Book & Film Reviews

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

A colleague at KEDGE Business School in Bordeaux first recommended Vino Business by Isabelle Saporta to me back in May of 2014. Vino Business had just been published, in French, and was already surrounded by controversy. Half of my French wine friends and wine economics colleagues were raving about this book, the other half was seriously upset. Most have strong opinions about Vino Business. In fact, in March of 2014, Isabelle Saporta was sued for defamation by Hubert de Boüard de Laforest, the owner of Château Angélus.
Isabelle Saporta’s book has been translated into English and was published in the U.S. in November 2015. Isabella Saporta is an investigative journalist who special- izes in topics related to agriculture. Before Vino Business she published a few books on agriculture, food, and the environment, notably “Le livre noir de l’agricul- ture” (The Black Book of Agriculture), but nothing specific to wine.
Vino Business is 256 total pages consisting of 25 short chapters, almost all of which are set in Bordeaux, particularly the right bank. Although the chapters can be read in- dependently, there is a thread that goes through some of them, particularly the first 11, which are the core of the book. Here, Saporta introduces us to the protagonist and sym- bolic figure of the entire book, Hubert de Boüard, the owner of Château Angélus, and sheds light on his role in the 2012 re-classification of Saint-Emilion properties.
The French system of vineyard classification has a long history. Contrary to what some wine enthusiasts may think, vineyards were not originally classified by wine critics to guide consumers in their wine purchasing decisions, but were based on eco- nomic criteria. Vineyard land was classified and ranked according to its value and profitability. Examples of this include the 1855 Bordeaux Classification covering wines from Médoc and Graves, the French Mosel Classification of 1801 and others dating back to the 17th century (see, e.g., Ashenfelter and Storchmann, 2010). These ratings sometimes even served as a basis for a “fair” profit-oriented land taxation.
In contrast to the left bank of the Garonne, the right bank was not classified in the 19th century. The first Saint-Emilion classification was established in 1955 and has been updated every 10 years. Saporta tells us about the 2012 update, in which Hubert de Boüard and his Château Angélus play a central role. Before 2012, Château Angélus was only a Premier Grand Cru Classé B, not the best of the best. After 2012, however, Château Angélus was upgraded to the top tier. According to Saporta, this is why.
First, in contrast to past classifications, the Saint-Emilion classification does not draw on objective data such as land values or wine prices. Instead, it is based on a complex system of points that need to be accumulated by the applicant chateau. For Premiers Grand Cru Classés these points are weighted as follows: wine tasting 30%, the chateau’s reputation 35%, estate and terroirs 30%, estate practices 5% (Conseil des Vins de Saint- Emilion, 2015). Under ‘estate and terroirs,’ “the classification criteria would also wisely allow some points for the size of the visitors’ parking lot” (p. 32). A seminar room is worth some extra points as well (p. 32). In contrast, Château Ausone was criticized by the commission for the lack of indirect lighting in its historic cellar. The classification standards also penalize winemakers that get involved in tours, possibly leading the tours themselves (e.g., Château Croque-Michotte). Who came up with these rules?
The regulating body in charge of instituting these criteria is the Conseil des Vins de Saint-Emilion (Saint-Emilion Wine Council), of which Hubert de Boüard was the president from 1999 until 2008. “His right-hand man, Jean-François Quenin, suc- ceeded him.” (p. 32). Saporta suggests that Quenin and de Boüard devised the clas- sification criteria to suit Château Angélus and to eventually lift it to the top echelon. However, these rules needed to be confirmed by the INAO (Institut National des Appellations d’Origine), the French organization in charge of regulating agricultural products. Saporta does not hold INAO in high esteem. In Chapter 5, entitled, “With a Bogus Authority, the INAO,” she reports that Hubert de Boüard “is a member of both INAO’s Regional Committee and its National committee …. ” and “… now holds all the cards and let it be known.” (p. 53). INAO confirms the classification criteria and Château Angélus is promoted. Saporta takes issue with both the appar- ent conflict of interest and the fact that the classification rules add more weight to non-wine criteria, such as parking lots, than to the wine itself.
The ensuing chapters cover similar “injustices,” such as the role of Robert Parker and his influence on wine and wine business, the “land grab” by the Mieux family (who owns Château Pétrus) in Pomerol, the use of pesticides in grape growing and the disregard for organic winemaking, the sales of Bordeaux wine and real estate to China, the rule of technocrats over winemakers, and the redefinition of the Champagne AOC.
The tenor of Vino Business can be summarized in three sentences. Wine is ruled by corrupt big business that is detached from their product. Large firms set the rules at the expense of small winemakers. Organic winemaking is disrespected.
The book is an easy read, entertaining, and filled with valuable information, but Saporta makes no effort to be neutral. Almost everything is suggestive and often she offers her own interpretation – even of facial expressions. For instance, when citing Michel Rolland talking about Chinese buyers “‘… it’s quite good business,’ jokes the winemaker, a greedy look in his eyes.” (p. 16). About 15% of the text consists of ci- tations, many of them anonymous (e.g., “’Why should they bite the hand that feeds them?’ a great winemaker adds cruelly and scornfully” (p. 84) or “’Michel Rolland has a thing in Argentina… It’s a jackpot. You can make €150,000 for an internation- al contract. … you have a lot less hassle for way more cash!’ an expert who prefers to stay in Bordeaux summarizes with a smile.” (p. 63)).
The book reminded me of the movie Mondovino (see the review by Lima and Schroder, 2009), which also fights for the small winemaker and down-to-earth wine- making. The book is as chauvinistic as the movie. While the book recommends not to sell wine and property to the Chinese, in the movie we learn why vineyard land in Aniane/Languedoc should be sold to French actor Gérard Depardieu instead to the American Mondavi family. Ironically, Depardieu has been less loyal to France and moved to Russia to evade French taxation in 2013.
No doubt, and despite my criticism above, Vino Business is an important wine book and should be read by every serious wine friend. It provides a trove of informa- tion about the business and politics of wine, particularly in Bordeaux, much of which is virtually unknown to the general public. But I think Saporta would have served her cause better with greater distance and neutrality and a less suggestive style.
References
Ashenfelter, O., and Storchmann, K. (2010). Using hedonic models of solar radiation and weather to assess the economic effect of climate change: The case of Mosel valley vine- yards. The Review of Economics and Statistics, 92(2), 333–349.
Conseil des Vins de Saint-Emilion (2015). Press Kit 2012 Classification of Saint-Emilion Wines. Online: (PDF) (accessed November 25, 2015)
Lima, T., and Schroder, N. (2009). Film Review of Jonathan Nossiter (Director): Mondovino. Journal of Wine Economics, 4(1), 119–121.

Wine policy in the European Union (EU) can look back on a history of more than half a century. This was not a period of legislative restraint. Rather, more than 50 years of regulatory activism have left behind a formidable volume of regulations, all drafted in quaint legal idiom, that attempted to remedy both alleged failures of wine markets and the evident failures of earlier regulations. Few economists have a taste for wallowing through such material. Those economists who venture into EU wine policy and legislation often come from Mediterranean countries with large wine industries, and they mostly write in their native languages. An up-to- date English-language account of EU wine policy is therefore welcome.

The two authors of the book are wine business economists. Davide Gaeta is an as- sociate professor who teaches economics of wine firms and wine policy at the University of Verona, Italy, and CEO of Chianti Classico Company. Paola Corsinovi is a wine business consultant in Brussels; she holds a Ph.D. in wine economics. In the Acknowledgments, the authors name Alison Matthews, a free-

lance interpreter at the European Union, as the translator of their text.

In my own professional work, I have shied away from EU wine policies and leg- islation, and I can claim no expertise in this area. I therefore approached this review as someone intent on learning something about EU wine policies. My attitude toward EU policies and its style of governance is, however, not totally neutral. For too long I have observed from the sidelines the economic folly that was the EU’s Common Agricultural Policy.

The Book’s Content

The book is not a rigorous economic analysis of EU wine policy. Rather, it is an essay by two wine business experts who guide their readers through the EU wine legislation thicket and who interpret EU wine policy. Whereas policy analysis usually pays a great deal of attention to policy objectives and quantitative economic outcomes, wine policy objectives are not systematically scrutinized in the text, and economic policy outcomes are largely ignored. The authors have arranged their material in three sections and eleven subsections in total. Section 1 is concerned with EU governance institutions and their legislative and policy output related to agriculture and wine. Section 2 is focused on some economic aspects of EU wine market regulations, and Section 3 highlights the role of interest groups in the evolution of EU wine policy.

In a preface, Gaeta and Corsinovi (G&C) motivate their concern with EU wine policy, state the aims of the book, and identify their intended readers. Their motiva- tion for writing the book is the intensity of wine market regulation and their concern over the amount of bureaucratic red tape that comes in the wake of this legislation. Moreover, the authors characterize the wine sector as “one of the most highly regu- lated markets” and suggest that “we should ask ourselves whether this is done in a fair and effective manner” (p. xiii).

The aims of the book are “to examine the wine production sector” and “to cover the … relationship between the state and the market, and more specifically between public choice and pressure groups” (p. xiv). The authors have targeted the book at two groups of readers: university students and readers who are novices with regard to EU wine policy. Moreover, the authors perceive their book as a non- Eurocentric “European manual” (p. xiv).

The four subsections of Section 1 introduce readers to the legislative machinery of the European Union, the evolution of EU agricultural policy in which EU wine policy is embedded, EU wine regulations since 1962 and associated policy measures, and, finally, the flow of finance that these policies have engendered.

In Subsection 1.1, G&C provide an overview of major EU governance institutions and the legislative processes that tie the institutions together. Here the authors also inform their readers about the five types of acts to which the European Union is subject: regulations, directions, decisions, recommendations, and opinions. The acts with which the book is concerned are predominantly regulations passed by the European Union and are binding in all member states. Subsection 1.2 is a histor- ical abstract of the evolution of the Common Agricultural Policy. This section prob- ably contains more details about the several metamorphoses of agricultural policy of the European Union and its predecessor organizations than many readers interested in EU wine policy want to know. Subsection 1.3 is the core of Section 1, and, in my opinion, it is the most useful part of the whole book. Here G&C outline the evolution of the EU wine policy in terms of the regulations and the policy measures laid out in the regulations. I counted in this section some 26 different regulations and 60 policy measures. The numbers suggest that popular allegations of excessive regulatory activism by EU institutions may be well founded. In the closing subsection of Section 1, G&C analyze how the EU wine budget is spent. Here the authors also espouse an attitude toward EU spending that I find irritating. They suggest that EU spending is too low on two accounts: in relation to the economic value generated by the wine sector and compared to spending in other agricultural sectors. Such ar- guments suggest that spending priorities are best set according to congruence criteria that allocate budget spending in proportion to the size of the recipient sectors. The distribution of budget resources that results from such a rule may be unrelated to policy priorities but the rule has the advantage for administrators that it can be im- plemented by applying mechanically elementary arithmetic.

Economic aspects of wine supply, demand, and foreign trade are the topics of Section 2. The section opens with a discussion of sources of market failure which may justify market interventions by the state. As in most accounts of market failure, a complementary discussion of the sources of government failure is not pro- vided in this section even though a sizable share of regulatory activity by the European Union is intended to remedy failures of earlier wine policies. Having justified government interventions in markets, G&C introduce several market dia- grams in which they try to show how some select market interventions affect market prices and the quantities traded. I was unable to parse some of the text ac- companying the graphs. Whether this failure is due to my imperfect command of English, the authors’ command of economics, the translator’s ability to translate economics text from Italian to English, or any combination of these deficiencies, I am unable to say. A clear problem does occur, however, in one of the market dia- grams, in which price is allowed to do two things: change the quantities demanded along a given demand function and shift the demand function. In real-world markets, prices can sometimes perform miracles. But in a two-dimensional price- quantity world, prices cannot shift demand curves. Also in this section, G&C discuss Marc Nerlove’s supply model and hedonic demand analysis.

In the rest of the section, the authors leave the theories and models behind and turn to matters of fact, in particular, the historical development of production, quan- tity supplied, and quantity demanded, prices, and wine trade issues. I was surprised by the authors’ aim in the section on trade, which is “to demonstrate how interna- tional trade … finds itself increasingly threatened and facing a series of obstacles, all of which are directly linked to the wine sector” (p. 126). There certainly are serious obstacles to trade, such as tariff barriers, nontariff barriers, and technical barriers to trade, which the authors all duly discuss. Not mentioned are, however, the huge reductions in international trade costs due to innovations in shipping, air transport, and international voice and data communications. Perhaps the latter de- velopments help to explain why world wine exports and imports, which the authors report in this section, do not show any evidence that international trade in wine is seriously threatened.

In the final section, G&C relate how lobbying groups have invaded EU wine policy making. The authors begin the section with a synopsis of public choice theo- ries from Duncan Black and Kenneth Arrow onward. Here they also introduce their readers to Robert Putnam’s “gaming table,” which appears to be a single-issue, two- person bargaining model in which the bargaining issue is evaluated in a single dimen- sion. After this theoretical warmup, the authors identify 12 key lobbying issues in the EU wine sector, which they organize into four groups: (1) market management, (2) production rules, (3) quality policies, and (4) consumers, trade, and simplification. Moreover, G&C identify 13 organizations—most are known by a nonmnemonic acronym—from agriculture and from the wine sector that are involved in wine policy lobbying. Having identified major lobbying issues and important lobbying groups, they set the stage for short accounts of lobbying group positions and lobby- ing activities in relation to each of the 12 major lobbying issues. This section has cer- tainly benefited from Gaeta’s unique characteristic of being an academic and the CEO of a wine firm.

The text ends when the last lobbying issue has been dealt with—there is no summary, no conclusions, no grand finale. The book ends with notes and a useful bibliography.

Appreciation

I have organized my appreciation of the book into three parts. I first assess the extent to which the aims of the book have been attained, and I consider whether the book is suitable for its intended readership. I then turn to the book’s strengths and weaknesses.

Does the Book Achieve Its Aims?

In the Preface, the authors state three aims of their book: (1) “to examine the wine production sector,” (2) “to cover the … relationship between the state and the market, and more specifically between public choice and pressure groups”; and (3) the book should be a non-Eurocentric “European manual” (p. xiv).
The authors have missed their first aim by such a wide margin that one must suspect that this was not really an aim at all. An examination of the wine production sector is nowhere to be found in the book. With the exception of land, the book has no information on production factors employed in wine production, nothing on the technologies used in the vineyard or in the winery, and nothing on the organization of production. The authors present, however, some tables showing vineyard area and others showing production of wines of protected designations of origin (PDO) and wines of protected geographic indications (PGI), two legal quality categories that seem to have sprung from the minds of EU bureaucrats.

The authors have covered the relationship between the state and the market in some measure. The motivation of the European Union to intervene in the wine markets, in contrast, is addressed only incompletely. In some sections of the book, in particular in Subsection 2.1, the authors seem to suggest that the state intervenes in markets to remedy alleged market failures. In Section 3, in which the public choice approach is introduced, state action is, to some extent, driven by lobbyists and special interest groups. The relationship between the two views of state action, a chal- lenging yet important topic, is not explored by the authors.

Finally, is the book a non-Eurocentric “European manual” on wine policy? Unfortunately, I think they misuse the word “manual.” Among the several defini- tions that the Oxford English Dictionary offers for the noun “manual,” two are per- tinent here: (1) “A handbook or textbook, esp. a small or compendious one; a concise treatise, an abridgement. Also in extended use”; (2) “A set of instructions or proce- dures (not necessarily concise) for using a particular piece of equipment or for car- rying out a particular operation” (www.OED.com, accessed on July 10, 2015). The book is not a handbook: it is neither sufficiently comprehensive in scope nor brief in exposition to be considered one. Nor is the book a textbook: it lacks the systematic organization and comprehensiveness that one would expect of a textbook on EU wine policy. Finally, is the book a set of instructions and procedures for implement- ing and influencing wine policies in the European Union? No, it is not. Perhaps, rather than a “manual,” the authors’ aim was simply a “European overview.”

Is the Book Suitable for Its Target Audience?

The authors have targeted the book at two groups of readers: university students and readers who are novices with regard to EU wine policy. It is always easy for profes- sors to name students as their target readers—their own students may not have the option to decline the privilege. I therefore asked myself whether I would have recom- mended the book, or parts thereof, to the students in the wine economics course that I used to teach at my university. I think I would have recommended parts of it. In particular, I would have recommended Section 1.3 (“The Development of European Wine Policies”) and, for illustrations of lobbying activities, Section 3.3 (“Lobbying in the Wine Sector”). At the same time, I would have cautioned my stu- dents to stay clear from Section 2.1 (“Economics and Market Instruments in a Few Examples”) and Section 3.1, where the authors outline the public choice approach. For the contents of both sections, there are other sources that I regard as more suit- able for students.

Is the book suitable for novices with regard to EU wine policy? Perhaps it is for some novices, but not all of them. Here we have to consider three types of novices: those who are unfamiliar with both the wine industry and EU wine policy, and those who are unfamiliar with either the wine industry or EU wine policy. I consider myself an EU wine policy novice from the latter camp: I know a little bit about the wine industry and about EU agricultural policy, but I have never worked on EU wine policy. For people like me, it is useful to have a book whose authors took it upon themselves to penetrate the thicket of mind-numbing EU regulations and to bring into some intelligible order what they have bagged in their regulation and policy hunt. Such work is much appreciated and valuable. For people who are only novices with regard to the wine market but are familiar with EU agricultural policy, the book lacks background information on the peculiar- ities of wine as a product and an industry. Novices with regard to wine and to EU policy making are unlikely to read far into the book—there is not sufficient back- ground information for them in the book.

Strengths and Weaknesses

The book’s main strength is the number of facts that the authors have assembled and presented in a coherent way: the account of the historical sequence of EU wine legislation and of the entangled linkages between the various acts, the description of the evolution of wine policies of increasing complexity, the details about the new wine quality categories that have been invented by EU bureaucrats and about which wine consumers seem to know next to nothing, the roster of wine lob- bying groups, and the list of wine policy issues that trigger lobbyists’ rent-seeking reflexes.

There also are weaknesses. First, which some policy economists are likely to bemoan, the authors emphasize regulations at the expense of a more detailed treat- ment of the objectives and the consequences of the policies that are cast into legal terms by the regulations. A detailed exploration of the economic consequences of EU wine regulations, however, would have required a different book. Policy objec- tives are briefly mentioned. For example, we learn early in the book that EU wine policy, like the rest of the EU’s agricultural policy, was meant to stabilize market prices and to boost producer incomes. The question of whether the objectives were in any way justified is, however, not addressed, nor do we learn whether wine prices were so volatile that intervention by the state was justified. The focus on reg- ulation and the frequent quotations from them also introduce into the text the sort of mind-numbing idioms that are characteristic of EU legislative documents.

Another weakness of the book is the tenuous liaison between its theoretical and factual sections. In particular, Sections 2 and 3 remind me of a sauce whose fat and water components have separated. In each of the two sections, the insights from theory are only loosely blended with the facts that follow, if at all, and I was left wondering whether the theoretical sections are needed.

Finally, the text contains many passages that are written, or perhaps translated, in a style that is difficult to read, and there are a fair number of distracting little errors like misspellings, unexplained abbreviations, and instances in which the wrong table number is used in the text. I do not think the book represents the best editing effort by the publisher, Palgrave Macmillan. Given the book’s considerable retail price, readers are entitled to a more carefully edited text.

Be that as it may, the book is the best currently available entry point into the for- bidding realm of highly complex and entangled EU wine regulations. Scholars who need to venture into that realm are well advised to pay the book’s high price and to put up with its idiosyncrasies. The book will give them an impression of the complex- ities that await them and provides some orientation through the entangled pathways of EU wine regulation development.

Rolf A.E. Mueller
University at Kiel, Germany (ret.)
raem@agric-econ.uni-kiel.de
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.25

Today a group of roughly two dozen wine grape varieties with widespread appeal and consumer recognition are planted diffusely throughout the wine-growing regions of the world (Anderson, 2014). In fact, fewer than 15 wine grape varieties account for 90% of the varieties grown in major wine-producing regions, such as the United States and France. Only a few of these “international varieties” —such as Sangiovese or Nebbiolo—are native to Italy. The wine from such varieties often can represent the pinnacle of what the fruit of the vine can produce, but the popular- ity of international varieties often comes at the expense of a region’s indigenous va- rieties, and it is with this in mind that Native Wine Grapes of Italy was written.

Italy has over 377 native and genetically distinct grape varieties—more than France, Spain, and Greece combined. Nearly 30% of the world’s commercially pro- ductive wine grape varieties are in Italy. Native Wine Grapes of Italy provides grape and wine researchers, growers, producers, merchants, and consumers with a fascinat- ing insight into the existing and potential value of native Italian wine grape varieties and gives a deeper understanding of the “sometimes crazy but always wonderful  country that Italy is,” as described by its author, Ian D’Agata.

Thoroughly researched and accurately reported in depth on native Italian varie- ties, D’Agata’s capolavoro text totals 620 pages and consists of two parts. Part I is relatively short at 25 pages and well worth reading as it introduces two important topics: grape vine identification and the viticultural history of Italy. Part II presents over 400 of Italy’s native and traditional grape varieties. Native varieties are defined as those originating in a specific place and remaining almost exclusively at that lo- cation. Traditional varieties are those that are not indigenous but, rather, have been grown in a specific place for several hundred years (typically 300–500) and have been part of that land’s tradition. Cabernet Franc is an example of a traditional but not native Italian variety, since it has been grown in northeastern Italy, particu- larly the Veneto and Friuli-Venezia-Giulia, for hundreds of years. These two grape variety divisions are useful and far less subjective than divisions such as “classic” or “noble,” which are sometimes used in other works on grape varieties.

In order to understand Italian grape varieties, a subject full of complexities and interwoven relationships, we are first introduced in Part II to about a dozen grape groups and grape families. This gives the reader a better understanding of how the varieties are more or less related. The group and family section is then followed by sections on the major varieties, little-known varieties, and finally variety crosses. For those readers who are most interested in having fun with wine and tasting the many varieties that Italy produces, I suggest going directly to the major variety section. It covers nearly 200 of the varieties that you might find in stores in the United States, or while vacationing in Italy.

The description of each variety is hugely informative and comprehensive. First a summary statement of the variety is given, including the region(s) in which the grape is grown, its National Registry Code, and the color of the grape. Following this summary is a description of alternative names of the grape, the grape’s relationship to other varieties (including descendants from older or ancient varieties), and how the vine and its grape grow (including productivity, vigor, soil and climate preferences, and disease resistance). Each description concludes with a section indicating which wines of the variety to chose and why to choose them. Wine ratings are based on a three-star system according to the producer’s ability to grow and showcase the best qualities of the grape, in the opinion of the author. Often the description of each variety reflects its great potential and also gives a glimpse of how the variety holds genetic, financial, ecological, and social significance for each region in which it is grown.

D’Agata’s unique, erudite, and comprehensive approach reflects his extensive background in not only writing about wine but also in science and medicine. He is one of the world’s best known wine writers and a regular contributor to Decanter magazine and the International Wine Cellar newsletter. In 2012 he was named Italy’s best wine journalist by the Comitato Grandi Cru. He has lived and studied in Rome and writes with great enthusiasm and insider detail gained from traveling throughout Italy for 13 years to research the topic for this book. He is trained as a pediatric gastroenterologist, has conducted research in cellular and molecular biology, and has lectured extensively on wine and its relation to culture and health.

In his research, he recognized that many of Italy’s native grapes were on the verge of extinction, and this book is an expression of his love for Italy’s native grapes and the need to defend Italy’s grapevine biodiversity. His identification and description of these varieties and their wonderful qualities allow us to share his appreciation for their place in the world and encourage the propagation of these varieties for future generations.

The Roman saying “Nomen est omen,” meaning “The truth lies within the name,” must have been heeded by grape growers on the Italian peninsula and islands over the centuries, as can be seen in the names of the varieties that bore them fruit, drink, and sustenance, if not fame and fortune. These names are many and are often confusing but can also be amusing. While fortunately the National Registry of Grape Varieties is the official record listing the names of varieties authorized for cultivation in Italy (currently 461), many if not all of the varieties have more than one name, depending on the region where they are grown, the local dialect, and other factors. Such names are based on factors such as sensory attributes, physical attributes, viticultural behav- ior, cultivation methods, productivity levels, wine characteristics, perceived region of origin, and the names of people, saints, or other religious references. For example, the most frequently planted variety, Sangiovese, is a reference to the blood of Jupiter. Variety names related to productivity include amusing ones such as Caricalasino (load up the donkey), Stracciacambiale (rip up the promissory note), and Scacciadebito (pay the debt). Sensory-related names include the likes of Tazzelenghe (cuts the tongue) and the zingy and peppery Pulcinculo (fleas up your rear end). Single-letter changes in a name such as Corvino or Corvina can mean en- tirely different varieties. We owe thanks to D’Agata for having the ability to sort all this “truth in the naming” out for us and present the topic as it is inherently tied to the culture of Italy. As he states, “the fun never ends when identifying Italian grape varieties.”

D’Agata has a keen understanding of grapevine genetic research, a field that has greatly improved variety identification over the past two decades. The study of grape- vine identity had been based largely on the morphologic characteristics, such as size, shape, and color of the leaf, shoot, cluster, and berries and was often an inaccurate way to identify a variety. Advances in biomolecular markers that reveal DNA se- quences specific to single varieties have made possible a much better understanding of grapevine identification and inheritance. These include advances introduced in the 1990s in cellular and molecular biology, such as the polymerase chain reaction (PCR), and identification of microsatellite markers, such as nuclear and chloroplast simple sequence repeats (nSSR and cSSR, respectively). Given the huge number of varieties planted in Italy, with each variety often having a different name by region or dialect, the use of specific genetic markers has shed new light on the true identity of many varieties. His genetic descriptions of each variety, when available, represent a clear recognition by the author that it is the genetics of the variety that is most important, as it determines the basis for the color, aroma, and taste profiles of a grape variety and its wine far more than any other aspect of terroir.

Native Wine Grapes of Italy informs us of the great biodiversity of grapevines, which have accumulated over the centuries, and how that diversity has diminished and may diminish further. Of the current top 10 varieties in total planting area in Italy, two (Merlot and Chardonnay) are not Italian. From 1970 to 2010, the acreage of widely planted native varieties, such as Barbera and Primitivo, have halved while those of some non-native varieties, such as Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Syrah, have skyrocketed. Even in Italy, where many barriers to re- placing vines exist, cultural and otherwise, there is some truth to Oz Clarke’s pro- nouncement that Chardonnay is “the ruthless colonizer and destroyer of the world’s vineyards and the world’s palates.” Despite the many producers who decide to pull out and replant native varieties based on the opinion of some famous, often foreign, wine consultants, there are also many farmers who decide to stick with their varieties despite such opinions. Examples of native varieties once spurned or ignored that are currently expanding in acreage and popularity include Furmint, a red grape variety of Val d’Aosta, and Pecorino, a white grape variety now grown in Abruzzo.

While survival of Italian native varieties is of critical importance to viticulture worldwide, native Italian varieties often do not readily transplant or make successful wines outside Italy. Witness the boom and bust of Sangiovese in California in the 1990s and the difficulty in growing and making great wine from the Nebbiolo grape outside Piedmont. The viticulture of Italy has a particular interest to me as a grape grower of Italian heritage with a vineyard in the United States (the Outer Coastal Plain American Viticultural Area). No doubt my ancestors and those of many other Italian Americans had difficulty in transplanting the native varieties of their region to the United States and often eventually chose to grow native “American” varieties, particularly Vitis labrusca varieties, such as Concord or Niagara. Until recently, the only recourse a grower had in choosing a successful variety was to find a variety that was well matched to the soil, climate, diseases and pests, and other circumstances in the region. Improvements in viticulture in areas such as canopy management, plant biology and nutrition, and integrated pest management have greatly helped growers expand the number of varieties that can be successfully grown in regions where it was not possible before. Although several regions in the Eastern United States can successfully grow Vitis vinifera vari- eties, few of the varieties are native to Italy. As our knowledge and abilities in genet- ics increase, we will likely not have to match a variety to a specific region or regions; rather, we will have the ability to develop characteristics in a variety that may help us to grow it wherever we want to.

Despite the exhaustive work done in writing this book, it was no doubt a labor of love, and, because of his clear, colorful writing style, the reader will share his enthu- siasm for native Italian grape varieties. I suggest not trying to read this book cover to cover in a short period of time, as you may drown in detail. Instead, try dipping in from time to time and read to better experience the pleasure Italian grape varieties can give and enjoy the Italian culture as it can be experienced through its wine va- rieties. While there are no illustrations apart from color drawings of a voluptuous Nebbiolo cluster on the front jacket cover and the sparse bearing Picolit grapevine on the back jacket cover, the use of illustrations would not have added significant value. Varieties cannot always be readily identified by morphologic depictions, illus- trations would have made the book prohibitively expensive, and D’Agata’s descrip- tive writing abilities are superb. There are three tables covering topics such as varieties planted, acreage planted, regions planted, and planting trends. There is an expansive glossary, a 20-page bibliography of scientific literature, a 16-page general index, and a 9-page index of grape varieties. I highly recommend this book to all who are interested in learning about Italian varieties, from beginner to expert.

Lawrence Coia
Chairman, Outer Coastal Plain Vineyard Association
njwineman@comcast.net
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.24

The first thing to note about this title is that this is a serious book, and, unlike many other books about wine, its primary objective is not to entertain but to inform and instruct. As a consequence, the average wine connoisseur will find it hard going, except perhaps for the introductory and concluding sections in each chapter. It is written by and for those with more than a passing acquaintance with reasonably ad- vanced topics in econometrics. The authors hail from three continents, and the editors are to be congratulated on putting together a volume of essays by highly dis- persed authors and managing the task of keeping the style and the general method- ology reasonably uniform.

My second general comment is this: the volume consists of 16 chapters, each on a different topic, and it is not possible to do justice to each and every chapter in a brief review. I want to stress that the chapters that are not discussed in detail in what follows are no less valuable or excellent than the ones that I do discuss; my selections necessarily reflect my own interests, and no implicit criticism is to be read into these selections. Overall, I can say that all the chapters are very solid and reflect the use of appropriate methodology, and those that are empirical in orientation rely on prodi- gious amounts of data.

The volume is divided into five parts, titled Alcohol Consumption and Welfare, Consumer Behavior and Prices, Wine Ranking and Financial Issues, Intermediary Markets and Strategic Decisions, and, finally, New Topics. Just to be perverse, let me start at the end. The brief final part of this volume deals with two very timely topics: wine tourism and the high and rising alcohol content of wine. To analyze the former, Françoise Bensa and Marie-Claude Pichery collect a large sample of win- eries in Burgundy and Alsace (376 in all) and analyze the impact of wine tourism ac- tivities on variables such as on-site sales. They find that impact is mostly in the long run. Much depends on the maintenance of more or less regular contacts between the growers and the tourists, and it is noteworthy that 86% of growers recontact their visitors in one way or another. Concerning the alcohol content of wine, Alston et al. find that “even a substantial rise in average temperature … would have had only modest effects on the sugar content of wine grapes” (p. 354). In any event, alcohol content has been rising, a fact that is bemoaned by many wine connoisseurs.

Chapter 1 examines the relationship between alcohol consumption in its three principal forms (beer, wine, spirits) and self-reported measures of life satisfaction. On the whole, the relationship is negative and, in some cases, even significantly so. Chapter 2, dealing with externalities and optimal taxes, considers three types of drinkers: moderate drinkers, informed abusers, and uninformed abusers. The con- sumption of alcohol entails enhanced health and accident risks, and some of the costs of those are privately borne, while others are externalities. The total social cost of alcohol ranges between 2.1% and 2.5%, of which perhaps 0.7% is in the form of externalities. Fairly standard formulas involving the relevant elasticities yield optimal tax calculations, with the result that “the current beer tax rate is broadly consistent with the base-case welfare maximizing tax rate, the current wine tax is about half the base-case welfare maximizing tax rate and the current spirits tax is about twice the base-case welfare maximizing tax rate” (p. 44). Chapter 3 examines the effect of the Evin Law in Europe, which banned the use of certain types of advertising of alcoholic beverages. A Rotterdam model is estimat- ed, and it is found that the law significantly affects demand. I do not think that this is surprising, but it is comforting to have it confirmed.

Chapter 4 examines the effect on price of a place name when the product is, in fact, not from the place in question; to wit, sparkling wine sold in the United States as “champagne” when it is obviously not from the Champagne region. Hedonic price equations are estimated, and when French and U.S. data are pooled, the variable that indicates “champagne” in the label raises the price for the French product but lowers it for the U.S. product. Chapter 5 examines the interesting question of whether bottle size has an effect on the (scaled) price. It appears that value is increasing in bottle size, and interesting charts demonstrate that well. A quibble: it should be noted that the symbols for various products are occasionally difficult to decipher―this reviewer could not tell the difference between the symbol used for Veuve Clicquot and for Dom Perignon even with the aid of a magnifying glass. Chapter 6 examines, with the aid of an ordered probit model, whether three professional panels of wine judges show any consensus about Italian wines and tests in particular how the fraction of wines in a region is related to the fraction receiving awards. On the whole, the agree- ment of the three sets of panels is weak, which underscores the conventional wisdom that people (even experts) do not have reliable taste buds. The final chapter on consum- er behavior and prices examines the effect of appellation of origin: it turns out that label information has a positive effect on the probability of purchase by the consumer, as it does on the prices that people are willing to pay.

Part II of the volume starts with an essay by Michel Balinski and Rida Laraki on the issue of how to rank wines. This is a subject that has been much written about, and the chapter is, in fact, an encapsulated version of Balinki and Laraki’s much bigger work, Majority Judgment (MIT Press, 2011; ISBN 978-0-262-01513-4). For a work of intermediate length, the curious reader may also wish to consult Michel Balinski and Rida Laraki, “Judge: Don’t Vote” (Operations Research, 62 [3] [2014], 483–511). Balinski and Laraki make a definitive contribution by showing that the frequently used methods of ranking the wines and then determining the “best” wine by computing the rank sums for each wine are seriously deficient in that they are “incoherent,” or, alternatively, they violate the axiom of the indepen- dence of irrelevant alternatives. If wines are assigned grades à la Parker, the results have another truly terrible feature in that they are manipulable. Balinski and Laraki’s (B&L’s) method consists of finding each wine’s “majority grade,” that is, the grade that is supported by a majority against any other grade, which, in the absence of pesky problems such as ties, turns out to be the median grade. We would then declare the wine with the highest majority grade the winner. Of course, it would be desirable that the method be “strategy proof in ranking,” that is, induce each taster to give his or her honest evaluation of each wine, but it is un- fortunately the case that no method is strategy proof in ranking, although B&L’s method is the least subject to this criticism. (Proofs are omitted in this chapter but can be found in their larger work.) It will be interesting to see how long the profes- sion of wine raters will take to adopt B&L’s methodology, which everybody should. I am not holding my breath because we are all conservative and change only slowly and because we all have much invested in existing computer programs―one hates nothing more than having to discard a program that works well and writing a new one. In any event, this is a fundamental contribution and also stands out by being the only one in the volume that is purely theoretical.

In Chapter 9, we find out about wine as a financial investment and learn that it tends to have a low correlation with other assets, which would make investment in wine a reasonable way of diversifying one’s portfolio, with the caveat that “wine is not a panacea that will always yield superb investment” (p. 196). In Chapter 10, we learn, perhaps not unsurprisingly, that the behavior of French wine companies responds to the business cycle in terms of capital management and other policies.

Part III of the volume begins with a chapter on the technical efficiency of grape growers. It estimates production frontier functions popularized in the 1970s by Dennis Aigner and finds via likelihood ratio tests that the translog production func- tion beats the Cobb-Douglas production function. A generalization of the model permits the use of panel data and accommodates time-varying technical efficiency. For the Australian data employed here, it turns out that there are significant techni- cal inefficiencies and evidence of technical change. Most interestingly, the shadow price of water indicates that farmers underutilize water. A quibble: there is an error in Figure 11-3, in that the vertical scale has separate two notches that are marked with the frequency 15. Chapter 12 deals with product assortment and efficiency and relies on the relatively rarely employed data envelopment analysis of Abraham Charnes. Chapter 13 analyzes wine bottling decisions with the aid of a sequential probit model, whereas Chapter 14 is devoted to the export intentions of wineries.

All the chapters deal with important as well as interesting issues, and all are char- acterize by high levels of technical competence. With the possible exception of Chapter 8, they will all be of interest to econometricians and scholars researching the wine industry, while Chapter 8 should be of prime interest to all who are engaged in rating or grading wines. The editors, Eric Giraud-Héraud and Marie- Claude Pichery, are to be congratulated for having rendered a great service to oenophiles.

Richard E. Quandt
Princeton University
metrics@quandt.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.23

This volume, with the immodest but entirely appropriate subtitle, indeed lives up to its billing. There is so much to like about and learn from it. To help one get oriented, ten maps are provided at the continent, country, and regional levels. The first chapter begins with a two-page history of the earliest viticulture and winemaking in South America, starting with the first planting of vineyards south of Lima, Peru, in 1548. We then jump to the late twentieth century for an overview of the wine industry in the four major producers, Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay.

Before delving into each of these, as well as lesser players, Bolivia, Columbia, Ecuador, Paraguay, Peru, and Venezuela, Goldstein dedicates a substantial chapter to grape varieties grown in the continent. “Official sources indicate commer- cial plantings of 165 different grapes in Argentina, 117 in Brazil, 65 in Uruguay, and over 60 in Chile” (p. 13), we learn. Not surprising, vinifera cultivars originating in Spain, France, Italy, Portugal, and Germany were brought by immigrants who needed something familiar to drink in their new lands. A class of vinifera varieties called criollas came over with the Spanish conquerors and settlers in the 1500s and remain significant sources of everyday wines. But some, like the three different Torrontés in Argentina, have been gaining favor especially in the American market. When attempts to grow vinifera failed in the less congenial climates, hybrids and even labrusca varietals like Niagara were imported from North America.

Individual chapters are dedicated to each of the four largest wine-producing countries, with the two chapters on Argentina and Chile comprising half the book. This is appropriate since each has over half a million acres planted to wine grapes, far more than any other country on the continent. The lesser players are covered in a single chapter. The format for each of these chapters should serve well the needs of the casual reader, the wine buyer, and the prospective tourist. Each starts with a quick summary of statistics, leading grape varietals, and memorable vintages. An introduction includes Goldstein’s personal obser- vations based on his visits to the area and a general discussion of the lay of each land. A short history of winemaking in the country follows. Game-changing person- alities in the industry are then introduced. Next is an extensive discussion of each country’s wine regions, along with maps and a list of recommended producers in each. Winery profiles conclude the chapters. These are conveniently presented alphabetically with addresses, both physical and web, and information for the visitor. Key personnel, important grape varieties, and signature wines are also listed. A crisp, chatty, and generally appealing paragraph variously touching on the particular history, distinctive bottlings, and other factoids concludes the coverage of each producer.

Malbec has become synonymous with Argentine wine and “for most wine lovers, Mendoza means Malbec” (p. 55). Goldstein cites low rainfall, most of which is in the summer, and a wide thermal amplitude as the reasons for its success. I have sampled a lovely Malbec from Susana Balboa, one of Goldstein’s game changers, as well as an enticing Torrontés she bottles under her low-cost, high-value Crios label. The rustic Bonarda, known as Douce Noir in France and Charbono in the United States, is popular for beber diariamente and can be quite pleasant either in a blend with other red grapes or on its own. A reasonably priced 2006 La Posta Bonarda Estela Armando is one example of the latter that I have enjoyed. “La Posta makes single-vineyard wines from selected old-vine plantings … each of which have been identified for their depth of character, the history of their land, and the personality of the families who own them” (p. 92), Goldstein tells us.

And then there is Argentine Pinot Noir. In 2010 and 2014, Bodega Chacra was the country’s sole representative at the International Pinot Noir Celebration (IPNC) held annually in my hometown of McMinnville, Oregon. Goldstein notes that wines produced by Chacra from older vineyards “are frequently considered the grand crus of Argentina’s Pinot Noir” (p. 77). I wrote about a less exalted but none- theless charming bottling from this winery in an article on the Passport to Pinot 2014, the abridged version of IPNC: “The 2012 Barda from Northern Patagonia was something of a revelation with funky aromas competing with floral notes and an elegant palate with lots of acidity and good tannins. Winery proprietor Piero Incisa, who showed interest in my connection to the American Association of Wine Economists, promised to stay in touch and could become my latest friend in the industry” (www.oregonwinepress.com). Piero’s economic concern is that inflation will once again raise its troublesome head.

Though the Sauvignon Blancs and Carmenères I have had from Chile were cer- tainly solid and good values, I cannot recall drinking any of note. Nevertheless, the chapter on that country excited me the most, perhaps because Goldstein’s enthu- siasm about what is going on there is contagious. As he explains: “Signs of a renais- sance in Chilean wine can be tasted in many new terroir-focused wines being produced in new regions by gifted young winemakers” (p. 112). In response to the very large dominant wine companies that make a broad range of wines, including those considered some of the best in the country, the Movimiento de Viñateros Independientes (MOVI) was formed “to promote smaller-scale terroir-focused wine- making operations” (p. 111). Significant wine regions can be found all along the almost 3,000-mile length of the country, covering a wide range of temperature zones. Many of the wineries are within a reasonable distance from the capital, Santiago, making them readily accessible to tourists.

The chapter on Brazil emphasizes sparkling wines. “Almost one-third of the coun- try’s domestic wine sales of fine wines, and close to one-fifth of total domestic wines sales, are in bubbles. The range is staggering” (p. 182). Credit for the success of bubbly is due to Mario Geisse who “first came to Brazil in 1976 with Moët & Chandon” (p. 183). Vitis labrusca dominates the still wine produced in the country.

Relatively tiny Uruguay has been making something of a splash with approach- able Tannat. First planted in 1870 by Pascual Harrigue, this grape was known by his surname in the country until the 1970s. As the world began to discover “what’s Tannat like,” the original name was adopted. Uruguayan winemakers seem to have mastered the tannins producing for Goldstein “the best Tannat any- where in the world” (p. 33).

Of the six remaining countries with vineyards, some have a limited amount of fine wine production, especially Bolivia. Criticism should be both credible and kind, two characteristics that do not necessarily go well together. Yet Goldstein pulls it off in his assessments of wineries that are not quite there. His paragraph about a relatively new producer in Bolivia’s Santa Cruz region concludes by saying: “To date, Uvairenda has just a few vintages under its belt, so it is too early to rush to judgment. The winemakers have the vision but not yet the wine” (p. 247). While the first vine- yards in South America were planted near Lima, “Pisco rules the roost in Peru” (p. 241). Columbia, Ecuador, Paraguay, and Venezuela each have three or fewer wineries, so their inclusion seems to be justified only by a desire for completeness.

Since this book succeeds on so many levels, being able to find things easily is almost as important as the content. As complete an index—26 two-column pages—as one could ever hope for facilitates the search for the most obscure reference.

Anyone considering a trip will want to study “Touring South American Wine Country” (pp. 253–259) and “Dining South American Style” (pp. 261–264). Suffice it to say, Goldstein, a frequent visitor to those parts, makes it clear that things are very different there. “Traveling the wine regions of South America is not like wine tourism in other places. In the Napa Valley or New South Wales, all you really have to do is rent a car, add a GPS or map, and set out. Taking that approach in South America is a ticket to adventure” (p. 253). Goldstein shares a list of English-speaking drivers who make sure that the adventure is restricted to the tasting part. For those planning a trip soon, consider the e-book (at this writing, the Kindle version costs a hefty $27.06) so that the information can be readily accessed.

Goldstein has gifted us with a thoroughly authoritative, reader-friendly, and, yes, essential exposition of a current and future source of fabulous wines of all styles. Even if you have no travel plans, his wisdom will guide you to a whole continent of wholly contented drinking possibilities.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.9

The Wine Atlas of Germany is a wonderful coffee-table–style book that takes a thorough look at the wine geography of Germany. It contains excellent wine maps and a wealth of useful information about German wine. However, the atlas has its limitations because (1) the way in which German winemakers classify their wines is in transition; and (2) the Wine Atlas of Germany is a translation of the Weinatlas Deutschland, published in Germany in 2007; the cut-off date for the German version was almost ten years ago, so the Wine Atlas of Germany was already outdated in a number of important aspects when it was published. This is the only weakness of the book, but it is a major one.

The authors are Dieter Braatz (deputy editor-in-chief of the German gourmet magazine Der Feinschmecker), Ulrich Sautter (wine writer) and Ingo Swoboda (co-author of Riesling). Jancis Robinson provided a foreword, and the translator, Kevin Goldberg, added a note at the beginning of the book.

The Wine Atlas of Germany is essentially divided into two main parts. First, intro- ductory chapters provide background to the ongoing reform of wine classification in Germany, a discussion of the factors that make a vineyard unique, an overview of the history of winegrowing in Germany, and an introduction to the grape varieties in Germany. Second (and comprising the majority of the book), 16 chapters cover all German wine regions, one by one. Each of these chapters includes detailed maps and information on the area’s soils, history, and main grape varieties.

Turning to the issue of wine classification in Germany, the basic German wine classification system is that of the German wine law of 1971, which replaced the German wine law of 1930. The German wine law of 1971 created the Prädikatswein system, which links must weights to a hierarchy of predicates. In ascending order of ripeness of the grapes at harvest, these are Kabinett, Spätlese, Auslese, Beerenauslese, Eiswein, and Trockenbeerenauslese. Importantly, although the hierarchy of predicates is not a quality hierarchy, in reality it is seen that way. The terroir as a determining factor for quality clearly moved to the backburner in Germany as a result of the introduction of the Prädikatswein system in 1971.

In terms of vineyard classification, the 1971 law distinguishes between Einzellage and Grosslage. Einzellage is a single vineyard; Grosslage is a collection of single vine- yards. A village typically has, say, ten single vineyards and one collective vineyard. The wine law of 1971 redrew the vineyard map of Germany considerably, as the law required that single vineyards be at least 5 hectares in size. As a consequence, the 1971 law resulted in fewer but larger and more heterogeneous single vineyards than before. The Wine Atlas of Germany covers all collective vineyards and all single vineyards delineated by the German wine law of 1971.

The 1971 law does not contain a ranking of the single vineyards. However, the authors divided them into four levels: (1) excellent vineyard; (2) superior vineyard; (3) good vineyard, and (4) other vineyards. The vineyard ranking in the Wine Atlas of Germany is a subjective ranking of the authors, based on various infor- mation and historical documents that are available, such as Prussian tax documents for the 1800s.

The ranking of the authors, all three accomplished experts on German wine, is sound, although some criticisms have been raised. For instance, just seven sites along the entire Mosel are listed as exceptional, 13 if you include the Saar and Ruwer. This compares with 11 exceptional vineyards in the Pfalz, 16 exceptional vineyards in the Rheingau, and 21 exceptional vineyards in the Nahe. The large community in the world of fruity-sweet Mosel-Saar-Ruwer wines fans is obviously disappointed by these ratings. But this is because the Wine Atlas of Germany is a translation of a German wine atlas, and in Germany, the wines of the Mosel-Saar-Ruwer do not enjoy the same cult status as they do outside Germany.

A few years ago, the VDP (the association of German elite wine makers) revolu- tionized the German classification system by moving to a terroir-based classification, following the Bourgogne model. With the latest modifications in 2012, at the bottom of the VDP classification are the basic entry-level wines (Gutswein). Above these are the village wines (Ortswein), followed by the single vineyard wines worthy of premier cru (Erste Lage) or even a grand cru (Grosse Lage) status. Note that in 2012, Grosse Lage replaced Erste Lage at the top of the VDP classification. Note that Grosse Lage should not be confused with Grosslage, the term for a large collective site in the 1971 law (which, in my view, should be abolished).

Obviously, the Wine Atlas of Germany reflects only the early phase of these funda- mental reforms. Unfortunately, much has happened in the past few years, and this is not reflected in the atlas. Thus, if you have a recent vintage of a VDP producer, the Wine Atlas of Germany is of only limited utility if you want to know more about where the wine comes from.

Should one care about the VDP classification? It is the classification of just 200 winemakers, but 20,000 or so winemakers are not members of the VDP. Yes, one should care. It is the elite of Germany (although quite a number of top winemakers are not members of the VDP). When it comes to drinking German wine outside Germany, the wine market is dominated by VDP producers. And, rightly in my view, the Wine Atlas of Germany pays a lot of attention to the VDP classification, even though it does not capture the changes of the past few years.

Finally, looking ahead, Germany is in the process of changing the wine geography further by allowing Gewann names—a subplot of a single vineyard—on the label, in response to the fact that many single vineyards established in the wine law of 1971 are of quite varying quality (i.e., heterogeneous). Many such Gewanne have already been registered, and you will see more and more of them on German wine

labels. This reform, of course, is not reflected in the Wine Atlas of Germany.

In sum, the Wine Atlas of Germany does not capture the most recent movement to a Bourgogne-type ranking of vineyards in Germany, but there is much more to the book. Overall, the Wine Atlas of Germany is a beautiful book with great maps and a lot of background information. The excellent photographs capture essential details of each region covered. Finally, German wine lovers outside Germany will be excited by the coverage of the internationally lesser-known regions, such as Baden, Württemberg, and Saxony.

Christian G.E. Schiller
International Monetary Fund (ret.) and emeritus professor, University of Mainz, Germany
Cschiller@schiller-wine.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.8

Economists have long tried to translate the concept of comparative advantage into a measurable concept: using Belassa’s revealed comparative advantage measure makes it possible to reduce the competitiveness of an industry or a country to a single number. One can even go further and establish the causes of this comparative advan- tage, for example, does it arise because of government intervention, because of market factors, or from factors on the input side or on the output side, and so forth, with techniques such as the policy analysis matrix. The problem with these approaches, however, is that in the real world industries don’t trade; firms do; and firms operate along value chains and within clusters that are as important at deter- mining competitiveness as are the attributes of the individual firm and its environ- ment. So the appropriate question is: “What makes clusters competitive?”

This is the title of a recent (2013) volume edited by Anil Hira, a political science professor at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver. The book consists of an introductory chapter (Explaining the Success of Clusters), an overview of the global wine industry, five case studies (from British Columbia in Canada, Extremadura in Spain, Chile, Bolgheri-Val Di Cornia in Italy, and from Australia), and a concluding chapter. Professor Hira is a coauthor on the first two chapters, the conclusion, and the Canadian case study. The other authors are an interesting mix of economists, agricultural economists, and management scholars.

The book uses the global wine industry as a case study of the broader question of why some “late-developing industries [are] competitive in global markets, while others fail.” It is argued that the selection of a single industry is justified because this provides a control over the many different types of support that industries receive. The cluster approach is chosen because of its ubiquity in both the literature and practice, albeit with a twist that accounts for industrial policy perspectives and innovation theory. The wine industry is chosen because it is geographically concen- trated and the quality of the product is dependent on location, and because it is a global industry “subject to continuous technological revolutions.”

The methodology employed in the book consists mainly of a comparison of the development path of different wine industries in different parts of the world. This was done within a common framework of analysis using a common survey question- naire. The framework consists of four parts. First is a Schumpeterian evolutionary framework for innovation that traces how markets change to provide new opportu- nities. The second part is based on the idea popularized by Alice Amsden among others, namely that a developmental state has the ability to select “winners” and to support them with appropriate policy instruments. Third is the notion that econ- omic wealth is highly correlated with social capital. Finally, supply chains are becoming increasingly globalized, with the result that industries can relocate far easier than in the past. This loosening of the ties between industry and the state influ- ences the efficacy of state intervention in the economy.

Chapter 2 traces the rise of the New World producers as a force in the global wine industry that started in the early 1980s, and that was accompanied by deepening glo- balization. The wine world of the 1960s was very different from that of today. In the 1970s, the world’s biggest exporter by volume was Algeria (mostly to France), and there were no New World producers among the top ten exporters. In the first eight years of the new millennium (2001–2008), the top three exporters were Italy, France, and Spain, but now five of the top ten were New World producers (Australia, Chile, the United States, South Africa, and Argentina). The authors also provide evidence of the improvement in quality of these wines. The key role played by institutions responsible for technology development and transfer in the New World countries is highlighted. These two chapters plus the British Columbia case study make up half the book.

The case studies provide some interesting insights into what works well and what works less well. These “lessons” are summarized in the final chapter, which addresses the three questions that the book itself asks, namely, what explains the success of clusters, what are the sources of adaptability to market changes, and what tools and metrics are available to reduce transaction costs? The editor was very brave to include the first two (British Columbia [BC] in Canada and Extremadura), because in both cases the conclusion is that there is little evidence of a cluster, although the BC case may be a “proto-cluster,” while in Extremadura the negative role played by the state is explicitly highlighted. Brave, but not foolish: both these case studies provide rich texture to the conceptual framework used in the book.

The fourth case study (Bolgheri–Val Di Cornia in Tuscany) also highlights the negative role played by the state, although in this case there is solid evidence of a cluster that was able to build competitiveness up to the early part of the new millen- nium (the authors are less sanguine about the post–Great Recession prospects). The reason for the earlier success, they argue, has to be found in the role of firm-level entrepreneurship, with specific firms being responsible for introducing and diffusing new technologies throughout the region.

The Australian and Chilean case studies are more straightforward, given that their high degree of competitiveness is a fact of life. In this regard, industries around the globe learned from one another and built competitiveness through alliances among the state, industry, and private firms. Notwithstanding this success, however, the Australian case study goes further and shows how country competitiveness, built in the Australian case on dominance by global wine corporations, has been eroded everywhere, as it has become increasingly difficult to differentiate product that is transported around the world and sold in bulk, most often at steep discounts in supermarkets. So these two chapters reopen the questions posed at the beginning of the book: how do “traditional producers who created authentic wines with their own stories and identities, wines that could be traced back to a starting point and unveil their own histories” become and remain competitive in the new globalized wine market? This is a brave question, and one hopes that Professor Hira will turn his attention in that direction in the future.

Nick Vink
University of Stellenbosch
nv@sun.ac.za
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.7
Reference
Balassa, B. (1965). Trade liberalization and revealed comparative advantage. The Manchester School, 33, 99–123.

Great wine books, like great vintages, are often more hyperbole than reality. In fact, they are both rare. Charles Ludington’s 2013 book, The Politics of Wine in Britain: A New Cultural History, is unlike anything that has come before it in its depth of research and its particular focus. At the risk of taking the analogy too far, Ludington has written a wine book for the ages.

The Politics of Wine in Britain analyzes what is arguably the most significant era in the history of wine, though in a locale that may surprise us: England. Using the years 1649 and 1862 as his bookends (weighty years in global wine history, as it turns out), Ludington bucks the trend of ascribing taste making to growers and distributors of wine. Instead, he hounds Britain’s politicos and consuming elite through an impress- ive array of sources to trace the changing nature of taste (as in a taste for something). In addition to turning his gaze on the consumer, Ludington is at pains to show that changes in tastes were not driven by the palate or liver but, rather, reflected and con- stituted political power and legitimacy. Though not without flaws, The Politics of Wine in Britain challenges our understanding of vinous history and destabilizes our assumptions about politics and power in the early modern wine trade.

As any historian of Europe knows, early modern Britain was greater than the sum of its parts. The exclusive focus on England, and then Great Britain after 1707, is not the limitation that it may appear. Ludington’s wine men are traders, consumers, and politicians in what was becoming the world’s premier economic and imperial power. If “wine was integral to British political culture,” as Ludington claims, then we may justifiably ponder the extent of the wine trade’s impact on industrialization, the spread of liberal capitalism, and even imperialism. Although Ludington is not inter- ested in pursuing his argument this far, he dexterously shows that politics created the public’s taste for wine. In doing so, Ludington challenges existing arguments of wine scholars, including those who ultimately suggest a similar politically laden relation- ship between taste and wine.

The Politics of Wine in Britain is divided into four sections, each of which is thorough enough to warrant its own book. Part I, titled the “Politicization of Wine,” grounds the story in the heady days of the mid-seventeenth century during the Anglo-Dutch Wars, the rising tides of Francophilia and Francophobia, and the critical need to import wine for both tippling and taxing. Against the wishes of the king, Charles II, the House of Commons viewed French wine, particularly the popular claret (Bordeaux), with increasing suspicion. Wine had become a poli- ticized tool in the disputes between Tories and Whigs—the former associating claret with aristocratic wealth and a strong monarchy and the latter launching accu- sations that importing claret benefited France at the expense of England and that it led to effeminizing, immoral, and childlike drunkenness.

Ludington takes an important stand against the accepted historiography here. An English embargo on French goods during the Nine Years’ War (1689–1697) and a series of tariff hikes on French wine in the second half of the seventeenth century undermined claret’s leading position in the English market. Wines from Spain and Portugal would concomitantly replace claret as the Englishman’s “common draught” by 1700. In other words, claret’s decline and port’s rise in the English market actually preceded the 1703 Methuen treaty, long thought to be the exclusive factor in determining this monumental shift in English drinking habits. In addition, Ludington shows with an impressive range of statistical and anecdotal data how the embargoes and tariffs imposed on claret gave way to fraudulent trade and false declarations. Despite the increasing relevance of Iberian wines and the difficulty in importing French wine legally, the English (even Whig) love for claret did not fade. The politicization of claret around 1700 did not end in England. Scottish par- liamentarians irked their English counterparts by continuing to import claret, their preferred drink anyway. The Wine Act of 1703, which permitted the landing of French wine at Scottish ports (a thinly veiled snub against the English), and the Union of 1707, which joined the kingdoms of England and Scotland, were both cut from the same political cloth. Claret’s symbolism in Scotland as a drink with which to flout the English had been established.

Wrangling between Tories and Whigs over foreign policy did not conceal the fact that wine from somewhere was necessary for Britain’s elite and middling sorts (p. 61). Parts II and III recount the sensational eighteenth-century port revolution in Britain, a revolution embedded within the turbulent political economy of early modern Atlantic trade. Ludington’s descriptions of the era’s complications are engaging, but few are more exasperating than the writings of Robinson Crusoe author Daniel Defoe. Defoe was indecisive, first arguing for the greater importation of port because of the Portuguese willingness to purchase English manufactures, then for a loosened trade with France, not least because—as Ludington points out on multiple occasions—even political opponents of France generally preferred French wine.

For the men involved in these debates, both claret and port became usable political symbols. Over time, claret secured its reputation as the drink of the rich and fashion- able while port solidified its association with the middle classes. Ludington is at his best when he ventures beyond the political to decipher societal pretensions and beha- viors. Claret, we learn, was intimately bound with eighteenth-century conceptions of politeness and the emergence of wine connoisseurship—meaning the discourse of tasting and describing. In some sense, good taste replaced aristocratic lineage as a rationale for political legitimacy. In Scotland, claret remained a “common” drink longer than it did in England. In fact, Scottish masculinity, particularly in the face of English oppression, was tied to its consumption. In the words of John Home (1722–1808), a Scottish poet and Presbyterian minister: “Firm and erect the Caledonian Stood/Old was his mutton and his claret good” (p. 117).

In contrast to claret, port developed as a drink for the “middle ranks,” though Ludington is clever enough not to reduce its ascension to purely economic phenom- ena. While the terms of the Methuen treaty kept tariffs on French wine higher than those on Portuguese wine, this is not enough to explain why port (of all Portuguese wines) rose to the fore nor is it enough to explain why port became the patriotic drink par excellence for the English tavern man. To understand this, we must, as Ludington suggests, consider port’s favorable price vis-à-vis claret, its ready availability, and its strength (i.e., alcohol content). Ludington also considers the technological innovations and natural limitations of the Douro Valley to help explain port’s success (most readers of this journal will know that port is not an ordinary red wine).

By the 1780s, port had experienced a kind of social ascendency in England. Whereas it had previously been the favored drink of the “middle ranks,” it was now, legitimately, the “Englishman’s wine” (p. 145). Consumers had benefited from improvements in port production and in wine quality generally, including the invention of the wine bottle. The qualitative improvement in port wine coincided with the elite’s need to fend off accusations of effeminate and, worse still, “French” behaviors. Robust port wine proved the ideal elixir. At the same time, port had overtaken claret as the preferred wine of most Scots. While port’s incursion into Scotland hinged on many of the same reasons that had allowed it to rise to pro- minence in England, we must also consider the presence of Scots in the port trade (notably the Sandeman brothers) and the consolidating impact on British identity by eighteenth-century wars. Nevertheless, Ludington stresses that the Scottish turn toward port was part and parcel of the broader creation of British identity, a process that evolved slowly and steadily, not suddenly.

In Part IV, titled “Drunkenness, Sobriety, and Civilization?,” Ludington pushes his examination into the nineteenth century. By addressing intoxication in the late Georgian era, Ludington convinces the reader that this overlooked period (nestled between the rambunctious eighteenth century and the Victorian era) was not a “valley of sobriety between two mountains of crapulence,” as is often inferred (p. 189). Ludington leaves no doubt about social drinking and its association with the “warrior masculinity” of the late Georgian era (p. 191), an ideal cherished by both the elite and middle strata. In a welcome respite from the male drunkenness that Ludington scrupulously analyzes, we also learn of the increasing popularity of sherry in England, particularly among women, in the first half of the nineteenth century.

Although the book has no formal conclusion—an unfortunate weakness—the final chapter of Part IV serves as the story’s finale. In a radical reversal of the pre- vious two centuries’ policies, British parliamentarians decided once again to coddle French imports, including wine. However, a change in policy did not necess- arily give way to the anticipated changes in behavior, as drinkers across the social spectrum clung to their stubborn consumption patterns. The nineteenth-century “wine debate,” as it was known, pitted those who supported a reduction in wine tariffs against those who were worried that such a reduction would negatively affect government revenue. While the tariff legislation of 1860–1862 helped catalyze French wine imports, it hardly ruined the trade in port and sherry, as some suggested at the time. Beyond the reduction in price, French wine had regained favor because its noble pedigree was beneficial in an era dominated by a hybrid of new and old money, commercial wealth and landed wealth, Victorian temperance, and free (or freer) trade.

It is a pity that Ludington does not analyze the drinking habits of Britain’s lower social strata, as this would greatly enhance (or perhaps work against) his claims about politics and taste. There is also, somewhat surprisingly, an inadequate discus- sion of the robust historiography of consumption. These two shortfalls leave the casual reader with three false impressions: (1) the lower classes did not consume alcohol; (2) wine was certainly more ubiquitous than gin and beer; and (3) that con- suming alcohol was only a political decision (i.e., Britain had a society without alco- holics). These are relatively minor flaws in a book that delivers so much.

In addition to the book’s 30-plus figures, photographs, and reproductions from primary sources, there are more than 40 tables and graphs. An appendix traces English duties on foreign wine from the 1660s to the 1860s, including those placed on Rhenish and Cape wines. Ludington is competent enough to draw from a number of historical subdisciplines, including economic history, but it is the broad range of his analytical view as well as the impressive breadth and depth of research that make The Politics of Wine in Britain such an important contribution to the lit- erature on early modern England, gender and alcohol, political economy, and, of course, the history of wine.

Kevin D. Goldberg
Kennesaw State University
kgoldbel@kennesaw.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.6

This remarkable book represents a lifetime of work for Hudson Cattell, its author. Now 83 years old, he has been around the wines of the Eastern United States long enough to have personally known and photographed (he receives the credit for many of the photos in the book), the characters who were instrumental in the slow rebirth of the Eastern wine industry at the end of Prohibition. Despite the rebirth’s origins in the work of Konstantin Frank and Philip Wagner, the movement began to reach critical mass only in the past decade. As Cattell shows, from 1975 to 1995 the total number of wineries in the East grew from about 200 to 600. By 2005, however, there were over 1,200 Eastern wineries, and by 2011 there were nearly 3,000. These numbers trace a growth curve that has not yet reached its inflection point. To put things in perspective, California has around 3,500 wineries, and Washington and Oregon combined have about 1,200. The largest Eastern producer state is New York, with 320 wineries, but Virginia is not far behind, with 223. Believe it or not, at last count Nebraska and Kansas each had 29 wineries, and an exper- imental hybrid grape (a cross between riparia and tempranillo) called Temparia had been developed and successfully grown in Nebraska.1

Cattell begins his story with chapters on Frank and Wagner, who clearly had different views of how progress in the creation of Eastern wines would evolve. Konstantin Frank believed that Americans should plant vinifera grapes, the source of the dry table wines of Europe. As Cattell explains, Frank, an agricultural scientist who immigrated from Ukraine and landed in upstate New York, had worked with vinifera in his home country. He was convinced that these grapes could be grown in the East despite the harsh winters, which killed so many vines. There was a reason for this belief—Frank had invented plows with which to bury and uncover the Ukrainian vinifera vines that he had successfully grown in the harsh winters of his home country!

Frank, a respected agricultural scientist in Ukraine, has a remarkable back story. Prior to immigrating to the United States, he had earned a PhD in viticulture with a dissertation titled “Protection of Grapes from Freezing Damage.” He arrived in New York City without speaking a word of English and settled into a job as a dish- washer at Horn & Hardart’s Automat in 1951. By 1952 he had moved to Geneva, New York, where he worked for $1.00 an hour with the extension service, doing what he later euphemistically described as “hoeing blueberries.” By all accounts an extre- mely difficult man to deal with (as a personal note, I met him once and I endorse this view), he was a passionate advocate for vinifera varietals and an equally passionate critic of all other varietals.2

Wagner had a different view. A professional journalist, whose diaries are a key source for Cattell, Wagner was a champion for a broader selection of grape varieties. Wagner’s view was also based on his own experiences. He had begun making wine in 1931, during Prohibition, from grapes he had purchased in Baltimore.3 His experi- ences making wine led, in 1933, to the publication of his American Wines and How to Make Them, establishing him as an authority on the topic. Wagner liked some of the wines he made from French and American hybrid grapes, so he did not have the bias common among wine consumers today. Moreover, his attempts to grow vinifera in Maryland were mostly unsuccessful. Wagner became a primary advocate for hybrid grapes and ran a commercial nursery from which cuttings could be purchased.4

With this tension over what types of wines will dominate remaining in the back- ground, Cattell next plots the history of Eastern North American wine develop- ments. Cattell’s definition of his subject is broad, but not all inclusive. He is interested mainly in developments in North America east of the Missouri/ Mississippi Rivers, but with Kansas and Nebraska added. He includes Ontario and the Eastern Canadian provinces in his purview of North America.

Cattell’s discussion of the historical progression of Eastern wine falls naturally into two periods: before and after the widespread adoption of “farm winery laws” by the various Eastern states. The period before adoption of the “farm winery law” includes a discussion of the large-scale wineries such as Bright’s of Ontario and Canandaigua of the Finger Lakes region in upstate New York —which have now coalesced into the massive Constellation Brands.

But the most interesting developments have been associated with “farm winery” legislation. These laws, passed in many Eastern states in the 1970s and 1980s, were a form of deregulation that followed nearly 40 years of the stifling legislation that followed Prohibition. Parallel with this movement was the passage of the North American Free Trade Act (NAFTA), which led Ontario wine production to focus on much higher-quality (and higher-priced) wines. Cattell’s discussion of NAFTA’s effect on Ontario wines is especially interesting, as it shows how the Ontario provincial government attempted to facilitate adjustment to the Act—a lesson from which many U.S. states could learn a great deal.

One of the many attractive features of Cattell’s book, which really does justify its subtitle as a “desk reference,” is the set of appendixes included. These, and an exten- sive bibliography, make up nearly one-third of the book. Included are a list of Eastern American Viticultural Areas (67 and growing) and a list of the grapes most commonly grown in the East. They include the “bunch grapes,” vinifera, and native American varieties, but also the muscadines, which grow more in a format reminiscent of cherries, and are native to the Southeast. The list of hybrid grapes includes those from both U.S. and foreign breeding programs. I found especially interesting the list of American-produced hybrids (I counted 50, including 11 from Wisconsin—where cold heartiness is an issue—and 4 from Florida—where resist- ance to Pierce’s disease is an issue.) But my favorite is the 37-page Appendix E, which provides a brief history of wine developments in each state, starting with Alabama and ending with Wisconsin. Many of these little mini-histories tell unique, almost hard to believe, stories.

Arkansas, for example, had a history before Prohibition of grape growing and winemaking due mainly to several immigrants of Swiss origin who settled near Altus.5 With this infrastructure in place, Prohibition, and the legality of home wine- making, led grape production to increase from about 1,200 tons in 1920 to nearly 8,000 tons (or the equivalent of about 6 million bottles of wine!) in 1930. Indeed, the surplus of grapes at the end of Prohibition led the Arkansas legislature to encou- rage the growth of wineries to use them. Ultimately over 100 Arkansas wineries emerged in the 1930s, creating a backlash that drove many counties to vote in favor of keeping their locales “dry.” It was not until the 1960s that some of this legislation was revised, although as the Post Familie Vineyards website explains, “We

currently aren’t allowed to directly ship to anyone in our own state!”6

The rest of the book is divided into chapters that trace the details of the industry’s development up to the present. These include a discussion of the viticultural research undertaken to find grape types adaptable to the varied growing conditions of the het- erogeneous Eastern states, the development of wine trails, wine festivals, and other marketing devices, and the advent of publications and associations aimed at Eastern producers. In some ways, the various states act as laboratories for exper- imentation, and I think wine producers in fledgling wine regions would do well to learn from the lessons Cattell recounts that came from other, more highly developed, regions. One recurring issue is the web of state legislation that continues to act as a regulatory brake on viticultural development and winemaking.

One refreshing aspect of this book is its nonjudgmental character. The flavor profiles and price points of many wines made from hybrid or muscadine varietals appeal to some consumers, and Cattell does not take them to task for their prefer- ences. No doubt these wines will not be showcased in the Wine Advocate (now owned by a Singapore syndicate) or the Wine Spectator (owned by Shanken Communications, along with WhiskeyAdvocate.com and Cigar Aficionado), but those who consume them are not likely to care.

But Cattell’s nonjudgmental approach is also a weakness because it offers him no way to discuss the quality of the Eastern wines he describes. There is no doubt that some of the Eastern wine producers are making great progress and, as a result, can command premium prices for their wines. And there are no doubt many other Eastern wineries whose wines, still undiscovered, represent especially good value. However, you will not learn much about this aspect of the story from Wines of Eastern North America.

1 Cuthills Vineyards in Pierce, Nebraska sells this wine for $26.00 a bottle. See www.cuthills.com, downloaded February 16, 2015. It is apparent that many of these wineries are com- manding premium prices for their finest wines.

2 Frank’s winery still exists and, based on its web site, continues to sell wines made only from vinifera grapes. See www.drfrankwines.com, downloaded 2/17/2015. Dr. Frank’s 2010 Meritage red wine sells for $49.99.

3 Although apparently not well known to anyone but wine historians, wine making was perfectly legal (up to 100 gallons per family member per year) during Prohibition—indeed, Prohibition led to a boom in grape growing in many Eastern states, as well as California. Home wine making was not only legal, it flourished, while commercial wineries were mainly (religious exceptions existed) illegal.

4 Wagner and his wife started Boordy Vineyards, which still survives in Baltimore Country, Maryland, and, based on its web site, appears to now sell primarily wines made from vinifera grapes . See www.boordy.com, downloaded 2-17-2015. Boordy’s Landmark Reserve 2012, made entirely from vinifera grapes, sells for $45.00.

5 Both Wiederkehr Wine Cellars, http://www.wiederkehrwines.com/, and Post Familie Vineyards, www.postfamilie.com, still survive in Arkansas.

Orley C. Ashenfelter
Princeton University
c6789@princeton.edu 
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.5

Once upon a time there was an Italian king of wines, known also as the wine of Italian kings. It was called Barolo, and it survived in the same form for a century or more. Then, only three decades ago, there was a revolution. Unlike other revolu- tions, this one did not aim to dethrone the king. Instead, the revolutionaries wanted to promote the king but put him in modern dress. 

The Barolo Boys tells the story of this group of wine revolutionaries. In the 1980s, a group of young winegrowers and winemakers started to introduce new techniques to the Barolo region that were drawn mainly from France. The story begins with a young winemaker, Elio Altare, who visited Burgundy and found himself comparing the financial wealth of French vignerons to the misery of the Barolo producers. He concluded that the reason for the misery was that Barolo wines did not satisfy modern palates and were poorly promoted. As a result, a small group of young wine- makers started to experiment. They aged their wines in barriques instead of the tra- ditional casks, and they changed their vineyard practices to emphasize ripe fruit.

The new wines were a huge success among critics and consumers, and they were pro- moted widely. But these new Barolos also inspired a passionate controversy, and a “Barolo war” started. The “traditionalists” defended the old ways of making wine and stressed the typicality of Barolo, refusing to make a wine in the new “inter- national” style. The “innovators” claimed that they had amended the flaws of the old way of making wine and that the new wines better matched modern consumers’ tastes.

The controversy was also a generational conflict. In one dramatic episode of the story, Elio Altare used a chainsaw to destroy the big old casks in his family’s cellar, which led his father to disinherit him, convinced that the young Elio had lost his sanity. Also linked to the generational divide was the collaborative spirit of the group of “revolutionaries,” who collectively shared the results of their experiments in the cellar and vineyard. This collaboration accelerated the progress for the revolu- tionaries, but it was something simply inconceivable among the old winemakers, who remained jealous of their techniques and suspicious of their competitors.

The film focuses on the human side of the revolution and on its economic and social consequences. The interviews with the protagonists (Elio Altare, Chiara Boschis, Marco de Grazia, Giorgio Rivetti, and Roberto Voerzio) and Carlo Petrini, founder and president of the Slow Food movement, are punctuated by clips filmed using Super 8 cameras and by scenes of a local brass band marching and playing in the lovely vineyard landscapes of Langhe. Though it leans on the side of the innovators, the film also presents the arguments of the traditionalists. The film does a good job of capturing the protagonists in revealing moments. And you meet some fascinating characters, such as an unforgettable old worker—a perfect example of the old mentality—grumbling because he is ordered to prune imperfect bunches, which he clearly considers an inexcusable waste of grapes. The film provides a vivid picture of the rise of the movement, the controversy, and the passion of the protagonists. But it also becomes apparent that the cohesion of the group today is not what it once was and that the “revolutionaries” experience some nostalgia as they recall their “heroic times,” as in the film The Big Chill.

If you appreciate human interest stories, you will enjoy this film, as did I. And if you do not know anything about the story, you will find it a good starting point. If, instead, you are looking for more technical information, this film might leave you unsatisfied. One unanswered question is: of what did the “revolution” actually consist? Though the use of barriques was at the core of the controversy, the “revolu- tion” comprised many other technical changes that are not discussed in the film. These changes in the vineyard and in winemaking technology included everything from thinning the grape clusters to reducing the time of fermentation. The innova- tors were looking for wines that required a shorter aging period (which provided an obvious economic advantage), had more color, and had a taste more in line with the international standards promoted by Robert Parker. Some innovations, like dropping grape clusters, were also widely adopted by traditionalists, and, in general, the movement led to a greater focus on technical progress and on quality throughout the Barolo region. In the end, the traditionalists settled into a sort of peaceful coexistence with the revolutionaries, and both benefited from the increased media attention and tourism. Though there are some hints about these issues in the film, they are not fully developed.

From an economist’s perspective, this film raises some interesting questions. First, why did only some of the winemakers follow the new movement? Negro et al. (2007) have documented how the shift to modernism paid off in terms of both ratings from the critics and wine prices. The second and related question is: why was there such a passionate fight between traditionalists and modernists? After all, they could each make and sell their wines the way they liked and still find consumers. I have two hypotheses to offer. The first is that both parties believed that the existence of the other producers acted as a negative externality, threatening the reputation of their business. This was probably truer for the traditionalists, who considered the typical- ity and the link to traditions and to the terroir as important assets. The second expla- nation concerns the nonpecuniary benefits from wine production. It is evident from the film that winemakers (from both groups) were interested in more than just the income from their activity. Much more was at stake: prestige, acceptance, and recog- nition, all of which had a social dimension. Nonpecuniary issues are often disre- garded in economic analyses, and, I suspect, they are particularly relevant in the wine industry, especially for the highest-quality segment, in which creativity is crucial. Perhaps these considerations lead winemakers to disregard the motto of modern management schools: “be market oriented, not product-oriented.”

Finally, as a personal note, I was delighted by a tale told by Elio Altare at a showing of the film that I attended. Altare related that the much-admired Bartolo Mascarello,1 who was a leader of the traditionalists, had told him: “Look, you use barriques and you must go on doing so. You know that I’ll never use barriques. But eventually, the result will be that those who buy six bottles from you will also buy six bottles from me, and vice versa.” What a fine statement of the rationality of exploiting the segmentation of consumers’ tastes and their search for variety!

1 Mascarello passed away about ten years ago. He was a famed anti-Nazi partisan during World War II, a friend of philosophers and writers, a leader of the traditionalists, and a great personality. He drew his own labels, two of which exclaimed: “Barricades, not barriques,”
and “No barriques, no Berlusconi.”

Reference
Negro, G., Hannan, M.T., Rao, H., and Leung, M.D. (2007). No barrique, no Berlusconi: Collective identity, contention, and authenticity in the making of Barolo and Barbaresco wines. Stanford University Graduate School of Business Research Paper No. 1972, available at http://papers.ssrn.com

Alessandro Corsi
University of Turin (Italian Università degli Studi di Torino), Italy
alessandro.corsi@unito.it 
doi:10.1017/jwe.2015.4

It is a very catchy title that makes you anticipate fabulous revelations, great secrets, and the solution to all the problems that may arise from bibulousness . If this is not quite the case, it is perhaps less the fault of the author than of the episodic nature of the subject matter. As the title promises, much of this volume deals with “extreme” wines or “extreme” aspects of wine, and it is not a priori clear what the best organiz- ing principle might be for an approach like this. In any event, the discussion contains many interesting and some amusing factoids―I use the term to indicate that many of the assertions in the book rest on hearsay rather than on statistical evidence and that the provenance of the alleged facts is sometimes uncertain. But the author clearly intended to write not a scholarly book but one that would inform and, at the same time, entertain, which it does quite well.

The book reads a little bit like the author’s blog on wine available at www.wine economist.com: it is chock- full of facts, some well-known and some not at all, occasionally amusing, but somewhat disorganized, and for a reader who is well versed in the tasting and the lore of wine, it is like a bunch of extra shakers of various spices to add to your meal so that you enjoy it more. It is interesting that the author insists, more than once in the book, that he does not make a habit of rating or recommending wines; this admirable self-restraint might well be practiced by other wine experts. So what is the ultimate aim of the book? This question is best answered in the author’s own words:

A lot of The wine economist’s are searching for the wine world’s outer limits: “What is the best wine?” They ask. The best wine value? The best wine brand? The best wine magazine? … Implicit in these queries, I think, is a certain anxiety. There are lots of wines out there and con- sumers are worried that they are choosing poorly, paying too much, or getting advice from biased or incompetent wine gurus. (pp. 11–12)

We are, in fact, treated to a discussion of the worst wines, as well as some of the best, in the context of ratings by Parker, Tanzer, and Jancis Robinson, closely followed by a discussion of the most famous, including the famous 1855 classification that elevated the “gang of four” (Veseth’s term) to exalted status. This is followed by some well-known examples of horrors, such as the Austrian antifreeze episode and the case of Thomas Jefferson’s 1787 Château Lafite. The oldest wines commercially available are Madeiras at the Herbfarm: www.theherbfarm.com
See, for example, the 1795 Companhia Vinicola do Madeira, Terrantez, which sells for $10,000 a bottle. I should add that there is a nice discussion of Malbec wines, marred only by the absurd assertion that “most economists are more comfor- table with theories than with facts.”

Quite logically, we proceed to a discussion of the most expensive wines, with special attention paid to the very special year 2009. A nice discussion of the Australian wine industry, with its booms and busts, is followed by historical remarks about the effects of Prohibition in the United States. We then turn to “extreme wine geeks” (Allen Meadows), “extreme wine importers” (Bobby Kacher), and many, many important people in the wine industry (James and David Lett, Drouhin, Mondavi, Catena, Angelo Gaja, Giuseppe Bologna and many others). Celebrity wines are discussed next, together with the myths surrounding them (that they are an American phenomenon, that they are bad, and that they are bad for the business). Yao Ming and Chinese wines are introduced, as is the “godfather” of California wine, Gustave Neibaum, leading to Inglenook and Francis Coppola. The author rightly bemoans the scarcity of good “wine movies.” New wine regions are discussed—mostly Brazil, China, India, and Russia, the last of which is bad, bad, bad, at least at the present time. There is a mention of the “Judgment of Princeton” in 2012, in which “wines from New Jersey report- edly bested both California and the French.” More accurately, the Judgment of Princeton pitted New Jersey wines against French wines only, and it would be an exaggeration to say that the New Jersey wines bested the French; rather, we could say that New Jersey per- formed to their credit. There are also some truly zany allegations in the book, although it is not clear how much the author believes them, such as the claim that wine tastes different depending on the type of music that is played in the background.

Much of this is amusing and informative. My guess is that it will make the neo- phyte reader eager for more and will enable the expert reader to fill gaps in his or her knowledge and understanding of wine.

Richard E. Quandt
Princeton University
metrics@quandt.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2014.36

1959 Steinberger Trockenbeerenauslese with the rich, intensely fruity bouquet burst onto my palate with remarkable flavors, as if I were biting into a perfectly ripe, honeyed apricot. It lingered with a depth of finish that I had never before experi- enced, as my contemporaneous notes recount. This nectar concluded a tasting of aged clarets that I hosted on May 22, 1977, to celebrate the completion of my doc- toral studies. My gourmet group’s practice was to serve an Auslese when one was awarded a bachelor’s degree and a Beerenauslese after earning a master’s degree. During the 1970s, we had tasted several other bottlings from the Steinberg vineyard near Hattenheim, my notes on which are among the most effusive. This is not surprising, since the wines from that vineyard were called “the kings of the Rheingau” by Frank Schoonmaker in his classic The Wines of Germany.

My, how the world, or “Planet Riesling,” as Stuart Pigott prefers to call it, has changed. In his essential and exuberant paean to the best white wine on earth, he chronicles the past quarter-century’s remarkable evolution of “my favorite grape,” as he frequently refers to Riesling, without any color distinction. This hymn of praise, however, is not written in iambic pentameter. Instead, it reflects his penchant for gonzo journalism, which “is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first-person narrative” (www.wikipedia.org). As an homage to Pigott and his influences, Hunter S. Thompson and Tom Wolfe, I have adopted the same style for this critique. After all, what is good enough for the author should be good enough for the reviewer.

Pigott is all over the place in the narrative and illustrations. He coins his own termi- nology. The global network of wine professionals around new Rieslings is “Planet Riesling” (p. 13). He refers to “Blade Runner steeliness” (p. 17), then uses the term to designate a separate category of Rieslings distinct from the more common dry, medium dry, medium sweet, and sweet. Inexplicable and inappropriate selfies appear in a couple of places (pp. 13 and 189). Tales of his personal encounters with many of the most noteworthy producers around the globe comprise most of the text.

It is with respect to this trip around the new world of Riesling that the book is most valuable. After introductory chapters that briefly present the history of the grape and describe the various styles of wines made from it, the tour begins in the wine lakes of the Northeast. I have limited experience with the products of New York’s Finger Lakes (or FLX, as Pigott prefers to call it), a region that I visited only once, so it was nice to learn that Dr. Frank and Hermann Wiemer, while both still significant producers of fine Riesling, weren’t the only ones in town. The discussion of the recent development of the wine industries in Ontario and Michigan made for good reading.

We next head to the West Coast. California, of course, is prominently mentioned, but Oregon merits an insightful discussion. While Pinot reigns supreme, especially in my home region, the Willamette Valley, Riesling has almost as long a history, with the first vines of it planted over 40 years ago. Some of my favorite producers, Chehalem Winery and Brooks Winery, are among those singled out. I have also had remarkable examples made from grapes grown in the Maresh Vineyard in the Dundee Hills American Viticultural Area (AVA) and Hyland Vineyard in the McMinnville AVA, both among the oldest in the area.

While in the West, Washington State’s Château Ste. Michelle, “the world’s biggest producer of Riesling and the most consistent of those producing Riesling on this grand scale” (p. 76), is an obvious stop. Canada’s Okanagan Valley in British Columbia is home to a handful of producers whose individual approaches led Pigott to observe that “Okanagan Riesling really can’t be reduced to a simple formula” (p. 82).

I have marveled at Grosset Polish Hill Rieslings from the Clare Valley in South Australia the couple of times that I have had them. This winery is one of several that Pigott takes us to in Oz, as he likes to call it. So busy was I sampling just about every other varietal, I don’t recall tasting any Rieslings during my extensive tour of New Zealand wineries in 2004. As I learned in the book, the distinguished efforts of a handful of winemakers are eclipsed by the attention lavished on Sauvignon Blanc.

Austria merits its own chapter, with extensive discussions of the areas around the Danube. In the land better known for Grüner Veltliner, Riesling “has gone from being a specialty to one of the most important white grapes for quality wine in Austria during the last generation” (p. 116). The wines tend to be fuller-bodied, with a higher alcohol content than many wines from Germany.

We finally arrive in the land of the Rhine and its tributaries, the home of the Riesling grape. The chapter begins with a statement that made me aware of my age: “Riesling, and particularly German Riesling, has long suffered from the image of being old-fashioned” (p. 129) and invariably sweet. During the same period I savored the Steinbergers, I consumed many crisp Kabinetts, intriguing Spätlesen, glorious Auslesen, and, on the rarest occasions, luscious Beerenauslesen from some of the finest producers, several of whom I visited on a trip to Germany in 1978. Along with Burgundies and clarets, these superb German Rieslings set the hook, as it were, and committed me to a lifelong love of wine. They may be seen as old-fashioned, but to me they were revelations.

After a quick history that explains some of the basis for that reputation, Pigott turns his attention to what has been happening lately not only among many of the outstanding winemakers I came to appreciate but also among the new breed known as Jungwinzer, “a word that now doesn’t only mean young winemakers but also implies talent, creativity, and coolness” (p. 130). Alsatian Rieslings, in my experience among the driest and most versatile on the table, are covered in the same chapter as the Germans because the region is on the French Rhine.

The penultimate chapter covers Riesling Lone Rangers, in countries where the grape is grown but has not gained prominence. Efforts in Eastern Europe, Italy, South America, and South Africa are lightly touched upon.

“The Stuart Pigott Riesling Global 100” concludes the exposition. While Steinberger is nowhere to be found, there is an oblique reference to it in a discussion of Kloster Eberbach, the monastery where the wines are made (p. 134), and several of my old and new friends make his list. For those he highlights that are not familiar to me, having this calibration suggests new things to try.

Wine economists should be amused by the 1949 wine list from Houston’s Shamrock Hotel listing higher prices for Rhine and Moselle wines than for most clarets. Sidebars throughout the text offer “Crazy Riesling Stats” galore.

Although this volume is the best contemporary account of the state of Riesling that I know of, it is not without some distractions. There are several instances of poor editing, including typos and spelling errors. I also wish that the book had a glossary and more extensive indexing to facilitate searching for terms. Instead of maps of pro- minent Riesling growing areas and pictures of labels (beyond those on p. 148), there is an inordinate number of photos of winemakers and others in the trade. Most of the pictures of vineyards are a welcome break from the densely worded two-column pages, but I find some, like the one spanning pages 182 and 183, uninspiring.

These defects aside, I know of no other writer who is more qualified to extol the virtues of this most important varietal. Pigott summarizes his case for his favorite grape: “the entire point of Riesling is the wines’ diversity, and as long as they are well made, this diversity is enriching” (p. 162). The book provides ample evidence of this point and thus merits consideration by oenophiles of every degree of experience.

Whereas Pigott makes his preference crystal clear, I am still occasionally conflicted as to which is the greater grape, Riesling or Pinot Noir. A brief conversation at the 2014 Passport to Pinot with Wynne Peterson-Nedry of Chehalem, a noted producer of marvelous wines from both, may eventually sway me in Pigott’s direction. If we use the desert island test, she pointed out, Riesling would be more appropriate to accompany what we are likely to eat. Hmmm. A compelling argument, but I think I’ll continue to study the question.

1 Mark Heil received his Ph.D. in 1997 from American University in Washington, DC where he still lives and tends a home microvineyard. The views expressed in this review are those of the reviewer and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Department of the Treasury.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2014.35

Of the numerous wine books published in the past decade, to my knowledge, this is the first that provides genuine insight on firm-level decision making across several parts of the industry. It includes thirteen case studies of businesses around the globe from Argentina to New Zealand. The case-study format lends itself well to drilling down beyond the usual reporting on industry trends or superficial snapshots of firms and yields a rich and varied body of work that is sure to benefit industry analysts, practitioners, and students.

A major intended audience appears to be students—perhaps graduate or executive program participants—who seek careers in the wine industry or business consulting. Indeed, each case study includes a set of questions, which ask the reader to assess some key issues and tradeoffs presented in the study and offer recommendations based on the evidence. An “Author’s Perspective” section provides the authors’ views on the same issues.

The book also will be a useful resource for the industry analyst who has a strong grasp of national or regional industry trends but lacks the market participant’s ground-level insight. For instance, sometimes a sweeping market force and associ- ated decision is faced by virtually all firms at once, and therefore its effect can be aggregated additively across firms to yield an industry-level impact (e.g., in the case of a new regulatory requirement or the entry of a powerful technological change). Such transformational forces tend to receive widespread attention and dis- cussion, but they are relatively rare. Far more commonly, firms and industries face more subtle or incrementally rising challenges that may or may not require an immediate, focused response. This volume sheds light on many such incremental developments that well-managed firms actively recognize and address, and poorly managed counterparts ignore at their peril.

In the context of globalization-driven transformation of virtually all aspects of the macro wine industry, it is particularly interesting to witness these impacts on firms. The insider’s view provided in this volume helps to personalize the challenges of running a business in a highly competitive industry. In fact, I recommend that anyone considering opening a wine business—perhaps lubricated by the romantic image of owning a popular winery where one seamlessly shifts roles from vineyard manager to winemaker to host whenever friends stop by to share a bottle—read and study this book carefully. It provides a clear-eyed glimpse of the range of issues and pitfalls that must be recognized, assessed, and managed all while minimizing production shortfalls and compromised staff morale.

Each case study begins by describing a challenge to a wine-related business and appropriate background information, then builds up to a set of key decisions to be made. The studies highlight analytic tools that attempt to assess the conditions objectively. For example, several chapters employ Porter’s Five Forces or SWOT (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats) analysis to clarify the issues and the potential tradeoffs.

These tools may not always generate optimal decisions, but their transparent ana- lyses support clarity of thought, particularly when the issue in question may be value laden or require questioning of deeply held beliefs. For example, one winery holds sustainable practices as a core value but must consider abandoning its carbon- neutral pledge for financial reasons, while a family-owned Bordeaux winery assesses whether to continue participating in a “Cru Bourgeois” designation program favored by its patriarch and founder.

One emerging theme is that market realities differ significantly for wineries in tra- ditional European wine production regions and those in the New World, many of which entered the industry relatively recently. The contrasts are sharp and mutually reinforcing, particularly in terms of wine production. In 2000–2005, France and Italy were the leading consumers of wine (in absolute terms) and provided large domestic markets for producers. Since then, however, the trend has changed. By 2011, con- sumption had begun to fall sharply in those countries, and growth is now centered in both the developed and developing New World, led by the United States and China (International Organization of Vine and Wine, 2012).

This dynamic alone bears strongly on producers’ strategic decisions. Faced with negative domestic consumption growth, French, Italian, and Spanish wineries have little choice but to focus on export markets if they want to grow. Generalizing broadly, the differences in average age of consumers (younger in the New World), average wealth (lower in the developing New World), and wine style preferences (fruitier, less dry in the New World) make responding to changing market opportunities a more complex endeavor than one might expect. Even the decision to consider changing at all may be an arduous one. For established Old World wineries, altering a viticulture and vinification process that has produced decades or even centuries of popular acclaim and profit might seem questionable. Yet, in a dynamic marketplace where a changing of the guard is under way, whole- sale fossilization of past practices may be the riskier route going forward, as new competitors scramble to distinguish their wines and experiment with approaches to attract consumers. The next section reviews a few of the case studies.

The case study by Sharon Forbes of Lincoln University in New Zealand analyzes the options for incorporating sustainable practices in a winery’s strategic objectives and production practices. The analysis suggests that adopting sustainable practices is a multifaceted process marked by difficult choices—it is far more than a simple “yes” or “no” proposition. Anecdotal information and promotional materials often characterize this decision as economically favorable and a marketing triumph, because sustainable practices, in addition to reducing environmental impacts, can reduce costs and appeal to socially conscious consumers. However, this case study digs deeper to consider the potential marginal costs and benefits of sustainability. It notes, for example, that the benefits for wineries of “going green” are likely dimin- ishing at the margin as the field of sustainable wineries becomes more crowded, thereby diluting the differentiation benefit. Likewise, the proliferation and professio- nalization of sustainability certification mechanisms may improve their credibility but also tend to raise compliance costs, especially with respect to labor. The winery, Huia Vineyards, elected not to renew its carbon neutrality certification after weighing the pros and cons. It was a difficult but probably an economically sound decision, and the company remains fully committed to integrating sustainability in its planning and operation.

The study of the Winzergenossenschaft Westhofen (WGW) cooperative in Germany by Marc Dressler and Anika Kost of the University of Ludwigshafen, perhaps the most informative case of the bunch, profiles proactive organizational change in the wine industry. It describes the process by which the cooperative improved its efficiency and modernized its physical equipment and business model to become a diversified enterprise that now turns a profit in a highly competitive mar- ketplace undergoing far-reaching consolidation among producers. Cooperatives, which produce one-third of German wine, play an important role in the country. The cooperative structure helps small producers to realize economies of scale and sometimes to gain leverage vis-à-vis distributors, but they are plagued by reputations for lower quality and operate with thin profit margins.

A combination of changes taking place at WGW has helped foster its current success. The new management reduced slack in the production processes in part by shedding staff across departments. It also changed the basis upon which members are paid for their bulk wine production to reflect current market prices, reducing the cooperative’s risk exposure. WGW’s improved operational logistics created additional warehouse capacity that is now rented to external clients. Similarly, outside clients have access to its production facility and laboratory and make up 80 percent of the users. It even added solar panels when repairing a roof and generates income by selling power to the energy grid. These and other developments have transformed the cooperative from a traditional wine cooperative to an enter- prise with multiple business lines and profit centers. Overall, the changes entail some risk by moving beyond the core business of wine cooperatives. The initial result appears to be favorable, but the true outcomes will not be known for some time to come, and constant reassessment and adjustments will be needed to keep the cooperative responsive to its membership’s needs and economically viable in a competitive marketplace.

After detailing and assessing the WGW’s transformation and current status, the case study turns to engaging students by challenging them to develop future options for the cooperative. It asks them to conduct a strategic review with industry assessment and SWOT analysis and then present their results to cooperative members, board members, and other stakeholders. Strategic priorities may include, for example, defining a path to increase average margins on wine sales by placing relative emphasis on increasing its premium-quality line or pursuing new export markets to establish a presence in markets where wine consumption is growing.

The study on the use of cork to enclose wine bottles offers a view from within the industry intermediate goods supply chain. Tom Takin and Duane Dove of Sonoma State University analyze how the evolution of technological options and market acceptance of new enclosures threatens the long-held dominance of cork enclosures.

The “cork debate” pits a centuries-old established product against new alternative enclosure systems touted as technically superior but less accepted by consumers. The selection of an enclosure type has become more complex with recent supply chain developments, cost differences, and, importantly, consumer reactions.

The primary factors involve relative prices of each system, the impacts of cork taint, and consumer acceptance. The interaction of these elements makes the selec- tion process challenging, as the alternatives to natural cork are now viable and gaining market share. The initial impetus toward synthetic corks and screw tops was driven largely by disruptions caused by cork taint, which was estimated to occur at a rate above 5 percent, costing the global industry billions of dollars annually in the 1990s. Synthetic corks and screw-top enclosures eliminate the taint problem.

As synthetic alternatives emerged and became increasingly accepted by wineries, the natural cork producers responded by improving their production processes and adopting stricter quality control protocols—a process that may have been facilitated by concurrent consolidation of the cork industry. The authors state that the esti- mated cork taint rate now has fallen to 1 percent, making it a far less important driver of change. So the main “push” factor may have virtually disappeared, but the “pull” factors (lower costs for cork alternatives and ease of use by consumers in the case of screw tops) still hold influence. According to the study, the main barrier to wider use of cork alternatives is limited consumer acceptance. In the United States, many consumers associate synthetic and screw-top enclosures with low quality, a condition likely colored by the long-standing use of screw tops among low-priced jug wines. Yet the market share of cork alternatives has grown quickly and now approaches one-third of the global market, so their acceptance rates vary by nation (e.g., use is much higher in the U.K.).

Given that synthetic corks and screw tops tend to cost much less than half as much as natural cork, one might expect this shift to continue. However, a couple of factors may provide resistance. First, since the newer enclosures that are impermeable to air have been on the market for a relatively brief period (apart from jug wines, which are not meant to be aged), one wonders how age-worthy wines will be affected by such enclosures (natural corks are semipermeable, permitting partial oxidation of wine over many years). I would expect that some wineries must be conducting their own experiments by enclosing identically produced and stored wines with corks and with synthetic enclosures for comparison in the future. If the long-term effect of impermeable enclosures on wine aging is found to be benign (or even favorable) compared to cork, this might resolve a key remaining uncertainty, although we may need decades before the evidence becomes clear enough to draw informed conclusions. Nonetheless, it may be unlikely that wineries will seek to enclose their super-premium age-worthy wines in anything other than natural cork, given their high margins and the long-standing precedent of sealing those bottles with cork.

Second, for some of us, the very act of removing the foil, twisting the corkscrew, popping the cork, and perhaps examining it gives simple pleasure and differentiates wine from other beverages. I’m dubious that unscrewing a twist-off cap offers the same enjoyment. Although we ultimately care most about the contents of the bottle, we see the complete process—from retrieval from the cellar to swirling in the glass—as a unified sensory experience. Hence, even a technically perfect enclo- sure would be hard-pressed to replace natural corks in the psyches of dedicated wine drinkers if it meant eliminating the ritualistic pastime of extracting a cork to reveal the elixir within.

The study on the Dominio del Plata Winery in Argentina by Javier Merino illus- trates the choppy currents that wineries must navigate in today’s globalized environ- ment. These currents include evolving market shares of wines made in the “modern” style, shifting retail channels, and the intensification of competition accompanied by strategic planning to develop competitive advantages.

The author attributes the growing preference for modern-style wines (generally, more fruit-driven, less acidic, and less tannic) over traditional European wines largely to the emergence of new, younger consumer markets and the growth of export-minded New World producers since the 1980s. If sustained, in the aggregate, this dynamic portends a future wholesale shift in consumption toward modern wines, as younger consumers replace older ones in the market. This creates a quand- ary for traditional producers, who must choose between a shrinking market share, adapting their long-held traditional wine styles, or perhaps diversifying their offer- ings to try to bridge traditional and modern styles and audiences. Of course, wine production styles and consumption preferences are far too layered and complex to be divided into two simple categories as I have described, but the description illus- trates the nature of the challenges. It is also noteworthy that the ongoing debate between globalists, who view the forces of globalization as positive influences on wine quality, price, and consumption, and terroirists, who counter that globalization is destructive of a wine’s unique characteristics that reflect the local soil, environ- ment, and culture, are absent from the discussion in this book. Perhaps this is due to the reality that wine business practitioners are deeply engaged in the many chal- lenges of their firms’ operations, leaving them little time to ponder broad philosophi- cal issues. Or it may be the case that individual winery owners have previously contemplated this divide and favor one side or the other and perhaps run their oper- ations accordingly. Although the debate provides ample fodder for wine writers and enthusiasts, admittedly, it does not lend itself to facile analysis in a business case- study format.

Merino argues the movement away from retail sales in dedicated wine shops toward more accessible locations, particularly supermarkets, has profoundly affected producers. Although greater access likely expands the potential market and boosts mass consumption, it increases the market power of the dominant retailers and exerts downward pressure on producers’ margins. Mike Veseth (2011, reviewed in the Autumn 2011 issue of this journal) supports this view in his analysis of Tesco in the U.K., Aldi in Germany, and Costco in the United States as major vendors of low-priced wines that expand accessibility and squeeze margins. Merino notes that smaller producers may respond by favoring exports to smaller markets where the large retail chains lack a strong presence. Presumably, they would be incentivized toward more direct sales to consumers as well.

The case study uses “revealed comparative advantage” scores as a tool for shed- ding light on the change in relative national shares of wine exports between 2002 and 2011. It shows that Argentina and New Zealand led the way with a more than doubling of their relative export shares while established producing countries like France, Portugal, and Spain changed little. Australian and South African scores fell substantially during the period as both lost global export shares.

Based on this analysis, the author identifies key factors influencing export com- petitiveness, such as innovation-driven low production costs, favorable exchange rates, the popularity of key varietals, and access and proximity to strong consu- mer markets. Argentina scored particularly well on these metrics during this period, as reflected by its growth in relative export shares. However, this happy convergence of forces could be easily reversed, as occurred in Australia during the 2000s.

Recall that Australian exporters were flying high in the 1990s but experienced a series of disruptions from which the Aussie wine industry is still recovering. How much of the recent success of Argentine wineries will endure? One can speculate about several potential vulnerabilities. For example, will the malbec varietal, the fea- tured red grape in Argentine wines, remain generally well-regarded by consumers or might it become somewhat passé, as did the Australian shiraz (syrah)? The high his- toric volatility in exchange rates between the Argentine peso and the U.S. dollar signals that an advantageous export environment for Argentina will not be perma- nent. National agricultural policies may bear strongly on the industry as well. Indeed, any return to the import protection and agricultural subsidy policies of the 1970s and 1980s would likely generate the same oversupply of low-quality wines in Argentina that were produced during the previous iteration.

The responses to these potential threats will likely be determined by individual wineries. The Dominio del Plata Winery launched an initiative to expand its export business as a means of increasing revenue and providing a sustainable future. It moved upmarket by creating new high-quality wine brands that target the stronger markets and generate higher margins. The strategy has paid dividends, as Dominio’s average sales price per case grew by 64 percent between 2009 and 2012. Yet, despite this success, it remains focused on ensuring that the growth remains sus- tainable. For example, Dominio regularly conducts blind tastings against higher- priced competitors to promote improvement in the ratio of price to quality, and it adds a unique touch by having its winemaker visit each sales market to create a per- sonal connection and provide a channel for collecting direct feedback. These and other measures suggest that the winery is intent on managing its future proactively to avoid repeating the missteps of other former rising stars. Time will tell whether this approach will bear fruit in terms of long-run growth and viability, but the present signs appear favorable.

For economists, the entire book offers useful nuggets on the microfactors influen- cing firm-level decisions within the wine industry. Some of the cost analyses provided enable managers to assess the expected marginal costs and marginal benefits of alternative options in a consistent fashion, resulting in well-informed decision making that supports efficient outcomes. I highly recommend this book to those seeking insights on the business side of the wine industry. It presents a diverse set of case studies that appear particularly well-suited to serve as part of a course curriculum.

I close with a few minor critiques. Edited volumes commonly suffer from a hetero- geneous quality, and this book is no exception. Although each study offers plenty of quantitative and qualitative information, the depth of analysis and tone are uneven. For example, a few of the business descriptions read like promotional material while others sound impartial. Finally, the writing is stylistically inconsistent, but this is perhaps not surprising, given that many contributors are nonnative English speakers, and this rarely interferes with the reader’s comprehension. These quibbles should by no means deter interested readers from absorbing the many insights offered in this useful contribution to the wine business literature.

Rachel E. Black and Robert C. Ulin’s edited volume reminds me of the fickleness of disciplinary boundaries. As a historian who researches wine, I have long believed that my discipline lagged behind others in vinous studies. From my perspective, geo- graphers, philosophers, economists, and anthropologists, in particular, have led the movement to institutionalize wine scholarship in the academy. Thus, it surprised me that Black and Ulin, two prolific anthropologists who research wine and viticul- ture, consider vinous scholarship in their own discipline “scant over the past twenty years” (1). It turns out that grapes always appear riper in someone else’s vineyard.

The smart volume is divided into four sections, each of which is preceded by a short editors’ introduction that attempts to synthesize theoretical approaches or analytical threads. Despite the unavoidable geographical, theoretical, and methodo- logical overlap, the book is structured cleverly enough to allow the reader to jump around, finding what may be most useful. The strength of the volume is in its going beyond rote discussions of wine’s phenomenology (as a subject/object of taste), its place in the lab (for metric analysis), or its commodification (as a product in the market). Instead, the book offers critical accounts of the social relations behind wine production and consumption, discussions of place and iden- tity, and finally an engagement with the technology-nature dualism that continues to define wine in the twenty-first century.

Section I, “Rethinking Terroir,” reevaluates one of the most controversial themes among wine writers. But, rather than rehashing worn debates about the environment, soil conditions, and the objective measurables of wine, the authors here consider how terroir is itself an active, dynamic, politically driven “ensemble of knowledge” (p. 12). Sarah Dynes’s ethnographic account from Bordeaux reveals how the Bordelais them- selves consider their task as winemakers to magnify the given terroir. The social dimen- sion of terroir, though secondary to its physical dimension, is also real; offering winegrowers and winemakers possibilities for the contextualization of tradition and labor of their wines. Robert Swinburn, a graduate student in anthropology with family roots in an Australian vineyard, and Nicolas Sternsdorff Cisterna, also a gradu- ate student in anthropology, test the notion of terroir in the New World. Swinburn coins the term “deep terroir” in order to move beyond the physical and to discuss the intangible, spiritual qualities of terroir. Deep terroir, we learn, is anathema to the worlds of science and commerce, where terroir usually reigns. Sternsdorff Cisterna, though a bit closer than Swinburn to terroir’s conventional attributes, raises interesting questions about the Chilean wine industry’s employment of terroir in shifting its reputation from a producer of low-cost to quality wines.

Robert C. Ulin, a veteran of academic terroir, asserts that historians and geogra- phers are as complicit as contemporary wine writers in marginalizing the historicity of social relations behind the production and consumption of wine. This is an out- dated charge that is no longer valid. Nevertheless, Ulin’s analysis retains its promi- nence of place for the way in which it unreservedly intertwines terroir and late (or “disorganized”) capitalism. The brilliance of Ulin’s approach is in his recognition of the limitations inherent in thinking about terroir exclusively as an antidote to modern, place-less wines. Moving beyond this simple formulation, Ulin postulates that terroir can mystify production and consumption and therefore naturalize critical social relations. What is at stake here is the diminishment of human labor, past and present, and the continued abstraction of social relations under modern economic forms.

Section II analyzes power relationships and shows how the intermingling of local growers, regional wine trades, and global conglomerates serves to reinvent tradition. Chapters 5, 6, and 9 introduce the English-language audience to viticultural regions beyond their usual purview; Bulgaria, Poland, and Slovakia. Although each chapter tackles a unique problem, the essays are united in their exciting engagement with wine and identity in the post-Soviet world. Ewa Kopczyńska’s essay, “Wine Histories, Wine Memories, and Local Identities in Western Poland,” introduces readers to the war-torn Lubuskie (Lubusz) winegrowing region, where a fascinating mixture of German winemaking traditions, anti-German sentiment following World War II, Soviet-era viticultural bungling, and post-Soviet wine tourism have been fused together to create a complex, twenty-first-century nationalist project. Bulgaria and Slovakia are grappling with a similarly complex intermingling of culture and political economy as their own wine trades enter into global commercial networks. The effects on the local environment, we see, are worth paying attention to.

Christina M. Ceisel’s essay on Galicia, Spain, centers on the performance of wine trade participants, who simultaneously capitalize on local traditions while appealing to the European Union for funds and additional support. Evoking Max Weber’s “eternal yesterday,” Ceisel calls into question the presumed tensions between heri- tage identity and the transnational marketplace. Erica A. Farmer’s essay on Bordeaux considers the historical creation of the appellation d’origine côntrolée (AOC) and the links that connect geography, notoriety, and tradition while also creating an enforceable, protective legal framework. The essays by Farmer and Ceisel both complicate the simple view that place alone creates a wine’s identity.

Section III opens with an excellent essay by Marion Demossier, an anthropologist who has already made important contributions to the study of French winegrowers. Here, Demossier offers a richly informed unpacking of the concept of grands cru— once thought of as an intensely local project—but that now, because of the transna- tional wine trade, has been extrapolated to other cultural and social settings, including New Zealand and East Asia. Although some elements of the original, local narrative are “lost in translation,” transnationalism has thus far managed to uphold the significance of the grands cru designation. Adam Walker and Paul Manning’s essay offers another view of a post-Soviet winegrowing area: Georgia. The authors argue that the shift from quantity to quality in wine production has been simultaneous with the post-Soviet republic’s attempt to appeal to Western con- sumers or domestic consumers who aspire to Western forms of consumption. The project of transformation in Georgia has engendered new forms of stratification and exclusion that are commonplace in the contemporary post-socialist world. In an interesting departure from the mainstream of essays in the volume, Winne Lem analyzes gender and labor divisions in the Languedoc region of France. Strongly tied to the terminology of family and kinship studies, Lem uses Pierre Bourdieu’s idea of habitus and Antonio Gramsci’s concept of hegemony to theorize how men and women maintain family winegrowing farms over generations. Lem provocatively argues that the “masculinization” of viticulture in the Languedoc has led to the regulation of labor that is in accordance with the interests of men and that manages “to keep their sons and daughters down, in the multiple senses of the word, on the farm” (p. 238).

Section IV tackles the place of technology in the production and representation of wine, long seen as a “natural” drink. Elizabeth Saleh’s essay captures the spirit of winegrowing among former colonial partners (though this historical relationship is not overly explicit). Saleh traces the presence of French wine “technopreneurs” in Lebanon who struggle to maintain French/international viticultural standards, including grape selection, while Lebanese winegrowing traditions slip away. Essays by Paul Cohen and Rachel E. Black target the contested notion of “natural wine.” Cohen offers a historical view of natural wine through the lens of Jules Chauvet (1909–1989), a Beaujolais biochemist, négociant, and winemaker. While I disagree with Cohen’s assertion that Chauvet was a “pioneer” in the areas of nonintervention and natural winemaking (these philosophies are centuries old and were centered in German-speaking Europe rather than France in the generations before Chauvet), there is no disputing Chauvet’s influence in post–World War II French winegrowing. Cohen nicely interweaves a number of separate but related threads, including con- tested discussions of which ingredients/methods constituted “natural” winemaking and the surprising difficulties in pinning down a useful concept of nature. As Cohen argues, natural was not (and is not) a stable, clear-cut category. Black’s essay moves the discussion to the present as she challenges the prevailing way in which wine—as manmade product as any—is still conceived and packaged as natural and untouched by human hands. An additional problem is the hydra- headed nature of the term “natural wine” itself. There is no enforced legal definition nor is there an international certification process. Although the natural wine move- ment is full of contradictions, Black smartly points out that there is a strong drive among European and North American consumers to reconnect with agriculture and artisanal craftsmanship, including winemaking. Our drive toward the “natural” arose in part because of our turn away from technologized processes.

As with any book, one can find faults to quibble about. Vinous scholarship has grown at a blistering pace in the past five to ten years, but significant elements of this accumulation have been overlooked. In addition, several of the essays contain few references, though a useful bibliography is included. In terms of geographical coverage, it is striking that more than 25% of the book is dedicated to post-Soviet countries while Argentina, Austria, Germany, Italy, and the United States are ignored. I assume that this reflects an anthropological preference for the developing or undeveloped world, yet the majority of the balance of the essays concern Australia, France, and Spain. Nevertheless, Wine and Culture is a worthwhile volume because it combines the most seminal anthropological and ethnographical questions about wine production and consumption with geographical and theoreti- cal diversity. The book reaffirms my belief that anthropologists are making a greater contribution than scholars from other disciplines to the academic study of wine.

This is a very welcome book, in spite of the fact that there must be hundreds of others dealing with Bordeaux wines. It is printed handsomely, on durable paper (it is noted that it is printed on alkaline paper), has a cloth book marker, and the last 20 or so pages are devoted to the classification of wines determined at various times in the past as well as to an evaluation of vintages since 1982.

The text falls into two parts. Part I (pp. 6–54) consists of five brief chapters con- taining general discussions of (1) history and culture, (2) climate, soil, and grape varieties, (3) viticulture, (4) winemaking and terroir, and, finally (5) classification of wine and regulations. Part II, comprising the bulk of the book, is devoted to a case- by-case description of individual wines, listed by subregion of Bordeaux. Before we lose sight of one of the best features of the book, let me say that every chapter and each discussion of individual wines is accompanied by handsome photographs of vineyards, châteaux, and appurtenant structures, as well as maps, and in many cases of the current owners of the various vineyards.

The history of Bordeaux goes back to its medieval beginnings, when the region belonged to England, as discussed in Chapter 1. Originally, Graves was the principal wine-growing region, and the author quotes Samuel Pepys who said in 1663, “I drank a sort of French wine, called Ho Bryan [sic], that hath a good and most par- ticular taste I ever met with.” Wine making expanded in the eighteenth century, Médoc developed, the Rothschild family arrived in the nineteenth century, and finally American interests started to buy vineyards in the twentieth century, to wit, the Dillon family, which acquired Château Haut Brion in 1934. The brief historical overview is informative and useful. Chapter 2 deals with climate, climate change, and climate hazards as well as soil. A brief discussion of permitted varieties of grapes and their characteristics concludes the chapter.

Chapter 3 covers matters that may be unfamiliar to many, specifically soil manage- ment and, equally important, canopy management, diseases of grapes, and a discus- sion of the all-important question of when to harvest. Chapter 4 goes on to discuss the all-important questions of fermentation techniques, barrel aging, and blending, and has brief section on dry white wines and sauternes. Chapter 5 begins with the 1855 classification and also discusses changes or additions to the original classifi- cation, the nature of the wine market, the role of the negociants, of en primeur, and much more.

The rest of the book is a detailed analysis of individual vineyards, with a brief (one-page) description of the vineyard itself, followed by a discussion of the individ- ual wines, that is, the “first” wine of the vineyard and any “second” wines that it may have. All of this is extremely sensible, and readers will find all three parts of this handsome book very useful indeed.

Authentic Wine is an exploration of the questions posed by today’s Natural Wine movement. (It narrowly missed having those two words as its title.) The opposite pole to authentic wine is not artificial but mass-produced wine, similar to Coca- Cola, which tastes the same whether you open a bottle in China or Abu Dhabi. I don’t find that idea so appalling (I love Coke), so I detect a slight elitist taint in the authors’ viewpoint. Their arguments are aimed at the sort of person who might buy a book like this, someone who treasures wine as an important element of his or her life and values its amazing diversity. It is a sophisticated and fascinating tome even though I take issue with one of its central themes.

OK, you say. You can have mass market wine as well as niche wine. Hasn’t that happened to beer? Not so fast. The authors argue convincingly that while Château Lafite doesn’t have to worry, the economics of the market are such that the middle level of winemakers, those who are innovating and producing the most interesting wines, will be squeezed out. There are many indications of a “homogenizing” trend even in fine wine that will ultimately limit choices.

The authors generally favor the idea of Natural Wine but argue that there are degrees of “naturalness,” and taking it to extremes may be counterproductive. The subject turns up throughout the book even though there is only one chapter specifically titled “The Natural Wine Movement,” which is largely a discussion of the use of sulfur dioxide as an additive. For example, in a fascinating chapter with the title “Grafted Vines,” the authors review the wine plagues of the nineteenth century, including the phylloxera epidemic. Phylloxera is a louse transported to Europe on American vines, which attacks the roots of European vitis vinifera. The eventual solution has been to graft European vines onto resistant American root stock, and this is the situation today for the vast majority of wine grapes planted in Europe and America. The interesting question becomes, isn’t it hypocritical to make an obsession of “naturalness” when the first thing you do is entirely unnatural,
grafting two distinctly separate species of grapevines together?

“Terroir” is a term that refers to the effects of all the factors that comprise a specific geographic location, such as soil composition, drainage qualities, heat retention, altitude, microclimate, sun exposure, microbiological flora in the soil, and nymphs and dryads in surrounding woods. Some, including the authors, allow the inclusion of some human activities in the meaning of “terroir,” but this eventually leads to the tautology that the wine tastes as it does because of everything that has happened to it. Best to stick with a clean definition minus humans.

The following things are true about terroir:

1. It is important in determining the eventual taste of the wine. Burgundy tastes like Burgundy because it is grown in Burgundy.

2. Terroir is a limiting factor in the quality of the wine. Only the best sites, used appropriately, can create great wine.

Where I run into trouble is with the notion of “sense of place,” an elusive quality in wine that could be paraphrased as “expression of terroir.” Indeed, the authors insist that without this attribute, your wine cannot be “authentic.” They point out, correctly, that it is not possible to produce identical wine in two different places. But they run into the problem that “sense of place” must have some correlate in the taste of the wine, not just that it is different from other wines. The implication is that the terroir imprints a particular flavor profile on wines made from grapes grown on that soil that is durable from one year to the next. If not, then the concept is diminished. “Sense of place” wouldn’t matter much if it changed every year.

And that is where I bridle. I cannot conceive of a mechanism by which terroir could give a consistent character to the wine from a specific vineyard each vintage. The problem is that while the physical aspects remain for the most part constant, the atmospheric ones (rainfall, temperature, sunlight, etc.) vary greatly and do so in a different time course each season. To change the proportion and nature of flavor compounds in the resulting wine involves altering the biology of the vine. This happens when circumstances such as heat or water availability cause different degrees of expression of a variety of genes in the DNA of the plant. Such influences are exquisitely sensitive to the stage of development of the plant. A stress that could cause one effect at one time might do the opposite two weeks later. It is hard to imagine how these events could be coordinated to produce a consistent result every year.

At the same time, there is abundant evidence that the ultimate flavor of the wine is due to choices made by human beings. One of the biggest is the selection of root stock and grape clones when replanting. Those are choices that can give a consistency of results over many years. And there are so many other factors.

I have tasted wine made by the same producer from two different plots in a single Burgundy commune, and they were quite similar. At the same sitting, I tasted other examples from a different winemaker who also had vines in those same two vineyards. They were also strikingly similar to one another but distinctly different from the first winemaker’s. There was absolutely no way, however, to determine which of the wines came from which vineyard. There was no “sense of place.”

It is possible to argue interminably about the nature of terroir. In my mind, these authors don’t have it right, but many more authorities probably agree with them than with me. It doesn’t detract from a very worthwhile book.

Jeffrey D. Postman
Physician, New York, NY
jpostman50@gmail.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2014.21

Charles L. Sullivan’s latest book solidifies his already firm position at the head of the California wine table (Sullivan, 1998, 2003). In Sonoma Wine and the Story of Buena Vista, Sullivan is at his colloquial best. His passion for Bay Area wine history jumps off each of the 300 + pages as the reader is showered with compelling tales and fine historical detail. What the book lacks in penetrating interpretive analysis (and there is much to quibble about in this regard), it more than makes up for in its attempt to leave no stone unturned in the complex development of Sonoma. Sullivan has indeed put together a book about Sonoma wine history—largely through the lens of its most famous estate—for many generations to come.

To be sure, this is no economic tract. In fact, while scholars of wine and California will find some sections of use, the book is better positioned to reach a leisured audience with a personal or perhaps professional connection to the subject. There is, however, an almost subconscious thread of historical economics that underpins the entire narrative. The history of Sonoma wine, from its founding to the present, was marked simultaneously by the decisions of its pioneers and entrepreneurs as well as by socioeconomic factors acting upon Sonoma’s tastemakers; immigration, rail travel, economic busts and booms, phylloxera, and the more recent transformation of California wine into a global brand. Sonoma, and Buena Vista, made history and were made by history.

The book’s twenty chapters are filled with lustrous images, newspaper reproduc- tions, maps, and antique photographs. In addition to aiding the story, these lend the book a collectable and luxurious feel. Fifteen of the twenty chronologically ordered chapters set the narrative before World War I, including eleven chapters focusing on the short period 1850–1900, a circumstance that often has the reader “running in place” (coincidentally, the title of Chapter 10). The remaining five chapters subsequently deal with post–World War II history at too brisk a pace.

Chapters 1 and 2 review the relatively well-known history of California wine before 1850, though in Sullivan’s hands the events seem to come alive. The highlights here include the secularization of Mexican/Californian missions, the rise to prominence of “General” Vallejo, and the initial wine success of California’s Southland. Something that clearly motivates Sullivan is his tireless desire to “pop a historical bubble.” In Chapter 2, Sullivan grinds away at the apparent importation of “foreign” grape varieties to California before 1860. He is adamant that many of these “foreign” varieties were simply table grapes from the East Coast, not the likes of “Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay or Pinot Noir” from Europe. Although a significant point, it is indicative of Sullivan’s somewhat nagging tendency to overprivilege setting the record straight in the area of firsts, bests, exact dates, and so on, often at the expense of deeper analysis.

Agoston Haraszthy, wine pioneer and founder of Buena Vista vineyards, along with his children, form the core of the first half of the book. Sullivan is justifiably moved by the native Hungarian’s adventurous life yet disappointed by his inconsistent biographical treatment (there are several misunderstandings that Sullivan is bent on setting straight). Of course, Sullivan is no stranger to Haraszthy, having covered him in previous works. But here, with the assistance of the work of Bryan McGinty, Haraszthy is brought to life perhaps as never before. While certainly giving Haraszthy the respect he deserves, Sullivan is no blind devotee to the “great man” theory of history, and it is refreshing to read the Hungarian’s biography contextualized into the era’s socioeconomic milieu.

One of the challenges for readers is following the book’s dual threads—Sonoma history and Buena Vista history. Sometimes, especially because ownership of the Buena Vista cellar, winery, and vineyards changed hands quite frequently, this proves difficult to do. In fact, the purchase of Buena Vista in 1879 by Robert Johnson effectively put wine production in a kind of dormancy (grapes were still grown but were sold to other manufacturers) until the 1940s. Thus, Chapters 11–16 carry the story of Sonoma, with Buena Vista garnering only an occasional mention. Nevertheless, this era of Sonoma history is fascinating, and Sullivan eruditely narrates the county’s booms, busts, encounters with phylloxera, immigration, and viticultural disputes. There is much that will have a familiar ring here, but Sullivan knows the major players—De Turk, Hilgard, Husmann—and the significant places —Italian Swiss Colony, Fountaingrove, the University of California—better than anybody. I was particularly delighted by Sullivan’s description of pre-earthquake San Francisco as an authentic wine town, replete with manufacturers, cellars, barrel stores, depots, and so forth.

The final four chapters return Buena Vista to the forefront of the narrative but also do an effective job of bringing Sonoma into the present. A surprise for many readers will be the relative lateness of the county’s post-repeal rise to the forefront of the American fine wine trade. Although the war years witnessed an impressive jump in the price of grapes and finished wine, it was not until the 1970s that Sonoma embarked on a stable path that included the expansion of quality land under vine and a relative rise in grape and wine prices (and then not-so-relative beginning in the 1990s). Buena Vista during this period was rehabilitated by a number of investors and wine men, including the legendary André Tchelistcheff. Sullivan also smartly identifies the impact of the consumer side of the trade in this section with brief discussions of influential critics, including Leon D. Adams. Of course, Buena Vista’s fate is intimately tied to the globalization of commerce. Following stints in the hands of Southern California’s Young’s Market Company and A. Racke Co., a German wine and spirits distributor, Buena Vista was ruthlessly tossed back and forth between a number of international conglomerates (Allied Domecq, Pernot, Fortune Brands, Constellation, Ascentia) before coming to rest, in 2011, with its current owner, Boisset Family Estates, a French-American wine company.

There is plenty for the casual reader to glean beyond the major narratives of Sonoma and Buena Vista history. Something that Sullivan is passionately interested in is the history of grape varieties and varietal wine selection. Though it never materializes as a major argument in the book, the reader frequently encounters wonderful statistical and anecdotal material on Sonoma grapes since the inception of the county. What emerges is a remarkable back-and-forth struggle between green and red grapes, dry and sweet wines, and “native” and “foreign” varietals, all of which is sure to please the wine lover. Another theme of which Sullivan makes much use but never in an argumentative way is the long tradition of medals handed out at wine competitions. Although something that many wine writers would treat circumspectly, here they somehow contribute to another underlying theme; that of California boosterism, wine marketing, and entrepreneurialism.

Sonoma Wine and the Story of Buena Vista, for all the aforementioned assets, is plagued by what was an apparently dreadful final edit. It seems as if every other page contains some sort of typographical error, misplaced punctuation, or chopped sentence. This is a major distraction even for a reader with an extremely high tolerance for these kinds of mistakes. In addition, Sullivan’s style is detail oriented but yet often not analytical enough. A discussion of Chinese labor (“coolies”) in Sonoma correctly credits their massive contribution but also fails to examine it critically in the context of race relations, labor rights, or American-Chinese politics. Similarly, in referring to the transition of the American palate to dry table wine in the 1970s, Sullivan’s assertion that “I believe this revolution in American wine consumption would have taken place even if the typical bottle of California wine had remained mediocre” (p. 306) is entirely unfounded. This rather bold claim is supported by nothing more than an interesting personal anecdote and evidence about improved variety selection and winery modernization projects that seem to work against Sullivan’s claim! Despite these and other flaws, Sullivan has given us another timeless book, and along with Thomas Pinney, Sullivan remains a go-to resource for all things California wine (Pinney, 1989, 2005).

Kevin Goldberg
Kennesaw State University
kgoldbe1@kennesaw.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2014.20

“Listen, Virginia. I don’t want to argue with you about whether Santa Claus is alive; I’ve got a better hard-to-believe true story.”

“I know you hang out with a vinous gang so you should like this Horatio Alger all-American boy story. He drinks beer, thinks wine is for snooty people, goes to Europe with his girlfriend, they go out to dinner in Florence, a house wine is brought that is great. They happen to sit next to a young French couple, get into a friendly conversation that joins the two tables together. A fabulous evening, and our hero has finally had his first wine epiphany, a drinkable wine.”

“They go back to the States and he begins his search, finding that the ‘best’ wines come from Bordeaux, starts with some medium-priced Bordeaux wines which he hates. Wondering whether he should just pay the fantastic price of the top Bordeaux wines, his wife suggests going to a Bordeaux tasting at a local wine shop. When they learn the Bordeaux tasting was a week ago and that they will be tasting Burgundy wines tonight, he’s ready to leave but they decide to have a taste and, bingo, he has his second wine epiphany. Now he wants, not just to drink Burgundian wine, but to go to Burgundy, and make his own wine! He and his family now live in Burgundy where he’s making wine, and when he started this, he didn’t even speak French.”

This story is so incredible that, on the book’s dust cover, Anthony Bourdain, the writerly restaurant chef, calls the story “extraordinary” and “unbelievable,” and Rex Pickett, author of Sideways, remarks that it “will convince anyone that their dreams, no matter how harebrained, can be realized.” And while I accept that Ray Walker’s story is true, I must admit that I still wonder.

Ray Walker has worked for seven years in his family’s real estate business, become disenchanted, and then become a trainee at Merrill Lynch, where the money is good but the job isn’t him. After three years at Merrill, disliking the job and reading whatever he can find on Burgundy, he decides that he needs to work in a winery. Even though he admits to his wife that the pay is lousy, she supports his idea. His initial job search produces nothing, largely because he openly admits that he doesn’t drink California wines. So he pours out his heart on an Internet network from which he’s been getting wine information and gets thousands of envious visitors and people who encourage him. Ultimately, he gets a cellar rat’s part-time job cleaning tanks at a San Francisco urban winery.

Part-time work turns into full-time employment as harvest preparation gets under way. Ray develops an urge that others working in wineries and at harvest also experience: he wants to make his own wine. Where can he buy a ton of pinot noir grapes? It can’t be Chardonnay, a Burgundian white grape; it has to be a red Pinot. Nobody knows where he can buy a ton of grapes, so, finally, a co- worker suggests that he substitute Petite Sirah grapes, but even these are impossible to buy. So he talks it over with his wife who learns he wants only Pinot Noir grapes, so maybe he has to buy his grapes in Burgundy.

This starts a series of international phone calls to wine courtiers in Bourgogne asking, in his pitiful French, whether they have a ton of pinot noir grapes to sell. Most can’t understand his French and hang up; a few, who persevere, find his request ridiculous: what is he going to do with a ton of grapes in Burgundy? Back to his sensible wife, who suggests that, if he wants to make a trip to Burgundy to look for grapes, she’ll agree if they toss in Paris. Thus agreed, they plan a trip to France with their infant daughter.

Wait! This story gets better.

By the time they arrive in Paris the next winter, Ray’s French has improved considerably because he’s been studying like crazy, he knows that his grapes have to be not only Pinot Noir but also at the village level—that is, the third level of quality, for which he has sufficient money and for the level of quality for which he is willing to go. He really wants grand cru or cru grapes but knows that those are impossible for a stranger to obtain as well as being beyond his financial means. He also now knows the hierarchy of village-level grapes and can therefore aim for the best, knowing that he will probably have to sacrifice if he can obtain mid-level village grapes.

He has no contacts in Burgundy and is going in cold, but he’s determined to get the best grapes possible for his wine.
Ray really has a terrible addiction!

Within a few days, the attraction of Parisian bread and croissants and the freshness of fruits and vegetables at the markets put similar foods in San Francisco to shame. After two weeks in Paris, he, his wife, Christian, and daughter, Bella, drive two hours to Reims, capital of the Champagne district. Ray admits that Champagne wine is great, but he really isn’t interested—it has to be Burgundy. Christian loves Burgundy, even with snow on the ground.

Soon enough, they are in the land of his obsession, where the land is “alive.” After checking into a hotel, they leave immediately to drive through Burgundian villages. Wow! He loves them. The next day, after more driving around, they see a hotel in Puligny-Montrachet and then stop and run into its owner, Olivier Leflaive, who, upon hearing who they are and why they are in Burgundy, and what their budget is, adjusts his E350 high season rate in his completely empty hotel to fit the family’s budget.

A few days later, Olivier invites the family in for an inquisition: why are they in Burgundy in the wintertime? Ray tells him about his addiction, and Olivier agrees to help him find grapes, pointing out—despite his lifetime of experience in Burgundy with wine and winemakers—that he has to taste and taste if he doesn’t want to get cheated. Eventually, through a series of accidents, Ray is introduced to the son of a wine courtier, who, asking a bunch of questions, discovers that this brash American knows practically nothing, has no experience fermenting grapes, has no facilities and only a few thousand dollars to make wine in Burgundy, speaks practically no French, and wants to buy village-level grapes. Nevertheless, he agrees to look for grapes not for next summer—those grapes are already contracted for—but the following year.

Back goes the family to the United States, where he starts more seriously to learn French.

After getting a $20,000 investment as a result of a 15-minute phone conversation so that he will have adequate funds to make wine in Burgundy, he gets a phone call from the Burgundian courtier about buying grapes.

I won’t continue the details, the accidents, and contingencies that arise, but before you know it, he is making wine in Burgundy with grand cru grapes. The impossible has become possible because of all the accidents, he and wife and daughter have made a lovely family, and because he seems almost like an idiot child the community has taken to its heart, everyone who hears his story helps out, and he has only one negative experience.

While still seemingly impossible, this story is well written, remarkably engaging, and occasionally painful when he honestly presents himself as the idiot child, but he ends up fulfilling his addiction making wine with his family in Burgundy, where they
now all live.

William H. Friedland
University of California, Santa Cruz
friedla@ucsc.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2014.19

This is a heavy book: it weighs almost 2 kilograms and unites two heavyweights— Riesling, arguably the best white grape variety in the world, and Weingut Robert Weil, one of the best Riesling producers in the world. The first in a new series of books from Tre Torri, covering the most outstanding wine estates of the world, it covers the complex topic of Riesling through the example of the top German wine producer Weingut Robert Weil. Readers should not expect to be informed about the Riesling grape variety in general, as perhaps the main title, Riesling, suggests.

More than half of the 255 pages are mostly wonderful pictures, and some text pages also include pictures. It is not only a book with a most interesting text but also one with great pictures of wine.

Weingut Robert Weil is managed by Wilhelm Weil, who owns the winery jointly with Suntory, the Japanese beverage group. With 75 hectares—exclusively Riesling —under vine, it is one of the largest estates in Germany. The estate’s dedication to Riesling has led numerous observers of the international wine world to regard Weingut Robert Weil as a worldwide symbol of German Riesling culture. A Riesling wine of the 1893 vintage, grown on the Gräfenberg site, made the estate famous. The imperial Habsburg court in Vienna purchased 800 bottles of this wine in 1900 at 16 gold marks per bottle. Weingut Robert Weil’s top botrytized wines are sold today at very high prices—they are among the most expensive in the world. Although best known for its Noble-Sweet Rieslings, Weingut Weil produces mainly fully fermented, dry wines, including ultrapremium Grosses Gewächs (Grand Cru) wines.

Five authors contributed to the book, which is divided into six chapters.

Written by Editor Ralf Frenzel, Chapter 1 is the prologue, offering a portrait of Wilhelm Weil. It paints him as a winemaker who has done a lot not only for his own estate but also for the region, the famous Rheingau, and for Germany.

Chapter 2 is a very detailed and well-researched account of the history of Weingut Weil by Daniel Deckers, against the background of the Rheingau region and German wine history. Deckers discovered the world’s oldest classification map, which was prepared in 1868 by Friedrich Wilhelm von Dünkelberg and classified for the first time the vineyards of the Rheingau.

Deckers describes the founding of the winery in Kiedrich by Dr. Robert Weil, who had lived and taught at the Sorbonne in Paris but was forced to leave France and return to Germany because of the Franco-Prussian War (1870–1871). He joined his brother August in Kiedrich and bought the first vineyards in 1870. In 1879, he moved into the former estate of Sir John Sutton, baronet, which remains the home of Weingut Weil . The first auction of his wines at Burg Crass in 1881 was a failure, but when the German emperor began buying the 1893 Weingut Weil Auslese, the Weil wines gained renown.

In 1988, the estate was sold to Suntory, and Wilhelm Weil was appointed managing director, retaining a minority ownership share.

Chapter 3, by Dieter Bartetzko, deals with the architectural ensemble of the Weil property. Sir John Sutton bought a tiny, dilapidated winegrower’s cottage in 1869 and transformed it into a small country estate in the Tudor style, which does not have to fear comparison with the original Tudor manors in Sutton’s home country of England. Thereafter, over the years, a number of new structures have been added, including the Vinothek (wine store) built with generous glass paneling that faces the courtyard, in the 1990s, and the new extension finished only recently. But the Tudor-style house built by Sutton remains the heart of the estate. The historical manor house, the ultramodern cellars and the Vinothek stand side by side in a beautiful park, reflecting the same synthesis of old and new that is in the estate’s winemaking philosophy.

Chapter 4 ostensibly comprises an interview with Wilhelm Weil, centering on the question: “What makes a great Riesling?” It is not, in fact, an interview but a lecture by Weil, transcribed by Christian Goeldenboog. There are no questions, at least no explicit ones. And it is not about Riesling in general; it is about the Riesling wines produced by Weingut Weil in the Rheingau region in Germany. Wilhelm Weil is one of the vice-presidents of the Vereinigung deutscher Praedikatsweingueter (VDP), the association of about 200 elite wine producers in Germany, and the chapter also reflects the thinking of the VDP. Importantly, the VDP is in the process of radically changing the way in which German wine is classified by moving to a classification system that resembles the classification system of the Bourgogne in France, which is terroir driven.

Chapter 5, by Goeldenboog, deals with the work in the vineyard and in the cellar and is divided into four subchapters. The first subchapter, “Riesling Has Style,” reads a bit like a continuation of Chapter 3 and has Wilhelm Weil talking about his winemaking approach and wines.

The following subchapter, “Rock, Soil, the Rheingau and the Ecosystem,” reviews the terroir of the Rheingau in general and that of the three vineyards, where Weingut Weil owns land and grows its wines—in particular, Kiedricher Klosterberg, Kiedricher Gräfenberg, and Kiedricher Turmberg.

Weingut Weil’s vineyards all belong to the group of the high-lying sites of the Rheingau: Inclination (up to 60%), exposure (southwest), and the ability of the barren stony soils to absorb heat are the factors that make for three perfect Riesling sites. These conditions, as well as ideal circulation, enable the grapes to stay on the vine for a long time, ripening well into November.

Kiedricher Gräfenberg: The soil consists of deep and medium-deep stony, fragmented phyllite partially mixed with loess and loam. At the end of the twelfth century, the site was first documented as mons rhingravii (lit., the hill of the Rhine counts), and, in 1258, it was named “Grevenberg.” To this day, Gräfenberg is a focal point. The record prices it fetches at auction bear witness to the site’s renown.

Kiedricher Klosterberg: The name Klosterberg (lit., monastery hill) derives from “Closterweg,” the old path that ran through this vineyard in Kiedrich en route between the monastery Kloster Eberbach and its mill near Eltville. The shallow to deep stony-gritty soils of the southwesterly facing site are of Devonian (colored slate) and pre-Devonian (phyllite and sericite gneiss) origin and are mixed with gravelly loess.

Kiedricher Turmberg: After the founding of Weingut Robert Weil, the Turmberg site was always considered one of the estate’s top sites, second only to Gräfenberg. The name Turmberg (lit., tower hill) derives from the surviving central tower of the former castle Burg Scharfenstein, which stands on that site. The archbishops of Mainz had the castle built on the steep crag northeast of Kiedrich in 1160. Turmberg lies on the slopes of a steep, slaty crag. Its stony-gritty soils consist primarily of phyllite mixed with small portions of loess and loam.

After passage of the wine law of 1971 and its amendment of the vineyard register, numerous traditional vineyards, like Turmberg, were incorporated into other vineyards. In 2005, the Turmberg parcel was reinstated as an individual vineyard site, measuring 3.8 ha (9.4 acres). It is owned solely by Weingut Robert Weil.

The third subchapter, “Fruit—Maturity,” talks about the 12-month vineyard cycle and dwells in particular on the issue of the optimal moment to harvest the Riesling grapes (in a northern wine region). Of course, at Weingut Weil special attention is paid to work in the vineyard. Another quality factor is the low yield, achieved by restrictive pruning, thinning out the grapes twice, carrying out a negative selection at an early stage, and a selective hand-picking process. At Weingut Weil, the harvest can be spread over a period of 8 to 10 weeks. Each row of vines can be picked over up to 17 times.

When botrytised grapes are picked, they are selected in the vineyard and immediately sorted into three different containers, depending on the degree of botrytis. The grapes are again selected berry for berry in the cellar.

The last subchapter reviews in detail the process of alcoholic fermentation, focused more on historical aspects and less on how it is done at Weingut Weil. At Weingut Weil, vinification takes place in stainless steel tanks of varying sizes (depending on the size of an individual lot) and in traditional mature oak casks (“Rheingauer Stückfass”: 1,200 liters).

Chapter 6 contains tasting notes by Caro Maurer, Master of Wine, of about 40 wines of Weingut Robert Weil, all from the Kiedricher Gräfenberg, mostly from the 1990 to 2011 vintages, ranging from ultrapremium dry Erstes Gewächs wines to luscious Noble-Sweet Trockenbeerenauslese wines.

To sum up: this is a great book about Riesling. It is not a general introduction. The book tells the story of the Riesling grape through the perspective of one of the world’s top Riesling wine producers, Weingut Robert Weil from Kiedrich in Germany. It does this with many wonderful pictures from Weingut Robert Weil and the Rheingau region, and with a number of most interesting text contributions by various German Riesling experts.

Christian G.E. Schiller
International Monetary Fund (ret.) and emeritus professor, University of Mainz, Germany
Cschiller@schiller-wine.com
doi: 10.1017/jwe.2014.6

Imagine driving through a lovely, bucolic setting on the road from Mâcon to Dijon through picturesque vineyards north of Chalon-sur-Sâone. You lean back to enjoy the view, thinking about the superb wines produced from these tiny, garden-sized properties by dedicated vignerons. And then your focus, your reflections, and indeed your pleasure are shattered by unnecessary chatter—the annoying verbal commen- tary delivered by your guide. That mixed bag captures the beauty, the interest, and the limitation of this new film from producer, director, and writer David Kennard, who, it should be said, has built a remarkably diverse portfolio of documentaries over his 30-year career, ranging from natural science (Carl Sagan’s acclaimed PBS series Cosmos and the superb BBC series Connections with James Burke) to the performing arts (Keeping Score, with Michael Tilson Thomas).

As academics, we are trained to lay out for the reader our theory, the facts, our analysis, and our conclusions in clear, concise language. But in creative writing, the best authors describe situations and the words and thoughts of characters, but never tell the reader what conclusions to draw or what emotions to feel. The same difference is found in dramatic films, with second-rate Hollywood movies making everything absolutely explicit, virtually telling the audience what to think and feel, while the best films provide no more than building blocks upon which members of the audience can develop their own thoughts and feelings. With documentary films, this distinction can also be key. Some of the best documentaries provide no more than pictorial, musical, and verbal inspiration, leaving the audience to come to its own conclusions (see my recent review of Somm in Journal of Wine Economics, 8(2), pp. 238–241).

In A Year in Burgundy, the narrator speaks too often and tells us too much. For example, it would have been effective to allow the film’s scenes, interviews, and conversations to inspire in the viewer the recognition that the best winemakers of Burgundy are true artisans, perhaps even artists. Instead, the narrator states flatly, as in a lecture, that “the greatest winemakers are artists.” And this is in the first minute of the movie!

The film focuses on Martine Saunier, a French-born, California-based wine importer. We follow her over the course of a challenging year (2011) in Burgundy as she meets with five client producers in their vineyards and wineries in Burgundy. When we first observe her, she is celebrated by the narrator in glowing terms, which struck me as perhaps a bit excessive for a wine importer and distributor. But I came to find the characterization particularly annoying by the end of the film, when I learned that she (together with David Kennnard) was the film’s senior producer.

Saunier’s first job after college was in marketing, and it shows. Is it unfair of me to note that we are not told in the film that Madame Saunier sold her wine- importing business, Martine’s Wines, in 2012 or that the lovely family home that has “been in her family for centuries,” where we first see her climbing into her Citroën Deux Chevaux to visit her growers, has in fact been converted to a B&B by her brother?

With Martine, we visit (from south to north): Dominique Cornin in the Mâconnais of southern Burgundy; Michel Gay and Domaine Morey-Coffinet in Côte de Beaune; and Bruno Clavelier, Christophe Perrot-Minot, and Domaine Leroy, who have vineyards in the Côte de Nuits.

The film begins in the spring, when Martine visits Domaine Morey-Coffinet with its proprietor Michel Morey, who runs the business with his son, Thibault. Michel explains, “I think no one has a particular gift at the start. As little children, we grow up surrounded by vines and wine cellars, by fathers and grandfathers who talk about wine, and the aromas and the tannins. I think that even as a little child, even if you don’t taste it, you start to get a feeling for wine quite quickly. By the age of five or six, Thibault could identify different wines by their smell.” Thibault responds, “When I was young, it was my passion. I only went to school because I had to. When I came home, I joined my parents in the vineyards and the cellars.” No narration is necessary to frame or explain the message.

As summer arrives, we travel to the best region for Pinot noir—the Côte de Nuits, north of Beaune—visiting vineyards in the hills just above Vosne-Romanée and learning about the rocky soils and unique microclimate of a small closed valley. Gradually, the incredible diversity of the terroir of Burgundy begins to emerge: 400 different wines produced in the single village of Chassagne Montrachet.

But most rewarding is the time that we spend with Madame Lalou Bize-Leroy, owner and proprietor of Domaine Leroy. At the time, she was 79 years old (or “young” in her case, as the cliché goes). She is youthful and enthusiastic, and her backstory is an interesting one, though unfortunately left out of the film. Born in 1932 as Marcelle Leroy, she established herself as a businesswoman in the Burgundy wine business in the 1950s, when she took over the négociant business of her father, Henri Leroy. Beginning in 1974, she was co-managing director of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti (DRC). Along with Aubert de Villaine, she was credited with helping to build DRC, but a series of disagreements, including apparently her displeasure at de Villaine’s involvement in the “Judgment of Paris” wine tasting, led to her ouster in 1992.

After leaving DRC, Madame Lalou focused on her family’s properties, and built the holdings, excellence, and reputation of Domaine Leroy. Like the others in the film, she is a hands-on producer, carefully supervising each and every stage of growth, harvest, and production. Listening to her speak in the film—gently yet passionately—about the lives of her vines and her absolute dedication to biodynamic farming methods, I was reminded of listening several years ago to another master grower and vigneron, thousands of miles away: Christophe Baron, the exceptionally talented Frenchman who has been producing his magnificent Cayuse wines in Walla Walla, Washington, since 1997.

About halfway through the film, it is fall, at the time of harvest. The narrator states that the harvest is difficult because of the possibility of impending rain; however, the light music accompanying this commentary does not convey tension but, rather, a carefree mood, as student pickers move through the vineyards. When the narrator announces, “There’s tension in the air,” it has precisely the opposite effect, because we as viewers have not felt the tension. What a contrast with Somm, in which the viewer clearly sensed the stress felt by that documentary’s main characters: four young men preparing for an exam to join the Court of Master Sommeliers.

Ironically, among the most beautiful scenes in the film—in terms of pure aesthetics—are the landscapes following harvest, after the grapes are gone and the leaves of the vines begin to die, going from subtle shades of yellow to bright red. These scenes, with vineyards in the foreground, the village behind, and a hillside behind, look like a painter’s intoxicant. If we squint just a bit, it is not difficult to imagine a landscape by Claude Monet before our eyes.

As winter arrives, we move from the open and public process of harvest to the closed and very private, even confidential process of wine-making. Every vigneron has his or her own methods, including a wide range of approaches just for punching down the grapes inside the vats to maximize extraction. Down in the cellars, the wines are now in barrels, sometimes topped up once per week to avoid exposure to air due to ongoing evaporation. Then comes battonage, the gentle stirring of the wine in barrels to mix the sediment with the liquid, a couple of times a week if the wine is too acidic.

Then, as scenes of automated bottling fill the screen, a winemaker laments, “Burgundy wines ought to be all different, but science now allows us to make wines that are all the same. That’s a pity—they all used to have their own character, like human beings. Progress is pushing all of us to make the same kind of wine.” This comment, which may be accurate, does not square with what we have otherwise seen and heard in the film, leaving me to wonder, has Burgundy too been “Parkerized”?

Suddenly, the scene moves 4,000 miles westward, to Blackberry Farm, an intimate luxury hotel and resort located on a pastoral 4,200-acre estate in the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. An affluent group of friends meets in the wine cellar to enjoy glasses of Burgundy, including some of the same wines that we have followed during the year, albeit samples from earlier vintages. It turns out, of course, that the evening is hosted by Martine Saunier. She introduces Thibault Morey—strange to see him well-dressed and thousands of miles away from his father’s Burgundy property. Then, it’s upstairs for dinner, presumably with one of Martine’s wines paired with each course.

At the conclusion, we are transported back to Burgundy, and amid the barren scene of old vines, cloudy skies, and cold weather, the families begin to prune their vines. They burn the dead wood in the field in the midst of the rows, just as they have been doing for hundreds of years. And, as the narrator inevitably reminds us, “there are lots of things they do in Burgundy that they have been doing for hundreds of years.” In a few months, the first signs of spring will arrive, and then it will be another year in Burgundy.

A Year in Burgundy is the first in a series of documentaries on fine wine forthcoming from director David Kennard. He has just completed A Year in Champagne. I will certainly watch his new film, because I expect it to be beautiful and informative, but I hope there will be less narration, and more reliance on the film’s characters and scenes, and thereby more trust in its audience. Less can, indeed, be more.

Robert N. Stavins
John F. Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University
robert_stavins@harvard.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2014.5

This classic reference book has sold more than four million copies since Hugh Johnson first put it out in 1971, and it is now published in 13 languages. It tells us where winegrapes are grown and is a natural companion to the seminal Robinson/ Harding/Vouillamoz 2012 book on which winegrape varieties are grown around the world (Wine Grapes, reviewed in the previous issue of JWE, Vol. 8(2), 2013), as well as to Robinson’s Oxford Companion to Wine (the fourth edition of which will appear in 2014).

The Atlas has been revised every six or so years since it first appeared, with Jancis Robinson joining the project beginning in 2001. If you already have an earlier edition, should you indulge in this new one? For anyone who refers at least occasionally to it, the answer is almost certainly “yes.” It is worth its modest price for the new set of spectacular photos alone, but, of course, its unique maps are the book’s greatest strength.

So much has changed in the industry even since the sixth edition appeared in 2007. Key trends include the expansion of vineyards in new or reforming regions, the striving to raise the quality of wines by paying more attention in the vineyard and intervening less in the winery, and the beginning of a diversification away from well-known international winegrape varieties to less-familiar local ones.

Among the regions getting expanded treatment or new maps are Tasmania in Australia, the Okanagan Valley in Canada, Ningxia province in China, coastal Croatia, Ahr in Germany, Khaketi in Georgia, Peloponnese in Greece, Canterbury in New Zealand, Etna and northwest Spain, Swartland in South Africa and northern Virginia in the United States. To keep the volume to 400 pages, some other regions were dropped, including North Africa, where the wine industry has been in the doldrums for decades (in contrast to the first half of the twentieth century (see Meloni and Swinnen, 2014).

These changes in coverage invite speculation as to which regions might change before the next edition of the Atlas appears. Might the Arab Spring lead to a resurgence in winegrape production in countries bordering the southern and eastern Mediterranean? Certainly, Turkey has been striving to do so, such that it deserves its own new page in the seventh edition—even though barely 3 percent of its vast vineyard (fourth largest in the world) is directed toward wine at present. One reason that growth is hampered there is Turkey’s poorly developed wine laws and heavy taxes (Ozdemir, 2013). Might the dramatic growth in the middle class in India see its embryonic wine industry boom? Heavy import taxes and promotion by the Maharashtra state government have encouraged domestic production, but currently India has only 0.1 percent of the world’s winegrape area, making its wine industry about 1/100th—yes, one one-hundredth—the size of China’s. Brazil or Uruguay? Both face viticultural challenges, having a far wetter climate than that of their Southern Cone neighbors, but both are striving to improve the quality of their winegrapes, as indeed are other tropical countries (Bolivia, Peru, Thailand, and even Myanmar). The Third International Symposium on Tropical Wine was held in Chiang Mai, Thailand, in 2011, and the fourth one is scheduled for August 2014 in Brisbane, Australia.

A better understanding of the geography and terroir of each region helps the consumer know where tonight’s bottle came from. Just as important, it helps producers assess their place in the ever-evolving wine world. For them, and for those just wishing to keep up to date with where the wine industry is globally, the latest edition of this book will appeal, as it continues to be an essential and unrivalled part of every wine lover’s library.

Kym Anderson
University of Adelaide and Australian National University
kym.anderson@adelaide.edu.au
doi:10.1017/jwe.2013.39

References

Meloni, G., and Swinnen, J. (2014). The rise and fall of the world’s largest wine exporter (and its institutional legacy). Journal of Wine Economics, 9(1), forthcoming, February 2013.

Ozdemir, D. (2013). Turkey’s arduous journey from vine to wine: Why can a country, with the fourth-largest vineyard in the world, not make wine from its grapes? AAWE Working Paper 143, October.

Robinson, J., Harding, J., and Vouillamoz, J. (2012). Wine Grapes: A Complete Guide to 1,368 Vine Varieties, Including their Origins and Flavours. London: Allen Lane.

I read a good chunk of American Wine Economics while sipping a decidedly un- American Spätburgunder produced in the Ahr Valley of Germany. And, despite the title, much of the content is as applicable to wines produced there as it is to wines produced in Walla Walla, Washington, or Vineland, New Jersey.

The stated purpose of American Wine Economics is “to provide a unified and systematic treatment of the wine industry from an economic perspective” with the objectives of “giv[ing] a detailed description of the economic organization of the U.S. wine industry,” to “use economic principles to shed light on the behavior of wine producers and consumers,” and to “summarize findings and present insights from the growing body of studies related to the economics of the wine industry” (p. xiii).

To achieve a “unified and systematic treatment,” the first chapter of American Wine Economics provides a brief introductory microeconomics course with wine production and consumption used as illustrations. The standard theories of the firm and consumer are reviewed, but there is nothing here that is truly specific to wine, and anyone who has taken and passed an intro economics class can skip this chapter.

The subsequent chapters of the book discuss wine as a product and its characteristics and then take us from vine to consumption. While much of the material will be familiar to readers of this Journal and fellow travelers, it is largely concerned with the technology and business of producing wine, not necessarily with wine economics. Although much of the discussion is not specific to American wine, there is quite a bit of useful material here for the wine naïf.

There is more discussion that is specific to the U.S. wine market in Chapter 8 on wine distribution and regulation. While much of the chapter discusses, in general, why governments might want to regulate the market for alcoholic beverages, it also presents the specifics of the three-tier system of distribution in the United States and sketches some of the differences between states in how wine distribution is regulated. I felt, however, that the chapter could have covered the U.S. regulatory environment more completely. For example, as a reference for researchers, a table listing each state’s regime on wine selling and wine “importing” (from other states) would have been very welcome in this chapter.

It is not until chapters 11 (“The Wine Consumer and Demand”) and 12 (“The Wine Consumer, Quality, and Price”) that the books turns to what I would think of as “wine economics.” Here the book seems more focused and grounded in the literature, and it is perhaps no surprise that there is more tabular material here as well. Chapter 11 discusses the various determinants of wine demand (price, income, substitutes), presenting results from the literature. Chapter 12 presents results on the hedonic determinants of prices as well as environmental determinants (location, weather) of prices, again including discussion some of the main papers in the literature. These chapters are a good introduction to research on the determinants of wine prices, and the author, James Thornton, pays thorough attention to the work of his fellow members of the AAWE.

Chapters 12 and 13 discuss the globalization of the wine market and recap the basic economic approach and results.

It is sometimes hard to discern the intended audience for American Wine Economics. There is little technical material in the book, and the discussions of economic principles are clearly aimed at a general, but educated, audience. On the other hand, the little bit of technical material (e.g., two discussions of the meaning of p-values and several discussions of the meaning of elasticity) is likely to leave most popular audiences a little baffled. The dry “professorial” style of the writing might lead some readers to put the book down and reach for another glass of California Chardonnay and the latest issue of Wine Spectator. For the readers of this Journal, the lack, or very limited, discussion of topics like the effect of global warming or wine as investment will surely be seen as lacunae.

For a book that focuses on the “American Wine Industry,” there is also a surprising lack of specifics. For example, why does figure 5 (p. 78) not show actual grape production? Or why does the chapter on grape growing not show the distribution of varietals produced in the United States? Why are the figures on annual U.S. wine sales (p. 211) not shown in a graph rather than a table? There are a host of similar questions that either the author or an attentive editor should have addressed to make the book more specific to the United States.

Overall, there are parts of American Wine Economics that will appeal to an educated wine drinker and parts that will appeal to readers of the Journal of Wine Economics. Neither will find the emphasis to be especially American, however, and the book as a whole will leave both groups wanting more.

David A. Jaeger
City University of New York Graduate Center and University of Cologne
djaeger@gc.cuny.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2013.38