Journal of Wine Economics Volume 13 | 2018 | No. 2

An interesting and unusual feature of Canada is that there is no national wine law and producers in the different regions have to conform to different sets of regulations (p. 42). These are so confusing on the whole that “only residents of British Columbia and Manitoba can legally order as much wine as they like from another province” (p. 43). The principal wine regions are British Columbia and Ontario, with fairly com- parable levels of wine production, with Quebec and Nova Scotia being much smaller, though not insignificant. It is also noteworthy that British Columbia and Ontario rely predominantly on vitis vinifera varieties, while the other regions depend much more on hybrid varieties. In Ontario, the most popular white varieties are Chardonnay, Riesling, and Pinot Gris, while the most popular red varieties are Cabernet Franc, Merlot, and Pinot Noir. British Columbia is not all that dissimilar, with whites being dominated by Chardonnay, Pinot Gris, Riesling, and Gewürztraminer and reds by Merlot, Pinot Noir, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Cabernet Franc. While many of the Canadian reds and whites are enjoyable, they are not, on the whole, ready to compete with those of the major French or U.S. producers.

The one wine in which Canada has much more than a modest edge is icewine, which is quite sui generis. The section describing icewines (pp. 68–78) is outstand- ingly informative and strongly recommended. Although icewine has been made in Europe as early as the late-18th century, the first commercial icewine in Canada was not made until 1978 in British Columbia, with Ontario following some five years later. The crux of icewine is that it must be exposed to temperatures of –8°C, which is achieved in British Columbia, but much more routinely in Ontario. This low temperature causes the water in the grapes to freeze, leaving only a highly condensed sugary syrup in its unfrozen state, where it can be pressed. As a result, yields are low and “in many cases a single vine produces no more than one 375 millilitre bottle [of wine]” (p. 69). In addition to British Columbia and Ontario (with the latter being the main producing area), Nova Scotia also produces some icewine. It is to be noted that because of the modest yields, it is permitted to gather the berries that have fallen off the vine between the onset of the regular harvest and the beginning of the icewine harvest. Icewine is highly regulated, including its name, which is icewine, not ice wine or ice-wine, as per regulations of the Vintners Quality Alliance of Ontario. In Ontario and British Columbia the pressings must have an average of 35° Brix.1 The yield is about 125 liters per ton of Riesling, much lower than for table wine. Because of the higher price of icewine, it is a good target for counterfeiting. Economics also drives the practice, legally permitted, of blending Canadian wines with non- Canadian wines; the production of these is quite widespread and accounts for 75% of Ontario-sold wines. It should also be noted that winter temperatures at times descend in the –35–40°C range, which would kill the vines unless specific protective measures were undertaken, such as covering the wines with soil for the winter. (It is noteworthy that –40°C equals –40°F.) While normally one would think that such regions are outside the region that can be profitably cultivated, global warming will almost certainly diminish the problems that extreme cold can cause.

As expected there were many juicy and diverse facts that illuminated the dark corners of our understanding. Exploring them all would spoil the joy for other readers and is beyond our remit here, but some favourites deserve mention. The Pen Tailed Tree Shrew and its’ prodigious ability to imbibe without succumbing to intoxication is simultaneously amusing and depressing—this poor wretch does not ever get to enjoy the warming and fulfilling physiological sensations detailed in later chapters. Juxtaposing the shrew, we learn of African elephants’ fondness for an annual bender on the fermenting fruit of the Amarula tree. We are told exactly why grapes have developed to be the colours and as sweet as they are, while an explanation similarly rooted in biochemistry and evolutionary pressures expounds the reason we consumers of fruit also enjoy alcohol as much as we do. It hints that perhaps there is something in this symbiotic relationship that prevents the development of a seedless grape capable of producing a quality wine. The remarkably complex (18 stage!) life-cycle of phylloxera is beautifully revealed and shows why its’ scourge was so difficult for 19th-century winemakers to tackle.

Just as you are three-quarters of the way through your meaty Cinsault from d’Oc, this faithful companion gives you a concise review of alcohol’s effects on your brain … how à-propos. But when one gets to pp. 169–177 an economist is on familiar terrain. A succinct review is offered on the significant neuroeconomic effects pricing and rankings have on consumer preferences. We are grateful for the inclusion of choice experiments highlighting the fact that we get out of wine what we expect to. Satisfaction depends just as much (or more) upon price and brand recognition, than anything else. “Wine and the senses” was a chapter that made us think “ok, here we go again.” It sounds basic and we have been there in many different books, but here the mechanics of vision, smell, and taste are neatly explored with the key scientific facts that go beyond the usual platitudes we are often served. Many are now familiar with how modern revolutions in ampelography have shown various grape cultivars to be duplicates, but here it is extended to how crosses of the same parentage can produce equally sublime examples as Syrah and Viognier. Perhaps the most pro- found content is the examination of the role of microbes in the vineyard; unique pop- ulations of bacteria may play a role as crucial as topography or geology in determining terroir. “Mind blown,” as the kids would say.

While we recognise the breadth of topics covered and an even broader set of pos- sible areas of interest for such a book, our craving for ripe scientific morsels was regrettably not sated. The opening chapter invites with an interesting but brief history of wine making, starting from the earliest known origins in Armenia. After some brief exposition in nearby cultures, it jumps somehow brutally to an ending on prohibition. Our understanding of wine and our relationship with it have been shaped by many different societies between the two periods discussed, and the reader is left hankering for more detail. Given the stated egalitarian intent of the authors, it felt like the concerns of the average drinker could have been addressed more too. Is sulphur to blame for my headache? What happens in my wine when I decant it? How does ageing work? Instead of appealing to this audience, Chapter 3’s focus on biochemistry is taxing for humble economists like us and we presume for many others. It does not fulfil the promise of “being accessible to everyone.” We also experience an awkwardly crude explanation of the atomic scale in a chapter which simultaneously over-indulges in chemistry nomenclature, making the tone seem inconsistent. Most upsetting was the perpetuation of myths of food and wine matching, which should have died some time ago. Believing no wine should be consumed alongside garlic or fresh fruit seems based more on concern for rules than the foundations upon which they rest, as much of the world breaks their “First Commandment” on a regular basis.

The story of Alexis Lichine and his influence on American wine knowledge and consumption told in The Gourmands’ Way is particularly enlightening for wine eco- nomics. Lichine was a New York wine salesman, importer, and educator. In order to enhance his public image as a wine expert (which he was), he wrote Wines of France in 1951. This publication served as a springboard for lecturing extensively about wine across the United States, and, as a result, to selling more and better wines to his clients. In France, he then began bottling and shipping these fine wines directly from estates, and through the purchase of several chateaus (including Prieure- Lichine), began to centralize the purchasing, storage, shipping, and distribution of wines, adding efficiency to and cutting costs from a more traditional way of doing business in France. These innovations, however, after a period of time were also partly responsible for the decline in his business, as much larger and better capital- ized wine companies followed his lead and diminished his competitive advantage.

Not to be overlooked in all of these stories about the people and restaurants that led the way for food and wine in America are the risks they took to achieve what they did—risks both personal and financial. Lichine accepted the risk of tinkering with the traditional French wine business model, but, as seen, increased competition (and several bad vintages) ultimately forced him to sell his business and company name (although the sale price allowed him to move to France and continue wine- making on his Chateau). Waters’ Chez Panisse did not make a profit for years. New immigrants to the United States also frequently risked their life savings to open restaurants, and Alice B. Toklas, after Gertrude Stein’s death, with limited funds, assembled her recipes and memoirs in the Alice B. Toklas Cook Book in order to financially support herself. A. J. Liebling, covering Europe for The New Yorker was in fact dining in Paris when it was invaded at the start of WWII (he continued his lunch under the initial bombardment), and returned under sniper fire as it was liberated. Along the way, too, soon after D-Day, Liebling was able to partake of impressive provincial food and wine in Normandy, some of which he described in his book Normandy Revisited. Betting on the need for reliable and familiar places to eat in a newly mobile America, Howard Johnson decided to build his restaurants along highways and roads, becoming the first standardized chain—a formula that was risky at the time, but now ubiquitous. Julia Child’s success publishing Mastering the Art of French Cooking led her to take a chance with developing a show in the relatively new medium of television. And even though financed by those with deep pockets, the opening of New York’s lavish Four Seasons restaurant in 1959, costing $4.5 million (about $38 million in 2017 dollars), was obviously risky.

The story of Alexis Lichine and his influence on American wine knowledge and consumption told in The Gourmands’ Way is particularly enlightening for wine eco- nomics. Lichine was a New York wine salesman, importer, and educator. In order to enhance his public image as a wine expert (which he was), he wrote Wines of France in 1951. This publication served as a springboard for lecturing extensively about wine across the United States, and, as a result, to selling more and better wines to his clients. In France, he then began bottling and shipping these fine wines directly from estates, and through the purchase of several chateaus (including Prieure- Lichine), began to centralize the purchasing, storage, shipping, and distribution of wines, adding efficiency to and cutting costs from a more traditional way of doing business in France. These innovations, however, after a period of time were also partly responsible for the decline in his business, as much larger and better capital- ized wine companies followed his lead and diminished his competitive advantage.

Not to be overlooked in all of these stories about the people and restaurants that led the way for food and wine in America are the risks they took to achieve what they did—risks both personal and financial. Lichine accepted the risk of tinkering with the traditional French wine business model, but, as seen, increased competition (and several bad vintages) ultimately forced him to sell his business and company name (although the sale price allowed him to move to France and continue wine- making on his Chateau). Waters’ Chez Panisse did not make a profit for years. New immigrants to the United States also frequently risked their life savings to open restaurants, and Alice B. Toklas, after Gertrude Stein’s death, with limited funds, assembled her recipes and memoirs in the Alice B. Toklas Cook Book in order to financially support herself. A. J. Liebling, covering Europe for The New Yorker was in fact dining in Paris when it was invaded at the start of WWII (he continued his lunch under the initial bombardment), and returned under sniper fire as it was liberated. Along the way, too, soon after D-Day, Liebling was able to partake of impressive provincial food and wine in Normandy, some of which he described in his book Normandy Revisited. Betting on the need for reliable and familiar places to eat in a newly mobile America, Howard Johnson decided to build his restaurants along highways and roads, becoming the first standardized chain—a formula that was risky at the time, but now ubiquitous. Julia Child’s success publishing Mastering the Art of French Cooking led her to take a chance with developing a show in the relatively new medium of television. And even though financed by those with deep pockets, the opening of New York’s lavish Four Seasons restaurant in 1959, costing $4.5 million (about $38 million in 2017 dollars), was obviously risky.

The story of Alexis Lichine and his influence on American wine knowledge and consumption told in The Gourmands’ Way is particularly enlightening for wine eco- nomics. Lichine was a New York wine salesman, importer, and educator. In order to enhance his public image as a wine expert (which he was), he wrote Wines of France in 1951. This publication served as a springboard for lecturing extensively about wine across the United States, and, as a result, to selling more and better wines to his clients. In France, he then began bottling and shipping these fine wines directly from estates, and through the purchase of several chateaus (including Prieure- Lichine), began to centralize the purchasing, storage, shipping, and distribution of wines, adding efficiency to and cutting costs from a more traditional way of doing business in France. These innovations, however, after a period of time were also partly responsible for the decline in his business, as much larger and better capital- ized wine companies followed his lead and diminished his competitive advantage.

Not to be overlooked in all of these stories about the people and restaurants that led the way for food and wine in America are the risks they took to achieve what they did—risks both personal and financial. Lichine accepted the risk of tinkering with the traditional French wine business model, but, as seen, increased competition (and several bad vintages) ultimately forced him to sell his business and company name (although the sale price allowed him to move to France and continue wine- making on his Chateau). Waters’ Chez Panisse did not make a profit for years. New immigrants to the United States also frequently risked their life savings to open restaurants, and Alice B. Toklas, after Gertrude Stein’s death, with limited funds, assembled her recipes and memoirs in the Alice B. Toklas Cook Book in order to financially support herself. A. J. Liebling, covering Europe for The New Yorker was in fact dining in Paris when it was invaded at the start of WWII (he continued his lunch under the initial bombardment), and returned under sniper fire as it was liberated. Along the way, too, soon after D-Day, Liebling was able to partake of impressive provincial food and wine in Normandy, some of which he described in his book Normandy Revisited. Betting on the need for reliable and familiar places to eat in a newly mobile America, Howard Johnson decided to build his restaurants along highways and roads, becoming the first standardized chain—a formula that was risky at the time, but now ubiquitous. Julia Child’s success publishing Mastering the Art of French Cooking led her to take a chance with developing a show in the relatively new medium of television. And even though financed by those with deep pockets, the opening of New York’s lavish Four Seasons restaurant in 1959, costing $4.5 million (about $38 million in 2017 dollars), was obviously risky.