Journal of Wine Economics Volume 13 | 2018 | No. 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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