Journal of Wine Economics Volume 10 | 2015 | No. 1

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

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

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

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.

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

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