantic description of the Rhône. Having cycled Lyon-Camargues, we find his description of a working river used for industrial transport to be accurate and rightfully dismis- sive of the idea that it is idyllic. This description applies specifically to the northern part of the Rhône valley and the prestigious appellations of Cotes Rôtie and Condrieu. However, a lack of maps of California or the Rhône makes it difficult for readers who are not familiar with both regions. While we are familiar with the Rhône valley, we find that California’s geography is not as easily deciphered without visual aid. This book would have been enhanced by the inclusion of tables summarizing changes in such topics as area under vine or volume of produc- tion, placing elements of the rather fragmented story in context.

The book engages well with modern scientific approaches, including DNA tracking of varietals. Previously, these enigmatic varietals have largely been lost to anonymity in field blends or misidentified in the vineyard. Chapter 2 is particularly dense with information, but most gets lost quickly. A table summarizing the different characteristics of each variety, plus how and where it is used in wine production, would assist the reader as he or she progresses to later chapters.

Given the relative freedom of US winemakers to experiment, some may have the perception that winemaking has stood relatively still in the Rhône during this period, but it has not, and a small summary to this effect would have been beneficial. The same could be said for the production of Rhône varieties in other prominent parts of the world. Development of the AVA system in the United States happened during the timeline of this book but is not spoken of, yet it could point to more European influence on the administration of wine production. Material is sufficient to yield a separate (and possibly dull) book on its own, but some links are needed. Perhaps this information could be presented in a condensed and separate appendix.

Because of the Rangers’ geographical isolation and the uniqueness of their dreams, the importance of bringing them together in such places as Chez Panisse and at such events as Hospices du Rhône is justifiably emphasized. The book mirrors the Rhône Rangers’ organization in making people who do not embrace the public eye in a conventional way thoroughly likable and sharing their very human enthusiasm for replicating at home the vinous French idyll they have fallen for. Most Rhône varietals have a US history that predates that of the Rangers, but this group’s efforts brought the allure of these wines to the mass market in the 1990s. In the process, they showed US consumers that red wine does not have to offer a chocolate and vanilla experience –a world of savory, gamey, meaty, and spicy flavors is available. The boom of interest in new varieties and flavors saw them conquer the wine world and beyond; in 1992, asteroid #4934 was named “Rhôneranger” in honor of the subversive Randall Grahm of Bonny Doon Winery (p. 116). This boom was not to last, and the author describes current winemaking and -selling challenges in later chapters. The mavericks are underdogs who valiantly have made their way in the shadow of Napa Cabernet and growing corporatization, yet the book does not pay much attention to the Rhône underdogs of today. In his latest article for Wine & Spirits Magazine,2 Comiskey looks at Vermentino, Grenache Blanc, and Picpoul. This examination would have brought the narrative full circle, especially given the current demand for light, dry white wines. It may have also provided a sunnier element to the conclusion of the book, which does not enthuse the reader about thoughts of following in the Rangers’ footsteps. While writing these few lines we could not resist pouring ourselves a native Rhône and a Californian with similar blend. Our humble international tasting panel (with no French or American member) came up with some tasting notes that seem to fit the stereotypes. The Lirac (2014 Vignoble Abeille; Chateau Mont-Redon in Chateauneuf-du-Pape, 14.5% ABV) keeps its balance and offers a sincere mixture of red fruits without being too bombastic. The Cotes du Crow’s 2014 Morgan (Monterey, Morgan Winery Salinas, 14.2% ABV) delivers a more vanilla/chocolate experience. Although it is a fine product, its initial splashes of cherries and oak are unable to hide a certain platitude. Does this ridiculously small sample confirm the clichés regarding American/French palates? More tastings are needed, surely. Plenty of material for sequels exists, so this Canadian/Australian pair look forward to another quaffable and entertaining read from the author.

Varietals of Capitalism defies simple description. Its theoretical framework, depth of research, and interdisciplinarity would seem to have required Herculean tasks from no fewer than three scholars. Of course, this is not a coincidence. In fewer than 250 pages, Xabier Itçaina, Antoine Roger, and Andy Smith, all affiliated with Sciences Po Bordeaux, have put together a richly complex account of the European Union’s (EU’s) 2008 regulatory change that, in theory, allowed participants in the European wine trade to compete more successfully in the global wine market. Rooted in the exist- ing literature of economic change, Varietals of Capitalism utilizes a diverse range of primary source material, including interviews and documentary evidence, from four key EU wine-producing countries: France, Italy, Romania, and Spain.

The authors take as their starting point the generally agreeable position that indus- try change can only be understood with an ear and an eye toward politics. Employing the concept of structured contingency, an amalgamation of institutional thought, field theory, and multiscalar politics, the authors argue that the simple explanations offered by most commentators for the necessity of the 2008 change (i.e., growers were forced to meet the demands of a new globalized consumer) do not hold up against a deep reading of the relevant source material. More generally, the authors reject an economically or intergovernmentally reductionist view of EU pol- icies and focus instead on the “complex set of contingent political work conducted in the economic, scientific, and bureaucratic fields” (p. 7). Although this final goal may prove too ambitious, Varietals of Capitalism also seeks to shed light on the relation- ship between individual actors, social structures, and institutions that constitute contemporary capitalism outside the wine industry.

Varietals of Capitalism is broken into three parts. Part I explores the existing liter- ature and approaches to change in the wine industry and economies more generally. This first section also spells out the authors’ notion of structured contingency, and with it the idea of how actors build, maintain, dismantle, and destroy the very insti- tutions that serve to confine, confound, and restrict them (in other words, socially structured actors).

Part II dials back on theory (although not entirely) and pushes forward into the actual debates that led to the 2008 policy change. Avoiding the simplistic and soph- istic arguments that many in the trade use to explain change, the authors present a dense account of how science and academia (including this very journal) helped conceptualize the production and implementation of a new approach to the EU’s governing of the wine industry. What becomes clear is that the regulatory change of 2008 has a deeper and more complex history than what most readers (myself included) would have assumed. European anxiety of falling behind the New World, in wine and in other sectors, was just one factor in the evolvement from supply-driven to demand-driven EU wine laws.

Part III may feel the most relatable to practitioners involved in the wine trade. Here, the authors break down the successes and failures of the first few years of implemen- tation of the 2008 law. It sought to drastically reduce the EU’s interventionist policies of vine grubbing and distillation subsidies and instead focus on supporting producers and merchants in their attempts to present wine to consumers. These changes, however, do not represent a clear victory for neoliberalism and its supporters. Rather, the authors suggest that “microeconomic support” offered to growers and regions formed the “heart of the reform agenda” (p. 192). This fascinating and con- vincing point runs counter to what may seem like surface-level neoliberal reforms.

As with most books that attempt to challenge conventions, nitpicky criticisms manifest themselves quite readily. At times, the reader is left feeling as though the authors’ primary goal is not explication of the 2008 law but rather the challenge of putting the notion of structured contingency into action. Whereas this reader expected the theory to support the empirical study, I finished wondering whether the empirical study was there to support the theory. Second, although the authors go to great lengths to historicize the 2008 change (and are explicit in doing so), they are prone to simplify other, equally complex historically phenomena, including the creation of the system of appellations d’origine (pp. 64–69).

These minor quibbles should not detract from what is otherwise a thoughtful, academically driven piece of research. The book speaks to a broad range of acade- micians, including economists and political scientists, although it may appeal less to wine-trade participants who do not have an interest in the scholastic side of their live- lihoods. Whether the concept of structured contingency will have any enduring impact outside the wine trade, or within it, remains to be seen.

Of all the books that aim to “pair” wine with food, or with geography, or with prices, or with taste, or with history, or with any other variable, Gisela Kreglinger’s new book on wine is a statistical outlier: the author pairs wine with spirituality. The Spirituality of Wine is a book about wine and the Christian faith, as the author describes it: “The Christian spirituality I espouse in the pages of this book is rooted in Christian Scripture and nourished by the wisdom of the rich Christian tra- dition of our ancestors, those who have gone before us in the faith” (p. 1). Kreglinger has the theological chops and the family experience to write such a book: she holds a Ph.D. in historical theology from the University of St. Andrews, and she grew up in a family whose business has produced and sold wine for generations.(1)

If a reader comes to this book knowing nothing about the Christian faith, or about wine, those deficiencies will be remedied. Indeed, a thesis of the book is that the Christian faith cannot be understood and appreciated without knowing its nexus with wine. The connection Kreglinger makes between Christianity and wine is not only historical, such as Jesus’s first miracle being the changing of water into wine. The deeper connection is theological: the very divinity of Christ and the nature of salvation itself is tied to the blood of Christ, which the Christian faith connects to wine. Thus, The Spirituality of Wine can be read as a primer on the tenets of the Christian faith. But the book also can be read as a primer on how wine is made, in what manner wine is to be consumed, and the reason wine is the most special of all beverages.

Kreglinger divides her book into two parts: Sustenance and Sustainability. The first tilts toward theology; the second tilts toward the production and consumption of wine. What is especially satisfying about the book is the way the author weaves the narrative of the Christian faith with the narrative of wine making and wine consumption. The word “informative” comes to mind—but so does the word “inspirational.”

Many sermons have been given about Jesus’s turning water into wine at a wedding feast in Cana (John 2). Kreglinger goes beyond this familiar story to explain how wine appears in the Christian scriptures from Genesis to Revelation. Noah is the first vintner (Genesis 9:1), producing a beverage the Bible describes as bringing glad- ness to the human heart and comfort during times of distress (Psalm 104:15; Proverbs 31:6–7). Noah also is the first person in the Bible to become drunk, and Kreglinger describes not only the joy that wine consumption can bring but the tragic consequences that overconsumption can cause. Other Old Testament figures whose lives connect with wine include Abraham (Genesis 14:18) and Isaac, who gives his son the eloquent blessing, “May God give you the dew of heaven, and of the fatness of the earth, and plenty of grain and wine” (Genesis 27:28, 37). When Moses sends out scouts to survey the promised land, they report seeing a “valley of grape clusters,” which signals the goodness of the promised land (Numbers 13:21–27). At the time of Israel’s rule under Solomon, the scriptures record that the people of Israel lived “each under his own vine and fig tree” (1 Kings 4:25). This was a time of peace and flourishing—and wine helped make it so.

Indeed, so fundamental is wine in the Bible that the nation of Israel is often com- pared to a vine or a vineyard. In Psalm 80, Israel is described as a vine brought out of Egypt to be transplanted in the fertile soil of the Promised Land. As Kreglinger out- lines the connection between God’s chosen people and wine, important parallels include “the need to stay rooted in God’s garden; their dependence on God the vintner for pruning, watering, and protection; and their calling to become a fruitful nation and a blessing to others” (p. 26). The parallel between Israel and viticulture continues when the prophets, bemoaning times of Israel’s wickedness, describe Israel as a “wild vine” (Jeremiah 2:21; Hosea 10:2). The Bible verse displayed at the United Nations plaza is drawn from Israel’s connection to wine: “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks” (Isaiah 2:4). The pruning hook is the most fundamental tool of the vintner.

In the New Testament, Jesus repeatedly makes references to wine—and assumes his audience is familiar with viticulture. Jesus enjoys wine—indeed, one of the charges leveled against him by the Pharisees is being a “glutton, a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matthew 15:19–20). Jesus regularly illustrates his parables with references to viticulture and wine. In the “I am” statements by Jesus, he says of himself: “I am the true vine; God the father is the vine-grower; and his disciples are the branches” (John 15:1–6). So fundamental is viticulture to the Christian gospel that the apostle John maintains that followers of Jesus are to “abide” in Christ—in the same way that a branch must “abide” in (or be connected to) the vine to bear fruit.

According to Kreglinger, the relationship between wine and the Christian faith culminates in what Christians call “the last supper,” where Jesus takes a cup of wine and compares it to his blood, which will be shed for the sins of the world. From this mysterious mingling of blood and wine is derived the sacrament where Christians consume wine—following the same instructions that Jesus gives to his fol- lowers at their Passover meal: “this do in remembrance of me.” No six words have done more to increase the consumption of wine than these six words of instruction from Jesus to his disciples.

For generations, millions of people have consumed wine each Sunday in accord with this teaching. Roman Catholics believe that the wine they consume at Mass actually is the blood of Christ. Protestants believe that the wine they consume at communion represents the blood of Christ. In each case, wine provides the vehicle for “communing” with Christ in recognition of what Christians (of all stripes) believe to be the atoning death of the Son of God.(2) If the sacrament of the Lord’s supper were not enough to establish the crucial connection between the Christian faith and wine, Jesus tells his followers that when they are with him in heaven, there will be a feast—and on that day, Jesus will drink wine “new with you in my Father’s Kingdom” (Matthew 26:29; Mark 14:25; Luke 21:18).

Of particular interest to readers of this journal will be Kreglinger’s account of the role of Christian monasteries in the production of wine. Monasteries in England, Ireland, and as far north as Denmark have produced wine, some of them becoming highly skilled in viticulture. Monks in the Cistercian Order cleared the land and planted the vines that produced the highly regarded Clos de Vougeot of Burgundy. Kreglinger’s favorite movie, referenced several times in the book, is Babette’s Feast, a film that celebrates the spirituality and gladness of consuming superb food and wine. The wine served in this cinematic feast? Clos de Vougeot.(3) Dom Pérignon is the name of the Benedictine monk whose oenological genius led him to produce the now famous champagne of that name. Years later, Franciscan friars would see the potential of viticulture in what is now northern California, a geo- graphic focal point of the wine industry.

In an enlightening portion of the book that discusses wine and the Reformation, Kreglinger makes a persuasive case that the Reformers never counseled abstinence even as they contended that being drunk from wine was a sin. Kreglinger quotes Calvin: “By wine the hearts of men are gladdened, their strength recruited, and the whole man strengthened, so by the blood of our Lord the same benefits are received by our souls” (p. 57). The Reformers were united on the doctrine of sola scriptura—the Bible was central to their faith. Zwingli compares the Bible to “a good strong wine.”

Joy, Kreglinger maintains, is to be part of the Christian experience. Her chapter “Wine and Communal Feasting” is a biblically based ode to the joy of wine con- sumption. The chapter also is a theological brief for wine as God’s gift to gladden human hearts and enhance family and communal pleasure by consuming the fruit of the vine. Christians who believe in abstinence will find little ammunition in this chapter. According to Kreglinger, “Christian feasting becomes a place where we embrace and cultivate this posture of gratitude and joyful celebration.” And wine is to be part of the feast. Blending precepts from the Bible with the narrative of Babette’s Feast, Kreglinger explains that wine, properly used, “allows us to experi- ence God as the lavish giver” (p. 88). It is not just a sip of wine that is being pre- scribed here; Kreglinger uses the term “gentle intoxication” to describe the heart gladdening that wine is to foster.(4)

In Part I of her book, Kreglinger contends that the practice of viticulture once was a spiritual exercise as well as an agricultural endeavor. She argues this should still be the case: “If the vintner participates in crafting wine that is both God’s gift and the work of human hands, his or her vocation has profound spiritual meaning” (p. 121).

Kreglinger interviews several vintners as to whether they have a sense of “calling” to their work. Some affirm a spiritual dimension—a cooperating with God the creator—in crafting a good wine. The stories of Father Hufsky, a Catholic priest who tends a personal vineyard, and Sister Thekla, the vintner at the Abbey of St. Hildegard, illustrate the kind of connection Kreglinger longs to see in a human partnership with the Lord of the vineyard. Kreglinger is saddened by the vintners of today who do not understand or acknowledge this connection, and she laments those who have commoditized wine and produce only for the sake of profit. Yet she leaves room for the promise of an inherent spirituality, even for secular vintners.

Part II of The Spirituality of Wine delves further into the wine-making process itself, exploring the connection between God’s place (or what some would call nature’s place) and the role of humans in contemporary wine production. Informed by her discussions with vintners around the world, Kreglinger contends that wine loses its distinctive value and becomes “degraded into becoming just another generic drink” when producers seek profit over quality and variety (p. 147). The author worries that modern technologies enable shortcuts that discon- nect vintners from the spiritual nature of crafting wine. For Kreglinger, technology separates wine—that mysterious fruit of the vine—from the vineyard itself.

In a well-researched (if somewhat disjointed) chapter on the health benefits of wine, Kreglinger draws from Christian and non-Christian sources. Even before modern medicine, the apostle Paul instructs Timothy to treat an upset stomach with wine (1 Timothy 5:23). Hippocrates used wine as a potent antiseptic. But to my mind, the author devotes too much space to modern medicine. She plainly believes that wine’s physical benefits complement the spiritual, but Kreglinger’s strong suit is that she grew up in a vineyard and studied theology—she did not grow up in a vineyard and study medicine.

Proverbs 20:1 states: “[W]ine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise.” Kreglinger would agree. She gives unvarnished attention to the potential for alcohol abuse in a chapter subtitled “Rescuing Wine from the Gluttons for the Contemplatives.” Here, Kreglinger repeats her position that wine is not meant to be consumed mindlessly; it is a good gift, but, as with every gift, it has an intended use. The Bible also describes wine as a reward: “Honor the Lord with your wealth and with the first fruits of all your produce; then your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine” (Proverbs 3:9–10). Thoughtfully addressing the complexities of substance abuse, Kreglinger does not shy away from the fallen nature of the human relationship with alcohol, but she is adamant that wine “was meant to draw us nearer to God and each other rather than alienate us even further from his loving and healing presence. In the words of the German proverb, ‘To drink is to pray, to binge-drink is to sin’” (p. 198).

Weaving insights from today’s vintners with New Testament metaphors, Kreglinger concludes by challenging modern notions of identity and community. In drawing the strands of the book together, she writes: “Christ invites us to see one another … as branches held together and nourished by Christ, the vine, and tended by a caring vintner, God the Father” (p. 202). Although Kreglinger some- times strays into secondary concerns, such as consumerism and virtual media, that distract from the book’s theme, she successfully explains—through the palatable prism of wine—that “[t]he Earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalm 24:1).
1 As a baby, Kreglinger was placed in a playpen in the vineyard because her mother was working there. As a little girl, her job was to crawl into the wine vats and scrub them clean from the inside. The Kreglinger family vineyard is neither a hobby nor a tax dodge.

2 This is how Kreglinger describes the sacrament and its connection to blood, wine, and a supper: “The Lord’s supper becomes a place where we cease to strive and we learn to receive the person of Jesus Christ, the forgiveness of our sins, and eternal life… . This is something that Christ does and will continue to work within us until the end of days. We eat Christ’s body and drink his blood. As we take into ourselves his living presence [through the wine and the bread], he mysteriously forms and grows his very own life in us personally and communally” (p. 72).

3 Kreglinger quotes the wine writer Hugh Johnson, who accords this encomium to the Cistercian monks: they made Clos de Vougeot “the laboratory of their pursuit of perfection” (p. 50).

4 Her words are worth repeating: “The intoxicating effect of wine is often seen as purely negative. But Babette’s Feast is a moving example of how gentle intoxication can enhance our festive play before God and allow us to let go of our defenses and embrace a life of greater vulnerability and transparency with God and with each other” (p. 99).

Kenneth G. Elzinga
University of Virginia
elzinga@virginia.edu

doi:10.1017/jwe.2017.6

Much has been made of the massive scale of this book, which reviews the origins and wines of nearly one hundred of Napa Valley’s several hundred wineries. Printed in China on super-heavy paper stock, it is difficult to actually lift. Apart from being unwieldy, the connection of the author to the wine and beverage industry has led some to call the book a vanity project. It is published by Leslie Rudd, for whom Kelli White is the sommelier (along with her fiancé) at PRESS, the St. Helena steak house (there is no other word for its menu) that Rudd operates. Indeed, a brief section of the book is devoted to a discussion of the wine list at PRESS. To top matters off, the HoseMaster of Wine has provided a hysterically funny blind book review (yes, he reviews the book without reading it—think blind wine tasting) at  www.hosemasterofwine.blogspot.com.

Like the HoseMaster of Wine, I did not read the entire book, and I doubt the author would expect anyone to do so. After offering a brief history of early wine pro- duction in the area, Napa Valley Then and Now becomes a series of well-researched vignettes, with a few photos of bottles and vineyards thrown in for good measure. Each vignette provides a brief history of a winery, its vineyards, and some tasting notes on wines from the property to which the author has access. These tasting notes focus mainly on the aging of the wine; a symbol indicating whether a wine has started to show its age is assigned to each, which some wine collectors may find especially useful.

I found the winery vignettes I did browse through to be accurate and sometimes very interesting. I learned that the Scholium Project, whose oddball name I always wondered about, was started by a former professor from St. John’s College in Annapolis who just extended his sabbatical indefinitely. And the School House Vineyard, which has a rather long and tortuous history, is a kind of microcosm of the Napa Valley story itself.

The book has brief prefaces written by Leslie Rudd and Robert Parker, each of which reads like a book jacket’s advertising blurb.

However, the book has one enormous problem: its size and weight make it so ungainly that it is nearly impossible to read the entirety of many entries. Merely folding the pages over becomes a serious task, and searching the book for an entry (the entries are alphabetical, which helps) is ridiculously time-consuming in the Internet age. This book truly needs to be uploaded to the Internet, where it could be easily searched, where the font size could be adjusted, and where it would weigh no more than a simple tablet.

Orley Ashenfelter
Princeton University
C6789@princeton.edu

doi:10.1017/jwe.2017.5

I have read many “wine books,” some casual, some pedantic, and many happily informative. But Bianca Bosker’s book stands out as being spectacularly successful in teaching us about wine, in making us love wine, and in presenting a tone of unfail- ing good humor. It is cast in the form of an autobiography over a period of one year in which she decides to learn about wine, taste, and especially smell and which ends with her passing her examination to become a certified sommelier and finally getting employed as one.

There is no tasting without smelling. It is fair to say that olfaction is “in,” as shown by some recent attention from canine ethologists (see Alexandra Horowitz, Being a Dog: Following the Dog into a World of Smell, Scribner, New York, 2016, 336 pp., ISBN 978-1-4767-9599-7 [hardback], $27.00). In fact, dogs’ noses are so much more sensitive than ours (with a few hundred million olfactory bulbs versus our just a few million) that I have wondered whether they could be trained to distinguish in blind tastings between, say, Château Latour and Château Lafite.

Bosker starts her career as a “cellar rat,” continues with tastings, trails established sommeliers in famous restaurants, gets endless advice from friends and other aspi- rants to wine greatness, visits experts from California to Dresden, gets periodically bawled out by bosses, and (assisted by a thousand flashcards) crams endlessly for the forthcoming three-part exam consisting of blind tastings, the theory of wine, and service. Service is crucial; you must be dressed just right and follow specific rules: Don’t pour men before women, don’t pour the host before the guests, don’t pour more for one person than another. And God help you if you drip. Don’t pick up the glasses to pour, and don’t take more than two pours to fill one glass. Don’t empty the bottle the first go- around. Don’t forget to wipe the bottle’s lip on each pour, and before you pour. Don’t ever block the label with your hand. Don’t look awkward. Don’t fidget. Don’t pour from the left. Don’t walk clockwise. Don’t ever swear. Don’t make the guest ask you the vintage. Don’t look so eager. Don’t look so serious—you don’t want to be a funeral director, do you? Don’t be so shy. Don’t say “um.” And for the love of God don’t look so nervous. (p. 80)

In one of her early exposures to the “real thing,” a droplet of Madeira rolls down the stem of the glass she has just poured: “It was like a turd smeared on a wedding gown” (p. 79).

Most importantly, perhaps, Bosker trains her nose with a 54-sample kit (Le Nez du Vin) of fragrance essences that she sniffs daily. Interestingly, Horowitz (of canine fame) also religiously sniffs Le Nez du Vin and agrees with Bosker that one must verbalize the smells to retain them in the brain; however, she seems to be less successful than Bosker, learning the smells of essences in the kit but not dis- tinguishing wines more successfully as a result. Bosker takes issue with the frequently held view that humans’ olfactory bulbs have shrunk and hence animals have a stron- ger sense of smell, because in humans, the brain provides a strong assist in smelling. But dogs are special, because their noses have a vomeral cavity, a second smelling organ that humans lack. There are some minor disagreements between Bosker and Horowitz: the former maintains that pheromones may be important in bringing humans together (p. 97), whereas the latter states that people do not seem to detect pheromones at all (p. 88).

Part of the sommelier’s job is to sell wine, and to do that, she needs to know what the guest wants. There is clearly an art to figuring out what the guest really wants, and Bosker’s description of how sommeliers see through guests is almost scary, making the reader think that when one goes to a restaurant, it is akin to unwittingly landing on a psychiatrist’s couch; at a minimum, guests are subject to keen observations (“She wore … a ring the size of a shi tzu” [p. 152]). She provides good advice that amateurs can benefit from, such as how to tell alcohol or acid or sugar content in a wine and what makes a quality wine (or a bad wine), although some of her colleagues would prefer to preserve some of the mystery in wine by leaving these questions unanswered.

She describes the research lab of Treasury Wine Estates, with its philosophy that wine should be developed like fast food with market research, tasting panels, focus groups, and the like. That poses an interesting question: what have you really accom- plished if you manage to create a laboratory-designed wine that tastes just like Château Margaux? As Bosker puts it, “But for wineries that want to keep prices low and production high, nature no longer gets the final say on flavor” (p. 187). Laboratory-created wines may well fool people, just as “A Portrait of Gentleman,” putatively by Frans Hals, fooled art lovers (for a while); but as soon as it becomes known that such a work is not the real thing, its price will drop. As in art, we

Book Reviews 107 need authenticity, which is one good reason why the Rudy Kurniawans of this world

will not replace the real McCoy.

Has Bosker been able to train herself (that is, her brain) to recognize and identify wines? There is really only one way to tell—medical technology. Functional MRI (fMRI) is used in a variety of circumstances to examine changes in the brain under various stimuli. Dogs have been subjected to fMRI to identify the changes that occur in their brains when they are exposed to their beloved masters (Gregory Berns, How Dogs Love Us: A Neuroscientist and His Adopted Dog Decode the Canine Brain, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2013, 272 pp. [hardcover], ISBN 978- 0-544-11451-7, $25.00). That study was difficult to carry out, because dogs in the experiment had to be trained to lie absolutely still in the MRI machine, despite its substantial noise output. Bosker, in turn, sips some wines through a tube in the MRI machine and concentrates on identifying them. Sure enough, the fMRI shows her brain responding in the predicted manner, proving conclusively that her yearlong sniffing practice has altered her brain and that trained sommeliers are not just blowing hot air but really have knowledge that the rest of us lack.

As Bosker’s year of learning and apprenticing comes to an end, she has her exam- ination, which elicits moments of tension, nerves, and fear. In the blind-tasting part of the exam, she has to identify two wines; a white, which she calls a Chablis (1–3 years old), and a red, which she identifies as a California Cabernet (1–3 years old). She nails it. The other parts of the examination go equally well, leading to her designation as a Certified Sommelier. The final chapter deals with her getting a job from Paul Grieco as sommelier in his wine bar, Terroir, which had been named the World’s Best Wine Bar. It is a worthy, richly deserved culmination of her anxiety- and work-filled year.

It is amazing just how much “stuff” this book contains about wines, tastes, smells, production, service, tastings, sommeliers, customs and wine lore, successes and screw-ups, and much, much more. Most importantly, Bosker communicates to the reader on every page the abiding love she has for wine and for the activities that wine professionals undertake. It is a “must-read” for everybody who loves wine or would like to reach that point.

Richard E. Quandt
Princeton University
requandt@gmail.com

doi:10.1017/jwe.2017.4

The Business of Wine Making is a comprehensive book that covers all aspects of grape growing, wine making, wine marketing, and business in 360 pages of tightly packed information related to science, viticulture, enology, economics, and business.

Let me begin with my conclusion. This is an outstanding dual-purpose book. On the one hand, it is very practical and may serve as the perfect reference guide for the beginning or advanced grape grower, winemaker, or wine marketer. On the other hand, it is theoretical and very useful for every wine aficionado who wants to know more about wine and its production, at a profound level.

It was only after I had read the first 30 pages that I noticed the biography of the late Jeffrey Lamy (1938–2014) on page 349. After a long illness, he passed away just after finishing the final update on the manuscript of this book. An obituary published online by the Oregonian on May 9, 2014, (http://obits.oregonlive.com) Oregon Wine Press sketches the main stations of his life: “Lamy was a 1960 graduate of Yale University with degrees in industrial administration and mechanical engi- neering. He later earned an MS in business.” After working in the aerospace indus- try, he became the manager of the Chamber of Commerce of Moscow, Idaho. Later on, he was the director for economic development for the Eugene, Oregon, Chamber and was subsequently appointed to the Pacific Northwest Regional Commission. In the late 1970s, he moved to the Portland, Oregon, area to become a vineyard and winery consultant and sought-after speaker and lecturer. As general manager and winemaker, he guided Montinore Vineyards, then Oregon’s largest vineyard- winery (400+ acres), from feasibility study to national prominence.

Lamy also was a regular contributor to the website Enobytes.com (http://www. enobytes.com). His posts include analyses ranging from issues related to terroir and technology to urban wine markets. His contributions go in length, depth, and thoughtfulness substantially beyond what is currently considered a blog post and will fascinate every wine economist.

The Business of Wine Making appears to be the quintessence of his professional life and his passion. It is divided into 19 chapters plus a 10-page appendix. In addi- tion, there is no shortage of synoptical support. The book contains 104 tables and 110 figures!

Lamy begins his book by describing the market place, supply and demand side (chapters 1 and 2), trends in the number of wineries, by size and region, and their production differentiated by region and kind of wine, cost and price trends, demand, and market conditions. Interestingly, aside from the three western states of California, Oregon, and Washington, he also covers New York, Virginia, and Michigan and their grape varieties including many French-American hybrids.

Chapters 3 to 7 are about the grape and its growing conditions. Here Lamy devotes more than 20 pages to solar radiation (some parts of chapter 3 and all of chapter 4). For various orientations, slopes, and latitudes he provides figures with hourly incoming solar radiation just like Orley Ashenfelter and I did for German vineyards (Ashenfelter and Storchmann, 2010). Lamy also provides the mathemat- ical link between radiation and temperature and details how planting and pruning can optimize the solar energy influx; this is fascinating and meticulous work. He goes on by describing the outline of a vineyard and how it should be maintained including various spraying regimes, and finishes with a financial analysis.

In chapters 8 and 9, Lamy sheds light on the winemaker’s role. First, “what does a winemaker cost? (p. 123)” As we learn, in 2012, in California experienced winemak- ers earned between $90,000 and $105,000 per year. In addition, “Profit-based bonuses seem to be gaining popularity with eastern wineries.”

He then continues with describing the technicalities of wine making, from the determination of titratable acidity, over various fermentation methods, yeasts, filtra- tion, and cyroextraction (for eiswein) to bottling. Everything is covered in great detail and supported with ample figures and tables. There is a lot to be learned here. Carbonic maceration, for instance, is always used on Beaujolais wines: “The usual procedure is to fill a tank with whole clusters and seal it up except for a relief valve. The weight of the grapes crushes some at the bottom of the tank. Yeast fermentation starts spontaneously in the juice from the native yeast on the grapeskins. CO2 production drives the air up and out, so intercellular fermentation can begin. … The process metabolizes some of the malic acid, softens the wine’s tannic edge, gives it a fat mouthfeel and imparts a taste dimension that distinguishes Beaujolais wines” (p. 138).

In “Does the Wine Sell Itself?” (chapter 10), Lamy discusses various ways to market the wine produced such as winemaker dinners (he adds in bold: “The diners expect to meet the winemaker” [p. 198]), tasting rooms and in-store wine tast- ings, weddings, and wine-related merchandise. Here, he also gets to the legalities of direct shipments and wine clubs accompanied by a section entitled “Distributors Control Your Marketing Destiny.” This chapter is not just relevant to the practical winemaker, Lamy also raises the larger issue of U.S. alcohol regulations and partic- ularly considers the economic implications of the three-tier system.

Chapters 11 to 13 are devoted to bookkeeping issues and the capital stock (i.e., winery equipment and the winery itself). Typical for this book, Lamy often moves from the big picture down to the smallest detail. For instance, what crush pad equip- ment is needed? How do the various crush models work? What are the best brands? There are many tables that detail the cost effectiveness of various destemmers, pomace pumps, and presses. Lamy also presents numerous winery design outlines and floor plans depending on the desired capacity.

Chapter 14 deals with winery revenues and expenses and is mainly a spreadsheet exercise. For wineries of different sizes in growing regions as different as Arizona, California, Colorado, Maryland, New York, Ohio, Oregon, or Washington, Lamy lists all cost components including taxes and makes inferences about the yields and grape/wine prices needed to meet certain profitability goals. This analysis is aug- mented by a scale economy study (chapter 16). For both grape growers and wine- makers, Lamy sets a minimum size needed to at least break even.

Assessing the profitability of a winery is also important for acquisitions (chapter 15) to make sure the old joke: “How do you make a small fortune in the wine indus- try? Answer: start with a large one” (p. 303) does not come true. In two short chapters (chapters 17 and 18), Lamy describes various management issues and “where to get the money” (p. 323).

The book concludes with a case study, written in dialogue style, that wraps up the book with a few business questions he leaves to the reader to decide.

Overall, this is a fascinating book, densely packed with information. Those who want to learn more than is already documented in this book can consult other sources. After each chapter, Lamy lists the most important references, oftentimes classics by authors such as Maynard Amerine, Emile Peynaud, or Albert J. Winkler.

I utterly enjoyed reading this book, and I learned a lot. The Business of Wine Making is a must for anybody who grows grapes or/and makes wine or ponders doing so in the future. Due to its comprehensiveness I would also recommend it as a textbook for Wine MBA courses, that are currently sprouting everywhere, par- ticularly if they have a multidisciplinary focus. In addition, it will serve as an excel- lent reference for the nonproducing consumer who wants to learn more about his or her favorite beverage.

Karl Storchmann
New York University
karl.storchmann@nyu.edu

doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.35

The Economics of Chocolate is—like an upmarket chocolate bar—rich, dense, and satisfying. Its editors, Mara Squicciarini and Johan Swinnen, are both at the University of Leuven in Belgium, a country that has deep and historic connections to chocolate and a country where “the idea of producing a book on the economics of chocolate comes naturally,” the editors write. The work was also “inspired by the rapidly growing field of the economics of wine, another luxury product, and the eco- nomics of beer, another Belgium specialty with sometimes surprisingly similar eco- nomic characteristics as chocolate.”

The book is about economics in its widest sense; its 22 chapters by various authors cover “history and economic development, demand and supply, trade and invest- ment, geography and scale economies, psychology and politics, technology and inno- vation, health and nutrition,” (p. v) and so forth, the editors explain. There is even a chapter on how to encourage people to eat less chocolate.

Given my job as chief agricultural officer at Mars Incorporated, a company that turns a lot of cacao (as the crop that becomes cocoa is known) into chocolate, I have strong views about this commodity, views that will surface in this review. I also coed- ited an almost 1,000-page book on the history, culture, and heritage of chocolate, a fact I mention only so that I can add the confession that “economics of” does not appear in its index, demonstrating the timely necessity of The Economics of Chocolate. It is timely and necessary because of the watershed on which the com- modity sits.

Many cacao growers in Africa, the main producing region, Latin America, and Asia live in deep poverty. They do not have enough land to grow enough cacao to escape that poverty. Thus, many are moving into cities or into other crops, such as rubber and palm oil.

As emerging markets appear, their appetite for chocolate is growing rapidly. Demand is likely to double over the next 20 years, yet the current production capac- ity is crumbling. Cacao is an underdeveloped crop, still in the early stages of domes- tication, threatened by pests and viral and fungal diseases that have serious effects on production. Political and economic instability in areas where it is grown is another threat. So the chocolate industry is predicting a shortage of 1 million metric tons of cacao by 2020. That is a big shortfall in a little time.

However, this book is largely the product of a conference attended mainly by econ- omists and social scientists, rather than agriculturalists. So this stark reality is not captured strongly enough among chapters with titles such as “From Pralines to Multinationals” and “Chocolate Brands and Preferences of Chinese Consumers.”

Christopher Gilbert, looking at the “Dynamics of the World Cocoa Price,” hero- ically constructs a chart of U.S. dollar cocoa prices back to 1850, concluding that “the effects of demand-side shocks are more persistent than those of supply-side shocks (p. 307).” Writing in late 2014, he predicts that the International Cocoa Organization’s cocoa price average, $2,439 per ton in 2013, would rise steadily toward $5,000 by the end of the decade, but higher prices would cause more cacao plantings and “prices will drift back toward current levels in the following decade.” Given the pressure on cacao, the major chocolate companies are not nearly as calm as Gilbert.

William Clarence-Smith begins his chapter on chocolate consumption from the sixteenth century until the early twentieth century by claiming chocolate is “slightly addictive” (p. 43) and ends by noting that “debate still rages over whether chocolate is physiologically addictive (p. 62).” However, between these statements he offers a fascinating account of cocoa consumption around the world and its competition with the likes of tea and coffee (and the fact that for long periods cocoa beans were used as currency in parts of Latin America, keeping demand high).

Cocoa was consumed as a liquid for much of its social history, but in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a perfect storm of events coalesced to create the “great choc- olate boom.” The invention of milk powder and ways to get the fat out of the solids led to smooth chocolate bars, and other new technologies created the possibility of great product diversification. Even new techniques in advertising played a role in the boom.

However, lest chocolate consumption rise too high, Sabrina Bruyneel and Siegfried Dewitte offer a chapter entitled “Health Nudges: How Behavioural Engineering Can Reduce Chocolate Consumption.” They were moved to do this work based on the “observation that chocolate not only provides immediate utility but also contributes to the rise of obesity and, in its wake, a host of preventable diseases (p. 167).” They define nudges as “subtle rearrangements in the decision environment that support con- sumers in adapting welfare-enhancing behaviours, like choosing healthy food options (p. 158).” For example, bowls of chocolate were placed within “close proximity” (20 cm) of test subjects and “within reach” (70 cm). Results showed that the “probability of consumption and the number of chocolates consumed decreased significantly when the distance to the chocolates increased from 20 to 70 cm.” (Now if I can just get someone to move that bowl of chocolates “within reach” …)

Heike Alberts and Julie Cidell offer a look at chocolate consumption, manufactur- ing, and quality in Europe and North America. American mass-market chocolates tend to have more sugar and less cocoa than their European cousins. American choc- olates are not rolled (“conched”) as much, if at all, so they tend to be grittier. Chocolate manufacturers in the United Kingdom have always substituted palm oil, coconut oil, and so forth for cocoa butter, whereas Americans have resisted this. As for “quality,” well, it is subjective. The authors describe taste tests in which “chocolates sold in discount grocery stores performed very well, and among milk and dark chocolate received better marks than more expensive brands, many of which customers believed to be of particularly good quality (p. 131).”

Other chapters look at consumption in emerging markets. The traditional Chinese diet contains few sweet items, according to Fan Li and Di Mo, but the growth rate of China’s chocolate market has accelerated between 2004 and 2010 by 10% to 15% per year, more than five times the growth rate of the global chocolate market. (This growth rate is spurred by what the chocolate industry likes to call “emerging chocolate lovers”!)

Russia is “one of the most promising emerging chocolate markets in the world,” (p. 400) according to Saule Burkitbayeva and Koen Deconinck. Russians are consuming more chocolate and “are increasingly switching to more expensive choc- olates, causing the market to grow even more strongly in value terms. Observers expect growth to come from new product development such as healthy snack alter- natives or the introduction of new flavours and shapes (p. 416).”

Not to be outdone, India is the fastest-growing market for chocolates in the world. Africa, the world’s major supplier of cacao beans, has not been a consuming region because few people there have been able to afford such luxuries and because most imported chocolate brands, especially in the tropical regions, “do melt at local ‘room temperature.’” Despite these issues, “the growth rate of chocolate consump- tion in both North Africa and SSA [sub-Saharan Africa] is comparable with that of China and India, and is even higher per capita wise than the latter two countries (p. 453).”

There is much on the sustainability of the industry: both environmental sustain- ability (cacao growing is a great cause of deforestation and the loss of biodiversity) and social sustainability (issues of poverty and child labor). However, the picture is a bit too rosy, with emphasis on what companies are doing rather than what the indus- try is not doing. This rosiness is best captured in one chapter title: “From Small Chocolatiers to Multinationals to Sustainable Sourcing.”

There is also perhaps too much optimism that a few Western NGOs such as Fair Trade, Rainforest Alliance, and UTZ can lead remote farmers into sustainability through certification systems that set farming and employment standards. Certification is certainly a part of the solution (and Mars will by 2020 use only “certified sustainable” cacao), but companies and governments need to do much more.

I began by saying the book is “satisfying,” and it is. This old chocolatier reviewer found insights on every page. However, it is only the beginning of a dialogue that must move rapidly forward so that it can be part of the saving transformation of this threatened industry. I have some suggestions for the second edition.

Let us take a harder look at the future, as many chocolate companies are moving toward intense production on irrigated cacao plantations, a move that would drive many present farmers out of cacao and would certainly change the economics of chocolate, not to mention the agricultural economies of countries such as Ivory Coast, Ghana, and Indonesia.

Let us also take a harder look at the past. The history passages of The Economics of Chocolate start with cacao in what is now Central America. In fact, cacao origi- nated in the Morona, Nangaritza, and Zamora River valleys in what is now Ecuador. It must have developed some economic value there, or its seeds and/or seedlings would not have been transported so far north and east.

Let us stop confusing cacao and the chemicals it contains with “chocolate,” which is a combination of cacao with things not particularly good for one in large concentrations, such as sugars and fats. This confusion leads the authors of the chapter on chocolate’s nutritional and health effects—Stefania Moramarco and Loreto Nemi—to write that “we focus on ‘unadulterated’ chocolate, that is, dark chocolate with at least 70% cocoa solids (p. 134).” Something that its 30% “other” is hardly “unadulterated.”

This confusion leads the same authors to refer to “the beneficial effects of choco- late on CVD” (cardiovascular diseases) when speaking of the Kuna Indians’ habit of drinking “three 10oz servings of homemade cocoa beverages per day” (p. 140) and suffering little or no CVD. However, these drinks were almost pure cacao, with no added sugar or fat. They were not chocolate.

I feel strongly about this because over the past 20 years, Mars scientists have pro- duced some 150 peer-reviewed studies in scientific journals on the health benefits of some of the ingredients of cacao without ever claiming that chocolate is good for you. Whiskey contains a great deal of water, but one would be ill-advised to source one’s hydration needs from whiskey.

The book also makes the standard error of claiming that cocoa flavanols have an antioxidant effect. Some of the work by Mars has shown that they do in the test tube but have little antioxidant effect once they get into the human body.

However, the slowly emerging, but astonishing, health benefits of cocoa flavanols may have a huge effect on the economic future of cacao, if not chocolate. An article on the front page of the New York Times in 2014—too late to be included in this book— reported: “In a small study in the journal Nature Neuroscience, healthy people, ages 50 to 69, who drank a mixture high in antioxidants called cocoa flavanols for three months performed better on a memory test than people who drank a low-flavanol mixture.” It quoted the study’s senior author, Dr. Scott Small of Columbia University, as saying that on average the improvement of high-flavanol drinkers meant they per- formed like people two to three decades younger on the study’s memory task, and about 25% better than the low-flavanol group. It quoted another researcher as saying, “An exciting result. Look, it’s chocolate. Who’s going to complain about chocolate?” Note that even the New York Times thinks that flavanols are antioxidants, and a leading researcher thinks that “it’s chocolate.” No, it is not chocolate; it is flavanols.

Much more work must be done to set the economics of cacao and chocolate straight. However, Squicciarini and Swinnen have made a valiant start. Let the research, reporting, and dialogue now accelerate.

Howard-Yana Shapiro
Mars Incorporated and University of California, Davis
Howard.shapiro@effem.com

doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.34

I paused after the first four pages. It just seemed a bit too artsy for a real-life crime story. For example, the following sentence did not set the hard-boiled tone I was expecting: “At moments like this, surrounded by the sublime splendor of the vine- yards before harvest, the Grand Monsieur sometimes thought of the French masters – Pissarro, Renoir, Monet” (p. 2). However, as I pressed on, I realized that this was a different kind of read and one to which I would eventually take.

Journalist Maximillian Potter updated and greatly expanded his May 2011 Vanity Fair article, “The Assassin in the Vineyard,” (http://www.vanityfair.com/news/2011/ 05/vineyard-poisoning-201105) into this book, which first appeared 3 years later. Unconstrained by word count, Potter was able to complete the story of a pathetic extortion attempt in January 2010 aimed at the owners of two extraordinary vine- yards in Burgundy. He does so by interleafing the details of the crime with about a thousand years of history of the more famous vineyard, Romanée-Conti. What happened at the second, Musigny, owned by Domaine Comte Georges de Vogüé, merits only a couple of pages.

The protagonist is Aubert de Villaine, the Grand Monsieur, co-gérant of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti (DRC), with a member of the Leroy family serving as the other manager. His story, parsed out across the 17 chapters, dominates the narrative. Though not always in linear fashion, de Villaine’s life is recounted from his birth through a tasting on March 7, 2013 of the 2010 vintage, the year of the crime. Despite being born into the family that had acquired Romanée-Conti in 1869, de Villaine initially was not sure he wanted to go into the business. His time in California’s wine country beginning in 1964 led him to his decision: “Everywhere he turned, everyone he spoke to… looked with envy to France’s rich winemaking history for guidance. Everyone … told him how fortunate he was to be a part of such traditions at the greatest Domaine in all of France” (p. 166). On a call to his father, he asked for a job at DRC when he returned home.

A second key player is Louis-François de Bourbon, the Prince de Conti, much favored blood cousin of King Louis XV and namesake of the vineyard. Conti’s story encompasses intrigue and his likely involvement in the aborted Protestant uprising in France in 1757. The account of his acquisition of La Romanée under the nose of the king’s former mistress, Madame de Pompadour, and what he chose to do with the wines made from it is a delicious tale of spite.

The crime, the destruction of a handful of vines and a threat to poison hundreds more in the two vineyards if a significant sum of money was not paid, represented an attack on a sacred French institution. However, the resolution of the affair was so mundane that in and of itself, it would not have merited expanding the original article into a book. As a result, Potter wanders across time and space to fill the pages. In chapter 10, for instance, we are taken to California in the late 1840s for a history of the Almaden winery, which segues into profiles of Burgundy importers Frank Schoonmaker and Frederick Wildman and then goes on to detail de Villaine’s visit to the winery and his meetings with Professor Albert J. Winkler and Robert Mondavi. Individual taste will dictate how much these digressions will amuse or irritate the reader. Most of the time, I found them engag- ing if not always necessary.

One excursion that should be of interest to wine economists is the discussion of arrangements for pricing and distributing DRC wines in various countries and what happened when a gray market emerged. Chapter 15, Quelle Pagaille, recounts this event that led to a serious rift between the two managers of the Domaine and the dismissal of Lalou Bize-Leroy.

While I was reading the book, I was touring Champagne with an importer who also brings in Burgundies. He had been in the Côte d’Or at the time the events described in the book were unfolding. When I asked his opinion of the book, he was initially quite negative, especially about the writing and some errors. Later, he softened his criticism, admitting that many of the inaccuracies would probably only be noticed by hard-core and particularly knowledgeable Burgundy geeks. Nevertheless, his plaint, “Dude, do your research,” would seem to be the least we should expect from a journalist.

Another oddity that calls into question Potter’s attention to detail is the following: “Born on August 13, 1717, into a family with Burgundian roots … Louis-François studied philosophy and the arts, having a particular fondness for Mozart” (p. 38). The good prince was clearly ahead of his time as the composer was born in 1756.

If I was given to pause at the beginning, the conclusion of the final chapter was partially redeeming. Potter admitted to having his first taste of Burgundy while cov- ering the story of the crime for Vanity Fair in 2010. Until then, he wrote, “when I found myself reading a bit of a wine review, it struck me as pretentious to the point of being worthless” (p. 269). He went on to cite a review of “1987 Romanée- Conti by Allen Meadows, the self-appointed Burghound” concluding that “for con- noisseurs, this sort of review might be useful. It didn’t seem especially helpful for me” (p. 269). Paradoxically, in the acknowledgments, the author thanked Meadows who “answered many of my elementary questions” (p. 278). He also wrote, “I am deeply indebted to the work of many authors but these books were invaluable source mate- rial … The Pearl of the Cote by the ultimate Burghound, Allen Meadows” (p. 279). Perhaps one can attribute this change of heart to the epiphany Potter experienced when he tasted the 2008 La Tâche: “It is like divine, liquefied Pop Rocks that make me feel lightheaded – the kind of happiness that I felt after I first kissed my wife” (p. 272).

Like the author, the intended reader is not required to be an oenophile. As an unabashed one myself who has visited Burgundy and Champagne, where the crime and its resolution took place, I did not expect to add to my knowledge of wine, though I did learn a bit about DRC. However, I found Conti’s story more intriguing than de Villaine’s. The crime and its aftermath, which Potter describes as “unbelievable because it was all so remarkably unremarkable” (p. 240), left me more sad than satisfied. Nevertheless, despite its somewhat uneven writing style and the specter of inaccuracy, the book, which according to Potter’s LinkedIn page is now in development for a movie, made for an agreeable diversion.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com

doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.33

Burgundy is the most terroir-oriented region in France if not in the whole world. The focus is on the area of origin, as opposed to Bordeaux, where classifications are producer driven and awarded to individual chateaux. A specific vineyard (climat or lieu-dit) will bear a given classification, regardless of the wine’s producer. The main levels in the Burgundy classifications, in descending order of quality, are as follows:

–  Grand cru wines are produced from a small number of grand cru vineyards in the Côte d’Or and make up 2% of the production at 35 hectoliters per hectare. There are 33 grand cru vineyards in Burgundy.
–  Premier cru wines are produced from specific vineyards that are considered to be of high quality, but slightly lower than grand cru. They make up 12% of production at 45 hectoliters per hectare.
–  Village appellation wines are produced from vineyard sites within the bound- aries of 1 of 42 villages. Village wines make up 36% of production at 50 hecto- liters per hectare.
–  Regional appellation wines are wines that are allowed to be produced over the entire region or over an area significantly larger than that of an individual village. These appellations can be divided into four groups: The new Coteaux Bourguignons appellation covers wines made throughout the greater Bourgogne region, from the Chablis region in the north to and includ- ing the Beaujolais region in the south. Bourgogne is the standard appellation for wines made anywhere throughout the region excluding Chablis and Beaujolais; these wines may be produced at 55 hectoliters per hectare. Subregional appellations cover a part of Burgundy larger than a village; exam- ples are Hautes-Côtes de Beaune and Mâcon-Villages. -Wines of specific styles or other grape varieties include white Bourgogne Aligoté (which is made with the Aligoté grape), red Bourgogne Passe-Tout-Grains (which can contain up to two-thirds Gamay), and sparkling Crémant de Bourgogne.

Simply Burgundy: A Practical Guide to Understanding the Wines of Burgundy by Mark E. Ricardo, a practicing attorney, a registered investment advisor, and the founder and president of Trellis Fine Wine Investments, focuses on exactly that— the classification of Burgundy. With 45 pages plus three appendices, it is about the same number of pages as the Burgundy chapter in Karen MacNeil’s popular Wine Bible. I would call Simply Burgundy a booklet.

Although the Wine Bible provides a good introduction to Burgundy, Simply Burgundy: A Practical Guide to Understanding the Wines of Burgundy is not an intro- duction to Burgundy, but an introduction to the classification of Burgundy. Furthermore, it does not go deeply into the ins and outs of the Burgundy classifica- tion but stays with the essentials, leaving aside details and aspects of lesser impor- tance of the classification.

The structure of the booklet is as follows: After 1 page on “Regions and Grape Varietals,” the author explains in 7 pages the concept of the Burgundy classification. This is followed by reviews of the classification region by region: Chablis (3 pages), Côte d’Or (23 pages), Côte Chalonaise (2 pages), Mâconais (3 pages), and Beaujolais (3 pages). Yes, the booklet includes Chablis and even Beaujolais, which in many books about Burgundy are excluded.

An essential part of the Burgundy classification is the system of climats, which I would have liked to be more developed by the author. Climat is a term for a specific vineyard site of a few hectares. The system of climats in Burgundy was granted World Heritage Status by UNESCO last year. Although the author never uses the word climat, he refers to the climats with grand cru and premier cru status but leaves all the other climats aside (village climat). You can find the latter regularly on Burgundy labels, more in Burgundy’s export than domestic market. Interestingly, the new German wine classification system, which is modeled after the Burgundy classification system, does not allow winemakers to indicate climats on labels that have neither grand cru nor premier cru status.

There are practically no numbers in the booklet. One does not find anything about the size of the various regions, subregions, and vineyards or yield restrictions at the various levels of the classification, to name a few areas, where numbers would have been helpful to understand Burgundy.

At the lowest level of the classification, the regional level, the booklet is silent on most categories. That may have been motivated by the thought that the targeted readers of the booklet would mainly be interested in the upper levels of the classification.

Looking beyond the classification, the Burgundy lovers agree that although the classification is important to ascertain the quality of a wine before opening a bottle, equally important, if not more important, is who produced the wine (i.e., the winemaker). The famous Clos Vougeot, for example, is owned by about 80 dif- ferent vignerons, and they all put exactly the same text on the label of their wine bottles, while the quality of Clos Vougeot (and price) varies widely among the range of producers.

The author touched on this issue by adding a list of top producers for each region. The effort is commendable, but I would have appreciated some background informa- tion on the producers, such as annual production, négociant (that buys the grapes) and/or domain (that grows its own grapes), and price range.

Continuing to look beyond the classification, there is, of course, nothing in Simply Burgundy: A Practical Guide to Understanding the Wines of Burgundy on the history of Burgundy, nor is there anything on the structure of the industry.

The origins of Burgundy’s classification can be found in the work of the Cistercians who were able to delineate plots of land that produced wine of distinct character. The Roman Catholic Church had an important influence on the Burgundy classification. As the power of the church decreased, vineyards were sold to the bourgeoisie. The Napoleonic inheritance laws resulted in the continued subdivision of many vineyards so that some winemakers hold only a row or two of vines.

In terms of the structure of the industry, the role of négociants, who do not own vineyards, is not referred to at all. Négociants play a vital role in the Bourgogne. Négociants sell wines at all quality levels, including grand cru.

To sum up, this is a very small book (a booklet) with the objective of providing “a practical guide to understanding the wines of Burgundy.” The author is concen- trating on one aspect—the classification of the wines of Burgundy—and leaves many other aspects that are equally important to “understanding the wines of Burgundy” aside. On the aspect he covers (i.e., the classification), he does not explore the ins and outs of it but focuses on the essentials.

I like the booklet very much as a reference. For the next edition, I would love to see more maps in the booklet. In the current one, there is only an overall map of the Burgundy region with its five subregions.

Christian G.E. Schiller
International Monetary Fund (ret.) and Emeritus Professor,
University of Mainz, Germany
cschiller@schiller-wine.com

doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.32

One of the many parallels explained in this fascinating book is that between wooden boats and wooden barrels. Barrels were required to store all sorts of things (food, booze, water, and nails) on ships as soon as the technology of boatbuilding became sufficiently advanced to undertake long sea voyages. Barrel makers (coopers) and ships carpenters plied a trade that was almost entirely interchangeable, using the same tools (axes and saws, wedges or froes, broadaxes and adzes, and many more), working with the same materials (wood, mostly), and adopting the same tech- niques (bending wood with heat, making the vessel watertight when required). So the association between barrels and ships is a long one, even though these days ships and storage units are no longer made of wood, and the apogee of using barrels for storage and packaging was in the late nineteenth century.

The book is divided into 14 chapters, starting with the simple question, why wooden barrels? In addressing this, the reader learns the origins of gathering around the office water cooler and the etymology of the terms scuttlebutt, pork barrel, and scraping the bottom of the barrel; why barrels are round; and why barrels taper from the middle outward. So barrels were the preferred means of packaging because they were secure, mobile, adaptable, and cheap and easy to make—the process of making them having hardly changed in centuries. Of course, when made of the right wood they imparted flavors to fine wines and whisky, whiskey and bourbon.

Chapters 2–5 then take the reader through the history of barrels, from the age of the Celts, who started out with amphorae to transport olives and wine and then slowly developed the prototypes of the barrels that were to become so ubiquitous in later times. The Celts passed the baton to the Romans, who gave us the early asso- ciation between barrels and wine. By the Middle Ages, barrels had become common- place in the ancient wine-growing regions such as Bordeaux, where there was a desperate need for an efficient means of transporting wine to markets near and far (especially London). By this time, cooperage had become a recognized trade, one of only about 40 designated crafts in Britain and Europe.

Chapter 6 traces the parallels between boats and barrels, and their making, mainte- nance, and functions, in more detail, and chapter 7 provides more detail about the chang- ing organization of coopers: from guilds to cooperages. Chapter 8 then turns to the modern barrels: the near monopoly of oak wood for aging wines and spirits, with French oak (Quercus rober) favored for wine and American oak (Quercus alba) largely used for aging whiskey and bourbon in the United States; the geography of the produc- tion of oak trees; how these barrels are crafted (chapter 9); and how aging in oak actually works (chapter 10). Of particular interest is the role played by oxygen in softening the wine; the types of flavors that the wood imparts to the wine, both naturally and through the toasting of the wood; and the different designs and styles of the modern barrel. Some of these issues are then revisited in more detail in chapters 11–14.

This is an accessible, interesting, and stimulating book that tells a compelling story about the origins of one of the most important (and expensive) parts of the modern making of fine wines.

Nick Vink
University of Stellenbosch
nv@sun.ac.za

doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.31

The Hudson Valley is in many ways the birthplace of viticulture in America with a grape-growing history that extends back to the 1600s. Its wine-growing history is full of pioneering efforts in grape cultivation and hybridization. The home of the oldest commercial winery in the United States (Brotherhood Winery, 1839), it is a beautiful and fruitful valley with many similarities to European wine regions, especially those of Germany like the Rhine Valley. With its southern border just 20 miles from the George Washington Bridge, the region is in close proximity to the huge wine market of New York City. It is one of the three major wine-growing regions of New York State, which also includes the Finger Lakes and eastern Long Island. In this book, Casscles succeeds better than any other in describing the many facets of grape growing in the region and how its past can be a guide toward a prom- ising grape-growing and wine-making future largely through close examination of interspecies hybrid grapes and other cool-climate varieties.

The author writes with first-hand knowledge of the grape-growing and wine indus- try in the Hudson Valley. He has been growing grapes there since the 1970s, metic- ulously observing and managing many grape varieties. His helpful insights are excellent practical guides for the grape grower of cool-climate grapes. He also has been a winemaker for a commercial winery in the region since 2008. Casscles is a government attorney for the New York State Senate and has authored more than 22 laws related to the production, distribution, and sale of alcoholic beverages. His extensive background in law and grape growing provides the framework for his clearly written and well-referenced history of the region and description of the grapes grown and the wine made there.

This 250-page paperbound book is quite attractively composed and intelligently assembled. The black print is of easily legible font size, and there are topics and headings in shades of red, which enhance and distinguish sections and subsections. Black-and-white drawings, photos, and illustrations of important historical figures, grape varieties, and grape-growing and harvesting scenes are among the many pleasing visual items that help transport the reader through the past several centuries of grape growing in the Hudson Valley. There are 27 color photos grouped toward the middle of the book that feature the mature grape clusters of 23 important hybrids as well as four stages of grape growth. There are two useful maps placed prior to chapter 1, which show the fruit-growing areas of the Hudson Valley and the U.S. Department of Agriculture cold hardiness zones of New York State. An innovative section on how to use the book is also available to the reader prior to chapter 1. In this section, the author introduces a clever icon system, which helps the reader quickly recognize five important characteristics of the grape described. These characteristics include winter hardiness, fungal disease resistance, vigorous- ness, productivity, and wine quality. Descriptors such as harvest dates and winter hardiness are specifically related to the Hudson Valley.

Hybridization is key to developing grapes that are best fitted to the environment, and no one understands or explains this better than Casscles who devotes an entire chapter to the concepts and benefits of hybridization. He states: “As the Earth’s global population continues to grow … the development of new genetically superior grape varieties and agricultural crops will be critical in enhancing the ecological and economic well-being of the human race worldwide” (p. 21). This book is an outstand- ing and fascinating description of the history of grape hybridizing. It includes histo- ries of the early (1875–1925) and late French hybridizers, the pioneering hybridizers of the Hudson Valley, the Geneva hybridizers, and those from the successful Minnesota program. Highly detailed descriptions of the parentage of the grape hybrids are included as well as the author’s thoughts on the best techniques for man- aging the variety and its potential for the Hudson Valley and similar climates.

As a grape grower in the mid-Atlantic region, I am primarily a grower of Vitis vinifera varieties, but I am also familiar with and grow hybrid varieties and appreciate their contributions to cool-climate viticulture. In viticulture, “hybrid varieties” are generally considered crosses between species (e.g., Vitis vinifera × Vitis riparia). In a broader sense, all grape varieties are hybrids in that they readily crossbreed among varieties and even in the wild can cross between species. In my opinion, too much emphasis is placed on whether wine is made from a hybrid variety, and not enough emphasis is placed on the taste of the wine and the sustainability of growing the grape. With his excellent descriptions of the wine taste and the capabil- ities of growing the grapes and producing the wine in the Hudson Valley, Casscles’s book allows the reader to focus on these important concepts like no other book. He does cover the Vitis vinifera varieties that may be successful in the region, such as Grüner Veltliner and Lemberger, and “classic” varieties, such as Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, but he is careful to emphasize that “the cultivation of grapes should not be a static pursuit that allows only for the propagation and growing of a few select ‘classic’ grape varieties such as Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Riesling” (p. 208).

Besides serving as a review of grape growing in the Hudson Valley, the book makes original contributions with its extensive research of the history of grape growing in the region. The sections on grape hybridizers include their intentions, methodologies, and results and are among the best I have seen on these topics. There are several chapters of value as introductions to the reader unfamiliar with grape growing or wine making. Chapter 3, “Basic Principles of Cold Climate Pruning and Vineyard Management,” is an excellent chapter with great illustrations. Chapter 5, “The Principles of Winemaking,” is a short primer on wine-making fundamentals. There are useful notes at the end of each chapter as well as an extensive bibliography, an index of major and minor grape varieties, and a general index.

This book will be a pleasure to read not only for anyone with an interest in growing grapes or enjoying the wine of the Hudson Valley, but also for those who want to understand about the history of grape growing in the region or the develop- ment of the hybrid grapes and the hybridizers who developed them. It should also interest those who wish to explore this part of the diverse world of wine and all of its nuances. Other recent books on grapes and wines of New York and the East, which may be of interest, include Hudson Cattell’s Wines of Eastern North America and Richard Figiel’s Circle of Vines: The Story of New York Wine. One useful book I highly recommend to the grower of grapes in the East is the Wine Grape Production Guide to Eastern North America by Tony Wolf et al. (2008). No book, however, will replace Grapes of the Hudson Valley for its ability to describe the importance of that region as the birthplace of viticulture in the United States as well as to direct attention to the region’s present and future in sustainably growing quality wine grapes.

Lawrence R. Coia
Chairman, Outer Coastal Plain Vineyard Association
njwineman@comcast.net
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.26

I immensely enjoyed reading this book, not so much because its author cites one of my articles, but mainly because he quotes Vladimir Nabokov, one of my favorite writers, who starts his Lolita with words that could apply to a wine when you taste it: “the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap at three on the teeth.”

The preface sets the scene: “As I gained experience in the world of viticulture, I found that some of the received archetypes were incongruous with elementary crop science. For example, there is a long-standing argument that one cannot both irrigate vines and produce fine wines (yet rain and irrigation water are the same to grapevines)” (pp. ix–x). It is followed by four chapters debunking four false truths: (a) wine quality is determined by low yield and small berries; (b) vine balance is the key to fine wine grapes; (c) there is a critical ripening period, and vines should be stressed; and (d) terroir matters. I will try to deal fairly with all these issues, but it will come as no sur- prise to those who know me a bit if I spend more time on terroir.

Professor Matthews argues that these myths are all about getting ripe fruit, but they are no longer needed today, because “we have become skilled in grape growing [that is, more skilled than in the past, when these myths were invented] and in many regions, ripe fruit are generally attained [without relying on mythology].”1

Matthews is serious and supports his claims with statistical observation and exper- iments. However, he also knows the difference between correlation and causation (which should please economists), though he suggests that “as long as one can count reliably on one easy observation (yield, for example) to predict another more difficult to resolve phenomenon (fruit and wine quality), vines can be managed accordingly, whether the correlation is causal or not.

The first chapter kills the high yield–low quality (HYLQ) and the big bad berry (BBB) false truths. Both in Europe and California, historical data show that good weather, high yields, and quality often come together. Matthews sug- gests that HYLQ is artificially used to limit production and increase prices, but not to produce better quality: “when limiting the acreage of an appellation was insufficient to secure a decent price, rules grew to also include a crop yield” (pp. 22–24). Matthews and Guinard launched an experiment to test the HYLQ hypothesis (pp. 56–58), changing the yield by using two common prac- tices: pruning and cluster thinning. Irrigation was used in a different experiment with the same Cabernet Sauvignon grapes. They found that these three common practices resulted in different wine sensory profiles under identical yields. For instance, vines pruned to higher yields were less veggy and fruitier, but higher yields produced the inverse result under irrigation conditions. The obvious con- clusion is that sensory profiles cannot only be explained by crop load, as the HYLQ myth would have it.

The BBB myth (p. 69) that small berries produce better wines is problematic as well, because the low yields praised in the HYLQ myth produce big berries. Thus, the two myths cannot be true simultaneously (p. 69). The real story is a bit more complicated, but the essential message is that “in the large context of comparing vintages, yield and quality are not mutually opposed in any robust or fundamental way” (p. 22).

In chapter 2, Matthews refers to many meanings that describe vine balance, ranging from the aesthetic pleasure when looking at a vineyard (which may indeed change the quality of the wine, especially if you are drunk) to metrics such as ratios of yield/leaf area or yield/pruning weight (Y/PW). I will concentrate briefly on the Y/PW ratio. In a figure on page 103, Matthews shows that for Cabernet Sauvignon (grown in almost all wine regions of the world), the relation between Y/PW (horizontal axis) and wine score (vertical axis) is flat: a wine score between 10 and 15 can be generated by a Y/PW that varies from 2 to 9.5. A “subtle” econo- metrician who would discard one of the 15 observations as an outlier could even show that the slope is positive, but then, why is this ratio considered attractive and used? Because, Matthews writes, it is “convenient to measure” (p. 112).

What he refers to as the critical ripening period in chapter 3 is indeed critical: “the fact that ripening is occurring,” writes the author, “is what justifies the period as crit- ical” (p. 127). Reaching maturity requires more days at low temperatures than at high temperatures (as expected), and early season conditions may be important for the wine, even if the ripening rate remains unaffected (p. 123). In short, no critical ripening period has ever been identified under normal growing conditions (p. 142). Vine stress- ing stems from playing with temperature or light, or reducing the water input, the three conditions needed to grow any plant. Temperature and light are both out of the wine- maker’s control (except at the time of buying his ground). In addition, there now is a growing realization that fine wine can also be produced on irrigated vineyards because vines cannot tell whether they are getting their water from irrigation or from rain. In Australia and California, vines would die without irrigation, and non irrigation rules are slowly but surely disappearing throughout the world. What remains true, however,

is that the amount of water and the timing are essential (p. 138).

Chapter 4 on the terroir explanation is just great. It starts out with a long digres- sion on the history and the various meanings of the word itself, and concludes with a quote by Jean-Antoine Chaptal (1756–1832), a distinguished French chemist and agronomist who “revolutionized the art of wine-making in France.”2 Chaptal referred to “the repulsive and very strong and unpleasant taste of terroir” (cited by Matthews, p. 162).

Winemaker Krug (1800–1866) genuinely pointed out: “a good wine comes from a good grape, good vats, a good cellar and a gentleman who is able to coordinate.”3 No terroir is involved, unless the “gentleman” represents it.

These are two serious departures from the contemporary view supported by Tinlot (2001), a former director general of the Organisation Internationale de la Vigne et du Vin in France: “There is no wine region in our world that does not try to value its vineyards and their output without reference to the character that they inherit from the place where the wine is produced. Consumers who visit producers are par- ticularly sensitive to the beauty of the landscape, to the architecture of the villages and to any other element that belongs to the region of production” (p. 10).

Vines indeed look at the landscape now and then. If they like what they see, they grow properly; if they do not, the wine will be bad. Tinlot adds that, more recently, “there is even a tendency to extend the notion to human factors, such as know-how and traditions of the local population, that are influenced by the natural, social, political and, why not, religious conditions that prevail in the region” (p. 10). Oh, yes, vines also look at God, choosing the exact moment when he shows up in a cloudy sky. This is consistent (or is it inconsistent?) with what Michel Feuillat, the director of the Institute of Vine and Wine at Université de Bourgogne, reports about the reasons why Burgundy winemakers are not keen on having their terroir studied: “They say, ‘You are going to demystify everything. If you start saying a grand cru means such and such a percentage of clay and limestone, such and such a slope and nutrition of the vine—it will lose all its sacredness.’”4

Matthews then moves on to the question of whether the flavors in wine come from the soil (pp. 175–185): “Soils do have profound impacts on grapevine growth and fruit development” (p. 184) and need mineral nutrients, but these “have no estab- lished contribution to flavor” (p. 180). But then, do flavors really exist? Not accord- ing to Weil (2007, p. 137): “Wine words used by critics to convey analogy to fruits, vegetables, minerals, and odors have no value.”

He also points to economic forces in the use and renaissance of the concept of terroir and evokes two instances (pp. 185–191). The first is that after phylloxera destroyed French grapes, they had to be replanted (or grafted) using American grapevines. French winemakers needed to find a good argument to differentiate themselves from America, and thus was French terroir reborn, this time, and since Chaptal died in 1832, with a positive connotation. The second instance followed the increase in competition after the Judgment of Paris,5 in which Californian wines came out better than French wines. Patriotism is now also part of terroir.

Matt Kramer, who also wrote a review of the book, claims6 that “when scientists assert there’s no evidence of terroir, Matt Kramer says the proof is on the palate.” Much has been written on the palate that shows that blind as well as nonblind tast- ings are close to, if not complete, “bullshit,” in Frankfurt’s sense. Several articles in the Journal of Wine Economics have debunked the myth of wine tasting as well. Hodgson (2009a) analyzes the results of 13 blind-tasting wine competitions includ- ing 4,167 wines, of which 375 were tasted in at least 5 competitions. Judgments were so inconsistent that a statistical test carried out using the 375 often-tasted wines shows that those that received gold medals could also have been chosen randomly. Cardebat and Paroissien (2015) study the correlations between the grades given to a common set of wines including 15 vintages (2000–2014) by 12 famous experts.7 The average coefficient of correlation between pairs of judges over the whole period is 0.60, but it may get quite small between some pairs (0.14 between Robinson and Galloni). Hodgson (2008, 2009b, p. 241) shows that judges not only disagree but are also inconsistent: often, a judge cannot repeat his or her scores on identical wines. However, this, Kramer will certainly argue, is science and not tasting: it is the palate that matters.

Let me conclude by praising the book. It is beautiful, useful, serious, and also highly entertaining, especially the parts on the history of wine myths, but (there must always be a but) it is not always easy to understand by economists who, like me, know little about wine growing but still love wine.

Victor Ginsburgh
Université Libre de Bruxelles
vginsbur@ulb.ac.be
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.25

There are approximately 47,000 hectares planted with Riesling worldwide. Germany—with 22,500 hectares—accounts for about half of the total. From a global perspective, Riesling is a niche grape variety, accounting for less than 1% of world wine production. From a global perspective, it is the fruity-sweet style (with the fermentation stopped so that the wine remains sweet and the level of alcohol low) and the rare noble-sweet style (lusciously sweet wines due to noble rot or frost in the vineyard) that are receiving the attention of the connoisseurs of premium wines. Dry Riesling has played a minor role in the world of wine, but this is changing. The Rieslings from Alsace and Austria, both considerably smaller producers of Riesling than Germany (Alsace produces approximately 15% and Austria approximately 7% of what Germany produces), have always been in the dry category (although the Rieslings from Alsace have shown a trend toward an increasing level of remaining sweetness in the wine over the past decades), and, importantly, Germany, the dominating Riesling force in the world, has undergone a major trans- formation in the past 40 years: The fruity-sweet Rieslings have been crowded out from the wine lists in Germany, while the “dry wave”—“Trockenwelle”—has swept the country. When you go to a wine bar, wine store, or restaurant in say Frankfurt, Berlin, or Munich, it is very difficult to find a fruity-sweet Riesling. The wine lists are dominated by dry Riesling.

It is against this background that John Winthrop Haeger has written Riesling Rediscovered: Bold, Bright and Dry. There is nothing in the book on what some of my wine friends in the United States consider the best Rieslings of the world: the low-alcohol Kabinett and Spätlese wines from such iconic winemakers as Egon Müller, JJ Prüm, or Forstmeister Zilliken from the Mosel. Rather, it is all about dry Riesling, and the only Mosel producer included in the description of the world’s top dry Riesling producers is Clemens Busch, who makes outstanding ultra- premium dry wines in Pünderich.

In 350 pages, Haeger provides a comprehensive account of what dry Riesling is all about. The style of the book shows that the author is a researcher and not a journalist (Haeger is a China scholar). The book is not an introduction for a newcomer, but a solid piece of research work for somebody who is familiar with the subject. The book combines academic rigor with a passion for dry Riesling.

Unfortunately, the book covers only the Northern Hemisphere, omitting in partic- ular such important producers of dry Riesling as Australia and New Zealand, but also countries like Chile, Argentina, and South Africa.

The book is divided into two parts. The first part is a wide-ranging discussion of dry Riesling. Haeger brings together a wealth of information on various aspects of dry Riesling, including the history, the styles, the clones, the culture, and the habitats. He addresses the issues of the definition of dry Riesling and the balance in dry Riesling in useful boxes. The section on the dif- ferent Riesling clones is the most thorough and complete write-up on the issue that I am aware of.

Haeger provides a detailed review of the shift from dry to sweet Riesling (the Trockenwelle) that has happened in the past 40 years in Germany. He underpins his reasoning with fascinating details such as the change on the wine list of the trendy restaurant Ente in Wiesbaden that one could observe over time. Chef Klaus-Peter Wodartz of the Ente was one of the leaders in the Neue Deutsche Küche (New German Cooking) movement in the 1970s in Germany, which is cred- ited with being a driving force in the Trockenwelle. Other factors are climate change, a spillover effect from Alsace, and the desire by the young winemaker gen- eration, led by the late George Breuer of Weingut Georg Breuer in Rüdesheim, to produce premium dry Riesling that can compete with the best white wines in the world.

As we all know, wine is normally dry. Riesling is the only noble grape variety in which the wine can be dry, fruity-sweet, or noble-sweet. I would have loved to see a clear delineation of dry Riesling from the other categories, in particular from the fruity-sweet style. The German Kabinett, Spätlese, and Auslese wines are not sweet because Mother Nature was more generous with the grapes, but because of skillful intervention of the winemaker in the cellar. Without the winemaker inter- rupting the fermentation, all these wines would be dry. In this context, a discussion of the widespread view that generally dry Riesling is inferior to sweet Riesling would have been useful.

The second part is a detailed study of the best vineyards for dry Riesling in the (northern) world and an in-depth description of the key producers of dry Riesling in these vineyards and their wine-making approaches. Haeger identifies 89 superior sites and groups them under five headings: Rhine Basin (with Alsace and German Wine Regions), Danube Basin: Lower Austria, Adige Basin: Alto Adige, Eastern North America, and Western North America. Haeger provides most interesting descriptions of these top sites.

The reviews of the winemakers and their wine-making approaches are com- prehensive with many interesting details. I found each one of them fascinating to read. However, I would have preferred a greater number of reviews, each with a shorter text. Quite a number of leading producers of dry Riesling, at least in Germany, are not mentioned in the book. The Franken area, an early producer of bone-dry Rieslings, is completely left out. Other obvious omissions include Dönnhoff, Schäfer-Fröhlich, Sybille Kuntz, Klaus Peter Keller, Franz Künstler, Karthäuserhof, and Immich-Batterieberg, to name a few. That Dr. Loosen is not mentioned is because the major dry Riesling ini- tiative of this producer is too recent. Still, many of the big players in Germany are discussed.

The book is very different from many other wine books in that it does not take a fresh look at a subject that has been treated before by other authors. This is the first book about dry Riesling. It has a bit of the character of a doctoral dissertation in that it covers new ground—and it does so in a detailed and comprehensive manner. For somebody like me who grew up with dry German Riesling, it was a great pleasure to read, but really, anybody interested in the story of dry Riesling will enjoy reading this book.

Christian G.E. Schiller
International Monetary Fund (ret.)
Emeritus Professor University of Mainz, Germany
cschiller@schiller-wine.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.24

Craft beer is booming. From humble beginnings in 1970, when there were 49 macro- breweries and 2 craft breweries, to 2012, when there were 19 macrobreweries and 2,347 craft breweries, craft beer has grown by leaps and bounds (Elzinga, Tremblay, and Tremblay, 2015, p. 245). Craft beer started when Fritz Maytag, heir to the Maytag fortune, purchased the struggling Anchor Brewing Company in San Francisco—a brewery that made an odd style of beer, steam, which few outside of its limited distri- bution network within the city had ever tasted. Today, the industry generates millions of dollars and has reached every state and multiple countries.

Tom Acitelli, in his well-written, well-paced, and downright intriguing book, The Audacity of Hops, tells the complicated, fraternal, and heart-wrenching story of craft beer’s pioneers. Starting at the beginning, with Maytag’s purchase of Anchor, Acitelli walks through the development of the craft beer movement with an emphasis on the individual producer, “Big Beer’s” attempts to dominate the marketplace, and the cooperative nature that has allowed craft beer to pro- liferate. Several themes permeate both the book and the history of the craft beer movement: risk-taking, cooperation, competition, rule breaking, and consolida- tion. Without each of these elements, which roughly correspond to each phase of craft beer’s history, craft beer would not be as successful or as threatening to “Big Beer.”

Fritz Maytag and other craft beer pioneers were at heart risk-takers. They were willing to invest both time and money in an industry that had become centralized since Prohibition. They saw the potential not necessarily for profit, but for better tasting beer that was enjoyable to drink. Although Maytag is considered by many as the forefather of the craft beer movement with his small, professional brewery, Jack McAuliffe initially took the opposite path and founded his brewery—New Albion in Sonoma, California—in an “old fruit warehouse” where he used his back- ground in the navy, which had taught him to be resourceful, and knowledge of home brewing to put together a unique homemade brew house that “took advantage of Northern California’s contracting dairy industry and salvaged a lot of discarded milking equipment” (pp. 44–45). McAuliffe’s entrepreneurial spirit and ability to embrace risk allowed him to successfully produce beer whose demand was greater than its supply. Although New Albion no longer exists, McAuliffe’s legacy lives on through the risks that many craft brewers continue to take to bring their ideas to fruition.

Being willing to take a risk has always been important for craft beer, but unlike other industries, craft beer producers often choose to cooperate with each other instead of hiding secrets and ideas from potential competitors. In fact, many would-be brewers were given tours of Anchor by Fritz Maytag and were positively influenced by individuals like Fred Eckhardt, considered by many to have been the foremost expert on home brewing, and Michael Lewis, who at one time was the only “full professor of brewing science” in the United States (p. 21). Although the relationship that Eckhardt and Lewis had with the brewing community was formal, many brewers also had informal relationships with each other that over time have resulted in numerous collaborative brewing efforts (i.e., in 2010, Dogfish Head, Victory, and Stone all collaborated on Saison du BUFF, a saison brewed with the same recipe—featuring parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme—in each brewery over a several-year period; Dogfish Head Craft Brewery, 2016).

Even though craft brewing is generally a cooperative and collaborative industry, it does not mean it is not competitive. Acitelli does an excellent job of describing the origin and current status of the largest beer competition, the Great American Beer Festival. From humble roots with “forty-seven beers available from twenty-four different breweries” in 1982 (p. 91) and an emphasis on home brewers being able to talk directly with commercial brewmasters, to “forty-nine thousand people tasting twenty-two hundred beers from 455 breweries” with medals awarded “in seventy-nine style categories” in 2010 (p. 332). The growth of the Great American Beer Festival illustrated both the willingness of brewers to help each other and the importance of competition to push the envelope of what defines good beer and what styles are most popular with the brewers and the public.

The advent of the Great American Beer Festival and the changing palate of the American beer drinker have encouraged craft brewers to revive old-world styles and to invent new ones. At its core, beer is water, grain, hops, and yeast. It is what the brewmaster does with these ingredients (and what he or she might add) that is the rule-breaking part of craft beer. Perhaps the quintessential American beer is not the lager that “Big Beer” has made so popular, but the Double India Pale Ale (DIPA or Imperial IPA) that was created to explore what was possible with hops, IBUs (International Bittering Units), and alcohol volume. Likely invented in the early 1990s by Vinnie Cilurzo at the Blind Pig, his Temecula, California, brewpub, the Double IPA is an intensely flavorful and potent drink (p. 300). This extreme brew has gone mainstream. Sam Calagione’s Dogfish Head Craft Brewery is famed for its uber-hopped 60-Minute, 90-Minute, and 120-Minute IPAs.

The final tale of The Audacity of Hops is consolidation. As the number of craft brew- eries has expanded, the opportunities for “Big Beer” to buy craft breweries (i.e., Anheuser-Busch InBev buying Goose Island, Blue Point, and Breckenridge) and for craft breweries to form alliances and marketing partnerships (i.e., the Craft Brew Alliance of Widmer Brothers, Redhook, Kona Brewing, and Omission) has expanded. As Fortune magazine stated in an article on Anheuser-Busch InBev’s purchases, they “are meant to add faster-growing beers to AB InBev’s massive portfolio, which already includes Budweiser and Stella Artois. Because the craft brands are tiny in comparison, they won’t move AB InBev’s sales needle much – though the deals give the craft brewers vast distribution potential” (Kell, 2015). As Acitelli plainly establishes throughout the book, this new consolidation phase echoes past consolidation (pp. 324–329). It will be interesting to see where craft beer is in several more years as new breweries are established and existing entities merge, sell, or close.

Jacob R. Straus
University of Maryland Baltimore County
jstraus@umbc.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.23

The beer industry has had a spate of informative books appear since the start of the new century. Several represent portrayals of particular firms. These include Dan Baum, Citizen Coors: An American Dynasty (2000); Julie MacIntosh, Dethroning the King: The Hostile Takeover of Anheuser-Busch, an American Icon (2011); Bill Yenne, Guinness: The 250-Year Quest for the Perfect Pint (2007); and Ken Grossman,

Beyond the Pale: The Story of Sierra Nevada Brewing Co. (2013).

Some of these books have a particular focus on the craft beer segment. Worthy of mention are Tom Acitelli, The Audacity of Hops: The History of America’s Craft Beer Revolution (2013); Sean Lewis, We Make Beer: Inside the Spirit and Artistry of America’s Craft Brewers (2014); and Steve Hindy, The Craft Beer Revolution: How a Band of Microbrewers Is Transforming the World’s Favorite Drink (2014). Kenneth Elzinga, Carol Horton Tremblay, and Victor Tremblay, “Craft Beer in the United States: History, Numbers, and Geography” (2015), is an up-to-date journal article study of the craft beer segment.

For how beer is made, Charles Bamforth’s Beer: Tap into the Art and Science of Brewing (2003) provides a good tutorial that goes down smoothly. For how beer is consumed, Ken Wells’s Travels with Barley: A Journey through Beer Culture in America (2004) offers a spirited description.

Bob Skilnik’s first book, Beer: A History of Brewing in Chicago (2006), pairs the production of beer with the Windy City; his second, Beer & Food: An American History (2007), pairs the consumption of beer with food.

For economists, the go-to book on the economics of the beer industry in the United States is Victor J. Tremblay and Carol Horton Tremblay’s The U.S. Brewing Industry: Data and Economic Analysis (2005). A more recent economic treatment, with an eclectic worldwide perspective, is Johan F.M. Swinnen’s (editor) The Economics of Beer (2011).

Maureen Ogle’s Ambitious Brew: The Story of American Beer (2006) offers a light but satisfying history of beer in the United States. In contrast, Jeff Alworth’s The Beer Bible (2015) provides a hale and hearty worldwide perspective on the industry. As the title suggests, Roger Protz’s World Beer Guide (2009) also has worldwide per- spective. However, Protz’s guide is more like a catalog of information, whereas Alworth’s contribution, chock-full of pictures and interesting sidebar anecdotes, is the most full-bodied book about beer on this list.

For anyone whose opportunity cost is too high to read all or most of these new books about beer, but who wants to be informed about the industry, the optimal book may well be William Bostwick, The Brewer’s Tale: A History of the World According to Beer (2014). Bostwick, who is the beer critic for the Wall Street Journal, knows the science as well as the art of brewing. He also knows the history of the industry—and travelled to distant lands to draft this book.

The Brewer’s Tale: A History of the World According to Beer is not really a history of the world. However, the organization of the book, like the title, is both clever and substantive. Bostwick presents a history of the beer industry by hanging the story of beer on several human “pegs” that have shaped the history of the world.

The pegs are worth listing, if only because they draw in the reader: the Babylonian, the Shaman, the Monk, the Farmer, the Industrialist, the Patriot, the Immigrant, and the Advertiser. Each of these characters forms a chapter in the book. Bostwick argues that individuals in each of these categories have shaped the beer industry—and, in doing so, have shaped the world. How Bostwick substantiates his argument is what The Brewer’s Tale is all about. Readers can decide for them- selves whether Bostwick pulls this off, though I believe he does.

Bostwick’s book is only 245 pages long (with a very good index); the book never drags because Bostwick can write. Here is how he describes himself: “I’m a beer critic. … That means when I drink I’m on duty. My job is to translate flavor to prose, not to wonder why but to describe, clearly, what. … My palate is sensitive, my thesaurus well thumbed. I can flag a dirty tap line, I can distinguish tropical Calypso hops from citrusy Cascades. To me, beer is more than dry or sweet, strong or light. Not simply dark, but smoky like a camp-fire in a eucalyptus grove. Not just fruity, but tropically spiced like a papaya ripening in pine boughs” (p. x). I would characterize Bostwick’s writing style as delicate, with very little bitter- ness, marked by lots of sugar and a hint of rum-soaked raisins. He could make the widget industry interesting.

The Brewer’s Tale: A History of the World According to Beer is more than telling the reader what a beer tastes like. As Bostwick puts it, his objective is to explain: “Why does beer taste the way it does? … Where did those styles, those flavors – where did beer itself – come from in the first place?” (p. x). To do so, he encounters the Babylonian, the Shaman, the Monk, the Farmer, the Industrialist, the Patriot, the Immigrant, and the Advertiser.

In this review, I will only briefly touch on each of these pegs. To review them in detail would be like revealing the denouement of a mystery novel.

In the chapter “The Babylonian,” Bostwick travels to Egypt (along with Sam Calagione, of Dogfish Head craft brewing fame, and a film crew) to discover and re- create beer recipes from the geographic genesis of beer’s invention. More than a trav- elogue, the chapter is an account of potable archaeology and dogged determination to learn how the Babylonians turned grain into a malt beverage. In the narrative, one also gains insight into the creative juices of craft brewing in the United States.

The history of craft brewing in the United States is further fleshed out in “The Shaman”: personified today in Brian Hunt, the man behind Moonlight Brewing Company. From his encounter with Hunt, Bostwick takes the reader back to ancient Rome and the spread of beer through Europe. Here Bostwick explores the religious rites associated with beer in the Roman Empire and with nomadic tribes that settled Scotland and Scandinavia. In this chapter, we also learn what beer receives Bostwick’s imprimatur as the best beer in the world (today). I will not conceal this. Bostwick’s highest encomium goes to Moonlight Brewery’s Pliny the Younger, “often cited as the best American IPA, if not the best American beer, if not the best beer, period” (p. 28).

“The Monk,” as the title suggests, is about the history of religious orders and their contribution to the production of beer—and to improvements in the quality of the product. What Brian Hunt is to the chapter on the Shaman, Saint Sixtus Abbey is to the chapter on the Monk. Saint Sixtus brews the Westvleteren brand of Belgian beer. The marketing of “Westy” is a case study in price and nonprice allocation. Westy is available only at the abbey, prospective customers queue up to purchase a limit of four dozen bottles, and they must promise not to resell what they buy (not all these promises are kept).

Bostwick uses the chapter “The Monk” to explain the key role that monks played as innovators in the brewing process. Monks not only prayed for good beer; they worked at it. The beer they produced was not just good for the spirits; it was good for the health of its consumers: a form of liquid grain at a time when pure water and healthy food were in short supply for the masses. Economic historians will find fascinating Bostwick’s description of how the introduction of hops into the brewing process led to the production of beer outside the abbey and into the world of medieval commerce and trade. This chapter also has some of the best tech- nical writing about beer production in the book.

“The Farmer” is about two kinds of farmers. One grows hops, and in this chapter, Bostwick uses a particular hop farmer in Newport, Oregon, to tell the tale of how hops changed the history of beer and, in Bostwick’s narrative, the history of the world. However, the farmer in this chapter also is someone who brews what Bostwick calls “farmhouse beer.” Farmhouse beer is based on what the farmer has available—as a by-product of his agricultural endeavors. It could be pumpkins or whatever grain might be around the farm at the time. Farmhouse beer was once the beer of colonial America. Each batch was different because the inputs differed depending on what crop was available.

Today, farmhouse beer is the domain of some craft brewers and home brewers. Bostwick compares this kind of brewing to fly-fishing: “wading into nature’s chaos to pluck one glimmering bit of perfection from under its roiling surface” (p. 112).

“The Industrialist” tells the story of beer crawling “out of the henhouse” (or small- scale production) into the world of mass production. Bostwick ties this to the spread of the British Empire as the Brits discovered the commercialization of porter and devel- oped the scale and logistics to supply this malt beverage throughout the known world. From porter to India Pale Ale, Bostwick traces (again) the prominence of hops in the development of beer. Bostwick also puts a spotlight on the water. The sandstone strata west of Burton gave the water calcium sulfate–rich gypsum that led to Burton IPA becoming a “clear, sparkling, Champagne-like beer” (p. 143). British explorers took British IPA to the Artic, writing back home that it was “as nourishing as beefsteak” with “sustaining qualities … far greater than those of wine or spirits” (p. 145).

“The Patriot” initially is about George Washington, a founding father with a per- sonal affinity for beer (or perhaps ale). Washington brewed beer at Mount Vernon (as did Thomas Jefferson at Monticello). Bostwick uses the chapter’s description of home brewing in colonial America as a segue to craft brewing in the United States today. He describes attempts to use the recipe for beer that George Washington used at Mount Vernon to produce a refreshing malt beverage today. Bostwick cannot tell a lie: the attempts have not always been successful.

Bostwick’s penultimate chapter is “The Immigrant,” a paean to the Germans who brought the taste of lager beer to America—along with the requisite skills for its pro- duction. Busch, Schlitz, Pabst, Heileman, and others: these were Germans who found America a welcome place for their entrepreneurial endeavors and their talent at turning water and grain into beer.

Out of this Germanic stock, four generations later, came Jim Koch, the founder of the Boston Brewing Company (brand name: Samuel Adams). Koch helped shape craft beer into big business. In 2014, he joined the Bloomberg billionaire list. When asked what is the “best beer,” Koch responded with the name of a familiar German lager: “Budweiser” (p. 194).

For Koch, Budweiser is not the best because it is the largest-selling brand. Rather, Budweiser is the largest-selling brand because it is the best. By best, Koch is referring to the taste and the consistency of Budweiser beer. Referring to Anheuser-Busch, Koch asserts: “Everybody jumps on them, but they’re great beers. They care just as much about their product as [craft brewers] and they have better brewing skills” (p. 194).

In “The Immigrant,” Bostwick provides a minihistory of the bar. The inn was important in “The Patriot.” However, it was the bar—or saloon—that for a later gen- eration provided the retail outlet for the prodigious output of the German-produced lager beer. Bostwick reports that Milwaukee once had one bar for every 130 citizens; San Francisco, one for every 96 citizens.

Although much of Bostwick’s book is devoted to the varieties of beer, “The Immigrant” is primarily about lagers, which, he writes, “in one sense, represent beer’s crowning achievement” (p. 202). For millions of people, having a “cold one” means enjoying a lager beer. Craft beer receives an inordinate amount of atten- tion from the business press. In the meantime, millions of consumers continue to drink MillCoorWeiser.

“The Advertiser” closes the book. Who is this particular character in A History of the World According to Beer? The Advertiser was the savior of the beer industry. When the United States emerged from Prohibition and World War II, “the bartender had been replaced by the grocery store clerk, the brewer by the ad man. And as drinking changed, the drink would too” (p. 229).

The last chapter of Bostwick’s history is, in part, an analysis of the major brewers’ discovery of Madison Avenue. As American consumers transitioned to sweeter soft drinks, they also turned to lighter beer. The inflection point in this transition was Miller’s production of a low-calorie beer named “Lite” and the brilliance of Miller’s initial advertising campaign. Fueled by advertising dollars from its new parent, Philip Morris, Miller turned Lite into a sensational success. Unfortunately for Miller, the firm could not exploit a first-mover advantage. Bud Light and Coors Light enjoyed a second-mover advantage and challenged Miller’s leadership in the low-calorie beer segment.

As the mainstream brewers moved to lighter and lighter beers, this opened the door to craft brewers who offered an alternative taste signature. Bostwick describes the reaction of Anheuser-Busch InBev and MillerCoors to develop their own craft beer product lines, through acquisition and internal growth, in order to participate in the growth segment of the industry without losing the scale advantages of their megabreweries. How this plays out will in many ways determine the future structure of the beer industry in the United States.

Beer and wine can be substitutes in consumption; they also can be viewed as sibling industries (or at least first cousins). Both beer and wine involve a potable product, both have ancient histories, both share a common ingredient, both have a history of attracting taxation and government regulation, both can be cottage industries, both can take the form of large enterprise, and like most siblings, beer and wine have times when they both care for each other and times when they do not.

An important hypothesis that Bostwick explores, of interest among the readers of this journal, is the stark contrast he draws between beer and wine. Bostwick argues that beer is “made,” whereas wine “just happens.” He describes beer as the first engi- neered food. The sugar in a grape will ferment on its own, but the central ingredient in making beer—grain—needs a hand to “coax out its sugars and ferment them into alcohol. Brewing beer demands thought and skill. It demands, in a word, a creator” (p. xii). Beer consumers and beer producers will drink heartily to this contention by Bostwick. It would be idle to contend that oenophiles will be much persuaded.

Kenneth G. Elzinga
University of Virginia
elzinga@virginia.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.22

Alice Feiring, who has published several other books on wine, records in this volume her travels through Georgia―not where Atlanta is, but the country of Georgia. Most readers will not be familiar with the wines of Georgia, except perhaps for the more or less apocryphal lore that it is the place from which Stalin’s favorite wine hailed. Georgia and the Georgian wine industry have had a checkered history, punctuated by periodic invasions from the south by Turkey, whose armies would rip out the vines, which the wine-loving Georgians would promptly replant after the invading forces went home. In 2013, Georgia was the 25th largest producer of wine, with 105,000 metric tons (see www.wineinstitute.org). To acquire Georgian wines in the United States takes some (minor) effort; two sources (which may not ship to all states) are Potomac Wines and Spirits (http://www.potomacwines.com; 800-333-2829) and Wine Anthology (http://www.wineanthology.com; 888-238-2251).

The book is written in a pleasant conversational style and recounts the author’s travels, mostly in the company of an American expatriate friend who himself is a winemaker, to the various wine regions of Georgia. We meet lots of Georgian wine- makers and their families, some other travelers who attach themselves to her group, plus some Western “wine experts” whom she uniformly describes with profound con- tempt. We learn a lot about Georgian history and local practices and customs, among them that Georgia has 525 indigenous grape varieties and that wine is fer- mented in large earthenware containers called qvevri, which are typically sunk in the earth. Another salient fact is that white wines (which I think from the text are deemed more important than reds) are typically fermented with long-term contact with skins, which, she claims, explains the amber color of the white wines. She describes their taste as “beeswax and orange blossom water and strawberry tea in addition to the wine’s bitter and savory power, (p. 2). I have tasted only one white, which is a blend of 55% Rkatsiteli and 45% Mtsvane grapes, and it was neither amber colored nor did it taste of orange blossom water or strawberry tea, but it definitely had a bitter tinge with quite a long finish. Of course, I acquired it in the United States, and there is no guarantee that the wine was organic, qvevri fermented, and so forth. I also tasted a red called Mukuzani 2013, made of the Saperavi grape (14% alcohol), which is described as tasting of cherries, dark chocolate, and hints of vanilla. It was very tannic and tasted somewhat like a very young Cabernet, and I thought it definitely had some potential for enjoyment a few years down the road. It should be noted that the word mtsvane simply means “green” in Georgian and that the Mtsvane label without place name modifier is not really meaningful (see Rob Tebeau’s blog Fringe Wine; http://fringewine.blogspot.com/search/label/ Georgia). Tebeau also says that it has been some time since he was able to find an interesting Georgian grape, contrary, I think, to the author and most Georgians who seem to like pretty much all Georgian wines. There are some potential reasons for this fact. First, I wonder if the qvevri, being made of earthenware, is to any extent porous and admits any air, which might cause oxidation. Second, it appears that the Georgians drink an enormous amount: it is claimed that they consume 2 liters (2 and 1/3 bottles) per day, and after that amount of wine consump- tion, it would not be unusual if one’s ability to judge were impaired. (For a wedding party, Georgians budget 3 liters per person.) Furthermore, there are 11 separate mentions of smoking that I noticed, which must also have a distinct influence on the palate. In addition, Georgian cooking seems to be highly seasoned: on page 135, the author says that she ate a plum sauce “so garlicky that I knew it would kill not only a vampire, but also my palate.” I would be surprised if this fact did not affect one’s ability to judge the quality of wines.

The fundamental objective of the book is to promote “natural” or organic wine making that eschews additives of any sort, particularly added yeast, sulfites, tartaric acid, and so forth. I think Feiring would condemn fining and filtration, pH control, and many additives and procedures that are common in most Western wine making. The emphasis is on “honest wines” and keeping to tradition, and the arguments for organic wines are almost religious in their fervor; yielding to Western methods or technologies is at a minimum considered unpatriotic. Some of these attitudes undoubtedly derive from Ilia Chavchavadze, the nineteenth-century national hero of Georgia: “Our people disdain very much the addition of anything but grape juice into the wine. If now and then someone, somewhere has dared to do it, he should try very hard to hide it because all of us consider it a shame and a sin to profane the sacred juice of grapes that nature has given us with additions and inter- ferences … [success] can only be achieved if we stand up to European fake wines by having [people] taste our true wine” (p. 129).

The volume is marred by a few careless errors and inconsistencies. On page 46, 1,000 square meters is claimed to be about half a hectare; in fact, a hectare is exactly 10,000 square meters. On page 92, the text states that “the east-facing window [of a church] seemed to look directly toward Jerusalem”; in fact, Israel is sit- uated southwest of Georgia, and there is no way in which an east-looking window can look toward Jerusalem. There is also a claim that Georgian wines are served at the Noma restaurant in Copenhagen―arguably one of the finest in the world. I looked through the 41-page wine list of Noma online but could not find a Georgian wine. At one point, the author tastes a Muscat-Mtsvane blend and finds it pétillant, which she attributes to sloppy wine making; however, if you cannot do anything to the wine on principle, how can it be sloppy wine making? The worst offense―and this clearly betrays my academic background―is that there is no index or bibliography, which makes the volume less user friendly than it could have been. Nevertheless, it is chock-full of facts, and I welcomed the opportunity to learn about the wine industry in a country of which I had known nothing. The people are amiable and devoted, and their wine industry survived the Soviet regime, during which the number of permitted grape varieties was severely reduced.

Richard E. Quandt
Princeton University
requandt@gmail.com

doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.21

This hardcover book printed on durable alkaline paper is part of an American Chemical Society (ACS) Symposium Series. The purpose of books in this series is to publish rapidly in book form the results of original research findings as well as timely reviews presented in the symposia. This book is based on an ACS symposium, “Flavor Chemistry of Alcoholic Beverages,” held in Boston, Massachusetts, in August 2010. General topics covered include those such as flavor and flavor precur- sors in wine grapes and their conversion in wine, as well as the aging process during wine production resulting in degradation and formation of flavor compounds. As it describes advances in wine flavor chemistry, it is of technical interest to scientists and other professionals engaged in wine and other alcoholic beverage research and development.

Wine flavor research is the main topic of the book as it comprises 11 of the 17 chapters. Other alcoholic beverages discussed include beer, tequila, rice wine, and two Chinese liquors (Moutai and Langjiu). In this review, I will confine my com- ments to the presentations regarding wine. Many of the chapters are focused on tech- nical aspects of the flavor of one of the grapes that is associated with the region of interest of the authors. Examples include Shiraz (Australia), Sauvignon Blanc (Australia), Pinot Noir (Oregon), Garganega (Veneto, Italy), and three new Chinese grapes, Ecolly, Meili, and Hutai. Other major topics of the book include the process of wine oxidation and the assessment and detection of smoke taint in grapes and wine.

The research is peer reviewed and technical in detail, but the conclusions are in- teresting and relatively easily understood by the nonchemist. Let us explore some of the findings to get a better flavor of this flavor-based book. Shiraz grapes can produce a high-quality wine with a major defining component as a “peppery” aroma and flavor. This can be directly attributed to the compound rotundone. This is an important discovery because the rotundone level can be influenced by vi- ticulture practices as it comes directly from the grape or by wine-making practices. Smoke taint has become an increasing danger to grapes and wine as uncontrolled wildfires have become a frequent threat to vineyards. One chapter describes how the quantification of guiacol glycoconjugates can assist in smoke taint quantifica- tion, while another chapter describes an enzymatic analysis that can be used relative- ly rapidly to assess smoke taint risk levels in the grape supply. An ancient technique of long skin maceration time of white grapes in clay vessels has been revived with some commercial success in Italy. Authors of the Veneto region of Italy where this technique is being used have studied its impact on wine aroma descriptors and aroma compounds. The future use of this method is aided by this basis of under- standing in order to ensure that the fundamental aromas desired can be regularly achieved. The exposure of wine to oxygen can be both helpful in forming favorable aroma and taste compounds, or it can be deleterious as it can cause the rapid dete- rioration of wine. The results of one study emphasize the importance of oxygen man- agement at bottling and the oxygen barrier properties of the closure in optimizing the sensory properties of wine. The authors found that natural cork stoppers or Saranex screw caps provide optimal oxygen transfer rates and were superior to other closures.

There is an unusual chapter among the wine chapters in that it was a review of the wine of Northwest China rather than a formal presentation of a chemical research issue regarding wine. The chapter is a bit difficult to read as its translation leaves ample room for interpretation; however, the fact is that China is now among the leading growers of grapes and producers of wine. This alone deserves attention. At the time of this publication, China was fifth in grape cultivation and seventh in wine production in the world. Wine production in China started 9,000 years ago and currently includes the products of Chinese-developed hybrid grapes, wild grapes of China, and some European varieties.

As this is a reference book for scientists engaged primarily in enological research, I recommend this for wine economists interested in multidisciplinary research. The book chapters are available online, so if one has a specific topic of interest, one could purchase it online. Each chapter has extensive references, there is a well- formed subject index, and the book is bound in long-lasting hardcover and includes plenty of tables, figures, and color illustrations.

Lawrence R. Coia
Past President, Outer Coastal Plain Viticulture Association
njwineman@comcast.net
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.10

Here is what is so enticing about wine economics. I am sitting in Starbucks reading through my newspaper. A small article catches my eye, one that I would usually just skip over and keep turning the pages. However, I had just read Thirsty Dragon: China’s Lust for Bordeaux and the Threat to the World’s Best Wines, by Suzanne Mustacich, and the newspaper article reported that yet several more high-level Chinese officials were being investigated for “serious breaches of discipline” (Hernández, 2015). If my interest in China’s President Xi Jinping’s anticorruption measures—the enforcement of which is implicated as one of the reasons for the recent fall in fine wine prices—had not been piqued by Thirsty Dragon, I would not have bothered learning the details of this latest government maneuver.

China’s current antigraft campaign takes us full circle in Thirsty Dragon’s story of China’s emergence as a wine-consuming and wine-producing nation. As promised in the book’s subtitle, Thirsty Dragon shows how China’s particular infatuation with Bordeaux wines has been an agent for change in aspects of Bordeaux’s en primeur pricing and marketing system, while speculating on whether these changes will further erode Bordeaux’s traditional way of doing business. This tale of wine in China provides insights into Chinese and French culture, society, and ways of doing business, along with a detailed peek at many of the intricacies of the Place de Bordeaux.

The start of wine’s role as a tool in China’s economic strategy occurred in 1996, when Premier Li Peng “extolled the benefits of red wine” (Mustacich, p. 14) as both an alternative to hard liquor and spirits—echoing Thomas Jefferson and others—and as a means for economic growth. The sense that Li gave the assembled National People’s Congress, according to Thirsty Dragon, was that “Grape vines were marvelous plants. They grew on hillsides and in poor soil, in places where very little else could thrive” (p. 14). To emphasize his point, Li toasted the Congress with a glass of red wine, which was, Mustacich notes, “an unmistakable signal to every official, state employee, and entrepreneur that red wine was approved by the Communist leadership … Li had opened China to wine” (p. 14).

From this beginning, Thirsty Dragon documents the fascinating interplay among key players that resulted from this “signal.” The Bordelais, of course, noticed and wanted to sell more wine in China, knowing that the Chinese saw Bordeaux wines, especially the first growths, as world standards for quality and prestige. Chinese businessmen noticed, with Bordeaux’s classified growths sought after for guanxi—the cultivation of personal connections and exchange of favors, where gifts of fine Bordeaux wines (the more expensive the better) eased the art of the deal. Celebrants noticed, offering capacious quantities of grand cru wines at elabo- rate banquets in a show of gei mianzi (respect). Importers and distributors noticed, negotiating exclusivity deals with Bordeaux vineyards. Investors noticed, establish- ing wine businesses, wineries, and vineyards in China, often as joint ventures with French or other collaborators, and purchasing chateaux in Bordeaux. Speculators noticed too, with record prices for Bordeaux wines at auction.

With two groups as culturally and traditionally diverse as the Bordelais and the Chinese, conflicts naturally arose. Thirsty Dragon details these tensions, not only between the Chinese and French stakeholders, but also among and between parties within China and within the Place de Bordeaux. The book’s style provides a series of short, insightful, and interesting cases in time and place as these interac- tions progress. This approach adds a sense of mystery, leading the reader to antici- pate what will happen the next time we meet the players involved. The numerous and rotating cast of individuals, businesses, government officials, collaborators, win- eries, and so on, however, does make Thirsty Dragon seem disjointed at first, but as one progresses through the book, the bigger picture does emerge.

The historical Place de Bordeaux business model had been changing prior to the explosion of Chinese interest in the region, as evidenced by growth in direct sales to customers by chateaux, wine being produced by négociants supplementing their role as middlemen, and smaller and increasing numbers of tranches released by chateaux to test the market. However, the emergence of the Chinese wine market exacerbated this process. Chinese merchants who saw no reason at all not to deal directly with chateaux owners did so—effectively bypassing the Place de Bordeaux’s close-knit courtier and négociant community on a larger scale. Rather than deal with the system, increasing numbers of Chinese investors bought an entire chateaux’s wine production—or the vineyard itself—and exported all of it directly to China. Chinese corporate wine merchants, who were often government employees under pressure to increase profits, backed out of agreements when convenient, especially in an already declining market, often leaving the Bordelais with vast quantities of unsold wine. Additional stress on Bordeaux came from frequently changing rules and laws in China, which made business dealings there a sometimes moving target. Trademark or brand “squatters” registered hundreds of wine names in Chinese characters under China’s first-to-file law (Mustacich, p. 141), putting owners of Bordeaux wines at a disadvantage with most customers in China who could not read the labels in French, hindering sales and profits. These practices and more deviate from the customs, traditions, and standards of Bordeaux (and several appear, at least in the eyes of some, as less than ethical), further straining the Place de Bordeaux. All of this is presented by Mustacich in rich detail with an academic’s eye, providing myriad footnotes and references—none of which distract from the book’s flow.

One might come away from Thirsty Dragon thinking that the rise in the Chinese and Asian markets is the sole cause of the upheaval in Bordeaux wine prices and in the en primeur system. Although the rapid growth in China’s demand for Bordeaux wines has made China arguably Bordeaux’s most important customer—a recent report noted that China was Bordeaux’s biggest importer in volume and second in value even after the recent sales slowdown (Anson, 2014)—there are other factors in this upheaval, as shown in much wine economics research. For example, there is a solid body of wine economic literature that correlates critics’ grades, including those of Robert Parker, the Wine Spectator magazine, and others, to the price of fine wines (see Masset, Weisskopf, and Cossutta [2015] for a recent review of this lit- erature).1 High ratings by Parker and other critics for the 2005 vintage (a “vintage of the century”) and again in 2009, along with a continuous string of very good to ex- cellent years, played a role as well.

In addition, the more recent decline in Bordeaux and other fine wine prices is sim- ilarly not solely the result of China’s influence and its anti-ostentatious campaign. The extraordinary price run-up from the series of outstanding vintages from 2005 through 2010, as well as China’s surging demand, discouraged the level of buying in much of the rest of the world. The recent financial crisis and economic downturn too, as duly noted in Thirsty Dragon, contributed to the slowdown in futures prices. More recently, Parker’s decision to stop reviewing Bordeaux wines has also been sug- gested as a contributing factor in lower prices (McCoy, 2015), but this is an area for future wine economics research. All of this, however, is not to say that, even with the deflated bubble for expensive wines, the events of this millennium have not had a pro- found and lasting effect on wine in China and, in turn, on the economics of wine in worldwide. The popularizing of wine as both a tool for economic development and as a healthier alternative to drinking baijiu and other distilled spirits continues. Wines in the $30 to $50 range, according to the chairman of a large Chinese wine merchant and importer, still sold well after the collapse in classified wine prices (Mustacich, p. 262).

Apart from the interactions between China and Bordeaux, Thirsty Dragon also describes the growth of the wine industry within China. Although the production of fine wine in China is still in its infancy, several quality-focused producers are profiled in the book, including Emma Gao of Silver Heights, Zhang Jing of Helan Qingxue, and Judy Chan of Grace Vineyards. Prominent to this story are the growth of Ningxia as a premier wine grape–growing region in China and the contin- ued search for terroirs that might support fine-wine making in China, complement- ing the nearly 2 million acres of vineyards producing inexpensive mass-market wines (TDA, 2015). Enhancing the push to solidify its reputation and demonstrate that quality wines can be produced in China is the establishment of new vineyards by renowned French producers, including Laffite Rothschild and Moet Hennessey.

After reading this book, one might wonder about the quality of this new breed of fine wines produced in China (which remain unavailable in the United States). Coincidentally, as Thirsty Dragon was published, an article in the New York Times profiled the growth in quality wines and wine-producing regions in China (Sasseen, 2015), and the New York Times’ wine critic, Eric Asimov, reviewed five of them, including two from the aforementioned Silver Heights. All were mostly Cabernet Sauvignon, and all but one included Merlot and/or Carmenère (called Cabernet Gernischt in China) and ranged in price from $17 to $100 per bottle.2 Asimov found the entry-level wines “soft, simple and easygoing,” with the top- level wines showing “a bit of complexity” and “deep, plush flavors and lots of oak.” However, he noted they all lacked a “sense of distinctiveness, or … terroir” (Asimov, 2015). As for the future, Asimov acknowledges that China has the re- sources to make acceptable commercial wines, wondering if it will also produce sought-after distinctive wines. With this question, the next phase of the Thirsty Dragon story begins.

Stephen Chaikind
Gallaudet University
stephen.chaikind@gmail.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.9

The interplay between the study of wine and the study of economics has continued to gain considerable appreciation in recent years, encouraged in great part by the nu- merous scholarly conferences held by the American Association of Wine Economists and its publication of the peer-reviewed Journal of Wine Economics. The rapid expansion of scholarly work in this area leads one to ask a basic question: Does this expansion simply represent the intersection of two areas of interest, fueled by the trend toward ever-increasing specialization in scholarly research, or is there perhaps something intrinsic and unique about the topic of wine that sets it apart from other areas of economic study? In short, does the subject of wine economics, building on the expertise of both wine and economics, justify the moniker of an emergent discipline in its own right? Such introspective questions may appear lofty, but they reflect the challenges that any young discipline faces as it strives to gain the respect of the broader research community.

In Wine and Economics: Transacting the Elixir of Life, Denton Marks takes seri- ously such challenges. The book draws on Marks’s personal experience and expertise as a classroom teacher of economics, as well as his expertise and passion for the world of wine. It intertwines an introductory textbook-like presentation of economic principles with the analysis of wine consumption and production and culminates in a contemplative discussion of some of the special and unique features of wine that dis- tinguish it from other economic goods. Marks takes a distinctively philosophical bent in the presentation of his material but, at the same time, writes in a lighthearted manner, always providing plenty of interesting tidbits about wine to keep even the most casual reader engaged.

Indeed, Marks’s book should find broad appeal among a wide-ranging audience beyond those interested specifically in what Marks sets out as an emergent field of wine and economics. Most obviously are professionals coming from either side of the intersection. Professionals from the world of wine, including those teaching in programs such as oenology and winery management, will find in chapters 2 through 5 a relatively gentle and intuitive introduction to core economic concepts as they apply to the wine trade. The analysis is general enough to apply to any eco- nomic good and therein provides the wine professional with a useful conceptual tool kit, but at the same time, it moves quickly within each chapter to illustrations with specific wine applications. In fact, this feature of the book also lends itself well to an entirely different yet complementary use: College level instructors of introductory microeconomics may find in these same chapters an opportunity to supplement their lectures on topics such as comparative advantage, behavior of the consumer, and behavior of the firm. As important as these subjects may be for aspiring econo- mists, students have been known to describe these as somewhat “dry” topics. Why talk about the monopoly power derived from product differentiation among auto- mobiles when one can sweeten the concept with an illustration of how official appellation designations such as Sauternes or Quarts de Chaume serve to strengthen the wines’ monopoly power? For the innovative instructor, chapters 2 through 5 offer a multitude of fun and interesting examples of the use of these concepts applied to wines, be they moelleux or “sec.”

Conversely, the later chapters, 6 through 9, have much to offer for the profession- ally trained economist who wishes to learn more about the aspects of wine that serve to make it a unique and interesting topic for economic study. Why is wine more than simply a difficult-to-assess, almost transcendent experiential good? In what precise sense might wine embody the ethereal concept of a cultural good, which transmits cultural value to both the individual consumer and society? To give but one example, does the notion of terroir, or sense of place in general, have the potential to endow a wine with cultural content, undervalued by individuals and deserving of social protection? In drawing in part on his own research, this is the class of difficult questions on which Marks embarks in his later chapters, and which in part help to frame wine and economics as a discipline distinct from other areas of economic study.

An idealist may wish that more of the analytical formalization developed in the earlier chapters could have been used to better envelop the more enigmatic discus- sions of the later chapters—something that might also have served to better unify the presentation styles between the chapters. However, this is a bold frontier on which the book embarks, and Marks helps us to see some of the key challenges. The book is written in a thoughtful and philosophical style, while offering bountiful morsels of interesting practical information about the elixir of life. It is sure to entice professionals as well as enthusiasts and represents an important synoptic and in- sightful text for the discipline.

Peter Pedroni
Williams College
ppedroni@williams.edu 
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.8

Throughout the wine world, Burgundy is everyone’s poster child for rational, terroir- driven site delimitation and vineyard classification: a découpage of about a hundred appellations and at least another thousand individual site names (lieux dits) arranged in a neat hierarchy of qualitative tiers. Other regions treat Burgundy as their prime example of how to do it right, idealizing the monks who are said to have paid close attention to sites and wines as early as the twelfth century, the Burgundian dukes who legally protected Pinot Noir against “lesser” grape varieties, and the consistency of “local, loyal, and long-standing practices” that survived cataclysmic regime changes to become embedded in controlled appellation law when it was promulgated in the 1930s. Burgundian arrangements have been used as a reference point from Alsace to Barolo, and Burgundian terminology is self-consciously echoed in the Erste Lage and Grosse Lage rubrics recently embraced by Germany’s Verband Deutscher Prädikatsweingüter.

Although Burgundian arrangements were not codified until the twentieth century, it is generally conceded that much of their foundation was laid a good deal earlier. To explore that turf and identify what he calls “original grand crus”—that is, de facto grands crus before the advent of the appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC) schema —Charles Curtis presents English translations of extracts from two eighteenth- century, four nineteenth-century, and one early twentieth-century French works. Of these, only one, as far as I know, has been rendered previously in English (André Jullien, Topographie de tous les vignobles connus [1816]), so the mere fact of translation, even of short excerpts, should be useful to anglophone readers. Chapters 1–5 consist of thread text by Curtis about each work and its author(s), woven around short translated excerpts. The authors bring quite different personal and professional backgrounds to their interest in Burgundy’s vineyards, and these differences mark their respective works. Chapters 6–22 follow the same pattern of thread text and excerpts, but each of these chapters is geographically delimited, be- ginning in the north with the Côte Dijonnaise and ending at the south end of the Côte d’Or, at Santenay, facilitating attention to commune-specific details. In chap- ters 1–5, the thread is a good introduction to the sources and their authors who, apart from Jullien, are not especially well known. Some of the translated excerpts are unremarkable; it is not surprising to learn, for example, that “the people of Beaune [ca. 1780] believe themselves in exclusive possession of the best wines of Burgundy” (p. 21). However, much of this material is keenly interesting and occa- sionally startling as historical documentation. Consider, for example, that Denis Morelot railed as early as 1831 against “greedy proprietors” who “cover their sup- posedly weak vineyards in manure” and “propagate by layering more vines than they should” so that their grapes “contain above all water and vegetable proteins” and are produced in “over-abundant” quantity (p. 38). In addition, winemakers in the nineteenth century were sugaring their musts “even in hot years” (p. 42). Finally, landholding patterns, at least according to Morelot, differed significantly and consequentially between the Côte de Nuits and the Côte de Beaune, the latter “incredibly fragmented,” leading to more blended wines, whereas the very best wines “that come from the same cru” were mostly from the Côte de Nuits (p. 44). There is also Jules Lavalle’s assertion, quoted on p. 51, that by 1855, vineyard surface planted to Gamay was almost 10 times greater that the surface devoted to Pinot Noir, largely (it is implied) because of excruciatingly low yields for Pinot, av- eraging just 18 hectoliters per hectare, or about half of what is typical today in premier cru vineyards. Historians know that Pinot lost ground to Gamay after the French Revolution, but the extent of the loss may have been understated.

In chapters 6–22, Curtis takes excerpts primarily from those parts of Jullien’s, Morelot’s, and Lavalle’s works where the authors have grouped their vineyard de- scriptions into qualitative categories (e.g., Tête de Cuvée, 1ère Cuvée, 2ème Cuvée, etc.), because it is aggregation of such assessments that drives Curtis’s own list of the “original grand crus.” The nineteenth-century groupings are generally con- sistent with modern classification and therefore confirm the proposition that most highly classified sites were known as such at least a century before the AOC work was done in the 1930s, but Curtis notes the exceptions carefully, especially where im- portant vineyards are concerned, pointing out that some differences between unofficial nineteenth century and official twentieth century reflect altered footprints for the crus concerned. For example, Les Gaudichots was not part of La Tâche in Lavalle’s time but had been combined with it by the 1930s. Similarly, Les Vérroilles, a separate cru in the nineteenth century, was made part of Les Richebourgs in the twentieth century. There is also abundant evidence, however, that nineteenth-century authors attached great importance to proprietorship. In their lists for each commune, Jullien, Morelot, and Lavalle listed the owners of each cru by name, along with the precise size of each owner’s holdings, sometimes making clear that changes of ownership had affected the quality of the wines pro- duced. For example, “during the time that Clos-du-Roi [in Chenôve] was owned by the crown, the vines harvested there enjoyed a very high reputation”—a reputa- tion that was subsequently lost (p. 73). This preoccupation with ownership is more, I think, than a reflection of the wholesale changes that followed the French Revolution. It is also quiet confirmation that Roger Dion (1896–1981) and Jean-Robert Pitte have been at least partially correct when they have argued that pro- prietors’ ability and willingness to invest in their vineyards is a more powerful deter- minant of wine quality that the intrinsic properties of terroir, a proposition vehemently contested by most “terroirists.” Jullien, Morelot, and Lavalle were also very conscious of heterogeneity within individual crus. For example, notwithstand- ing that no fewer than 34 different climats can be found within the walled 50- hectare surface of Clos Vougeot, and that per Lavalle “the upper parts give a wine that is very fine and delicate, [whereas] the lower parts … give inferior wine” (p. 28), Vougeot has consistently been treated as a single cru for classification pur- poses. Alas for logic, one cru is not always one climat or vice versa.

By its nature, The Original Grands Crus of Burgundy is not an easy read and is perhaps better sampled than read cover to cover. However, there is fascinating content here, great attention to detail, and a potent reminder that the exceptional in- dividuals who wrote extensively about Burgundy’s vineyards in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries are a source for much more than information about crus and classifications. Jullien, Morelot, and Lavalle were witnesses to evolutions in viticul- ture, wine making, and economic history writ large. If the excerpts from their work that Curtis has translated and annotated stimulate more attention to the original works than they have received to this point, our understanding of the transition from the Ancien Régime to the nineteenth century may be improved.

John W. Haeger
Stanford University
jwhaeger@gmail.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2016.7

Admittedly, it was hard to write a dispassionate review of books that so lovingly describe the region in which I live and so admiringly profile many of my acquain- tances in the Oregon wine industry. Therefore, I used as measures of merit how well each echoed my impressions of this most beautiful area and its people, and whether each accomplished its objectives.

Perry’s and Vincent’s Winemakers of the Willamette Valley (WWV) “is meant to showcase the stories of a handful of Oregon’s many Willamette Valley winemakers” (WWV, p. 11). A foreword by Chehalem founder Harry Peterson-Nedry sets the per- sonal tone that pervades those stories. Next, in a mere eight pages of text, the first chapter, “History of the Willamette Valley Wine Region,” covers the climate, soil, grape selection, craftsmanship, industry structure and early success in sufficient detail to provide valuable context. The authors then share intimate interviews with eighteen vintners and vignerons. Within each chapter named for one or two wine- makers are brief descriptions of the wineries that each is affiliated with. These include year founded, ownership, varietals, tasting room location, hours and con- tacts. Sustainability features, a point of pride in the Oregon wine industry, are also listed. The epilogue memorializes the late Willamette Valley Vineyards winemaker Forrest Glenn Klaffke. Wine Tasting Routes and a list of wineries by town provided by the Willamette Valley Wineries Association comprise the appendix.

In contrast, Warncke’s “Oregon Wine Pioneers (OWP) aims to tell a good story and inspire you to take part in that story. We hope you take it along when you head out to visit…” (OWP, p. 9). Although the fifteen chapters are named for win- eries, they contain much biographical information about the principals. Each con- cludes with tasting notes of wines made at the facility and a lined page for the reader’s own comments. Six Trail Guides for Portland, Forest Grove, Newberg, McMinnville, Salem and Southern Oregon follow. These give driving directions, contact information for the featured wineries, and restaurant recommendations.

“By definition, there can only be one group of pioneers” (OWP, p. 29), Warncke tells us. From a strict point of view, then, only the first wave of a dozen producers who began coming to Oregon about a half century ago should be regarded as pio- neers. Wisely though, the two books de facto adopt a broader perspective. Warncke presents vignettes about winemakers who became part of the Oregon wine industry well after the 1960s and 1970s. For example, she interviews Earl Jones who pioneered high quality Tempranillo in the United States at Abacela in the 1990s. And WWV, which includes “Pioneering Vintners” in its subtitle, profiles folks like Steve Doerner, winemaker at Cristom Vineyards since 1992, who “is a thirty-five year practitioner of whole-cluster, native yeast fermentations” (WWV,

p. 51).

Both volumes cover Adelsheim, Elk Cove, A to Z/Rex Hill, and Ponzi with some overlap but enough differences to make each worth reading. While winemaker David Paige is the focus in WWV’s chapter on Adelsheim (WWV, Chapter 6), founder David Adelsheim is highlighted in OWP (OWP, pp. 22-33). Both concentrate on Elk Cove’s second generation winemaker Adam Campbell but OWP also introduces his sister, Anna (WWV, Chapter 8; OWP, pp. 34-45). WWV (WWV, Chapter 12) fea- tures Anna Matzinger and Michael Davies, the latter, the executive winemaker at A to Z/Rex Hill, whereas OWP (OWP, pp. 46-59) takes us on a tour of that winery with the direct sales manager that includes a cameo appearance by cofounder Deb Hatcher, but no mention of Davies. The greatest degree of overlap is in the chapters on Ponzi (WWV, Chapter 7; OWP, pp. 60-71) wherein Luisa Ponzi, who took over as winemaker from her father, Dick, in 1993, is the center of attention.

WWV concentrates on producers who get their grapes primarily from the six American Viticultural Areas (AVAs) that partially overlap the northwest portion of the Willamette Valley AVA. OWP ventures further south with profiles of Illahe Vineyards in Dallas, Left Coast Cellars in Rickreall, and Abacela in the Umpqua Valley near Roseburg.

The trail guides in OWP are much more valuable resources for the prospective tourist than what is given in WWV. In particular, I can vouch for many of the restau- rants included. While the tasting room information in each chapter of WWV might be useful, it should be confirmed as things do change. The appendix, however, seems like an afterthought.

While none of the authors are established wine writers, all have published exten- sively so both books read very well and very quickly. Journalistic WWV relies more on quotations and less on descriptions of the land, the processes and the writers’ personal reactions. The writing in OWP struck me as more literary, impres- sionistic and passionate. We share moments of realization with Warncke: “Voila. The missing piece. The link. The glue. I should have guessed. The clue is in the name: A to Z. You can say anything with 26 letters and this is a winery dedicated to expression. Climate, soil, elevation, varietals, and water, are the winemaker’s alphabet” (OWP, p. 56). I also enjoyed the clever analogies Warncke draws. In describing the career path of Tom Symonette of Whistling Dog Cellars, she writes “…a picture emerges of a man whose life – like the vines he tends with such intense affection – had three buds. Two of which, removed, left one strong shoot” (OWP, p. 100).

WWV edges out self-published OWP for production value with sharper photo- graphs and affectionate sketches of the winemakers by Sarah Schlesinger. Still, the latter skillfully weaves uncaptioned snapshots into text from which they derive their significance. Both successfully give the reader a sense of what it is like to visit a winery in the Beaver State.

There are some minor quibbles. I didn’t find the tasting notes in OWP particularly useful and even a bit bizarre: petrol notes in Pinot (OWP, pp. 20, 58, 96, 108)?! Also, many of the wines mentioned are likely no long available. Inadvertently, no doubt, punk artist Don Letts is referred to as an Oregon wine legend (OWP, p. 86), dislodg- ing “Papa Pinot,” David Lett. The number of vineyards and wineries in Oregon is woefully underreported as 400+ (OWP, p. 9). The 2014 Oregon Vineyard and Winery Census Report published by the Southern Oregon University Research Center in August 2015 reports an increase of 8% to 1,027 vineyard operations and from 605 to 676 bonded wineries. There is some unnecessary repetition in WWV, for example, regarding The Carlton Winemakers Studio location, fee, and contact information (WWV, pp. 83 and 85).

Books of this sort do have a limited shelf life since they report on a fluid industry. Much has changed even in the short time since WWV was released. Scott Wright sold his interest in Scott Paul Wines and Kelley Fox (WWV, Chapter 11) no longer makes wine for that label. Anthony King (WWV, Chapter 13) is now General Manager of The Carlton Winemakers Studio (WWV, Chapter 9). Don Crank III (WWV, Chapter 16) left Willamette Valley Vineyards and is now at Rex Hill (OWP, pp. 46–59). Eric Hamacher (WWV, Chapter 9) was just named winemak- er at Ghost Hill Cellars (OWP, pp. 84–97).

Before I became a full time resident of Oregon, I spent part of the year in Virginia and would invariably miss McMinnville. I would devour each issue of the Oregon Wine Press when it arrived so that I could be transported back to where I wanted to be. As I read these two adoring accounts of an industry of which I am now a part, I was reminded of how lucky I am to be here and to experience daily this ex- traordinary place and its people. For those less fortunate, reading both Perry and Vincent, and Warncke can give a satisfying vicarious experience. The two accounts dovetail nicely with the resulting binocular view more complete than any one of them would provide. For the price of a good bottle of Oregon Pinot noir, these two slim attractive volumes will make you want to visit, if the wine hasn’t already convinced you to do so.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.37