Journal of Wine EconomicsVolume 15 | 2020 | No. 4
Selected Proceedings

Can artisanal wine be made in an industrial park? Why would anyone want to do so when most wine lovers might not want to associate tin buildings as part of the terroir where the wine is produced? In her documentary film Tin City, Dina Meade illustrates how a thriving community of passionate, hard-working individuals has come to produce world class wine, spirits, and beer in Paso Robles, California.
While Paso Robles has a well-known and rapidly expanding wine scene, few are familiar with the existence of a neighborhood of winemakers who share ideas, equipment, and clientele within a 20-acre industrial park of buildings on cul-de-sacs. Tin City explores this new wine scene development of a community of unpretentious passionate individuals who have a great appreciation for soil, climate, and grape varieties of the Paso region. They want to create unique products using their own skills and techniques, not in large, highly capitalized wineries, breweries, and distilleries but rather in this village of tin buildings called Tin City outside of downtown.
This documentary is based on interviews of the working people of the Tin City community and explores how and why they became involved within their craft. It is divided into six sections entitled: Career Changes and Cellar Rats, The Vineyard, The Community, The Landlord, Paso-Then and Now, and Where We’ve Come and Where We Will Go. While each person interviewed represents a separate individual business enterprise, they display a great communal enthusiasm, enjoyment of their work, and feeling of camaraderie. The editing is very smooth and professional; however, it might have been helpful to change the sequence of the sections or introduce the concept of artisanal work done in an industrial park as a business and community model earlier on in the film.
A passion for creating something of their own, a willingness to work hard, and the desire to share with others is a common trait among the dozen or so people interviewed, yet their backgrounds differ widely. In the Career Changes and Cellar Rats section, the viewer meets seven business owners. Most of the owners wear many hats and also work as growers and producers, and salespeople as the businesses are comparatively small, although the actual number of employees at each operation is not clear. In the Vineyard Section, we hear of the need for appropriate site selection, the great value of the rocky well drained soil, the use of appropriate farming techniques, and other factors. The viewer should be prepared for some of the marketing hype that the owners occasionally spout since some of these claimed factors are not universally accepted. The Community section shows how non-competitive interaction, idea exchange, and equipment sharing have thrived in this small community and contributed to its success.
It is not until one gets to The Landlord section, 55 minutes into the film, that the viewer meets Mike, the businessman and developer of Tin City. He is described as the “Fun Uncle,” and a guy with a passion for quality and like-minded people. He gets input from the current business owners as to whether prospective Tin City business applicants would “fit in” the community. As prospective tenants applied to move into the village, his vision for Tin City appears to have evolved to one of a sharing community.
The first occupant, which has served as the anchor of the community given its somewhat larger size, was a craft brewery. The grand vision of Mike appears to be that of supporting a village of artisans that will include restaurants and other food related entities within the city of Paso Robles. The emphasis of his vision is on that of a local market with world class offerings.
The two final sections (Paso-Then and Now and Where We’ve Come and Where We Will Go) are of interest since they indicate how Tin City fits in the big picture of the Paso region—one of the fastest growing wine regions in California. Here one sees that the facilities of Tin City are not only just home to startup companies as one owner suggested that “the sky is the limit” with doubling and tripling of production capacity expected soon. Yes, this documentary is a bit commercial and can be used by the City of Paso to attract tourists who want an alternative to other famous regions like Napa, but it is not done crassly or exploitatively.

Given that the inability to actually taste the wine is an important factor in a documentary largely about wine making, the viewer is instead treated to excellent cinematography and soundtrack. The cinematography is that of luscious close-up shots and videos of vineyard and wine production. If you have worked in a vineyard or winery, you would enjoy the beautiful photography of the fruit of the vine, the wine sloshing in glass, and the tools of the trade. Lots of clean, sanitary facilities and hard-working hands are shown. You do not see fancy tasting rooms, in fact, one owner indicated that his entire winery tour could be done in a few minutes since the production, aging, storage, and tasting room are in proximity. The soundtrack is composed of snippets of a variety of music from simple ballads to classical fare. The music is pleasant and unobtrusive.
Tin City is a documentary worth seeing, especially if you are interested in the relatively new concept of artisanal products, especially wine, beer, and distilled spirits created in an industrial setting. The film is joyful and experiential and not academic or filled with facts or figures. The only figure shown is a map of California indicating where Paso Robles is located relative to San Francisco and Los Angeles. The village of Tin City is unique. It is not an incubator park like that in Walla Walla, Washington, which supports a few fledgling wineries for up to six years. In Tin City, tenants can stay as long as they are successful enough to afford the rent, and they receive no significant start-up financial support from the local government.
The emphasis in Tin City is on the fun in winemaking. Tin City may not be considered groundbreaking such as the documentary Mondovino (2012) with its exploration of the industrialization and globalization of the world of wine. In fact, in many ways, it is antithetical to that film in that it extols the virtues of local craftsmanship.
One does not meet the movers and shakers of the wine world, rather just passionate individuals willing to take risks to fulfill their dreams. This is not a film for those who approach wine with the goal of enhancing their wine cellar, wine snobbism, or pretense. Nor does the film identify specific wine styles or grape varieties that can be associated with Tin City or Paso Robles. There are virtually no rules: anything goes. Neither is this a documentary on how to start a wine business. If you want to understand how people without extraordinary financial resources can be successful and have fun making wine, this will be an enjoyable film to watch. Are you going to Paso Robles? Definitely see this film! Are you restricted in travel but like to do a virtual behind the scenes winery, brewery, or distillery visit in a unique setting—see this film! You will share in the fun.

Lawrence Coia
Outer Coastal Plain Vineyard Association
New Jersey
njwineman@comcast.net

Boyle, Keller, Kohler, Mesnager, Naud, and Vignes are the names of streets in downtown Los Angeles. They are not far from Union Station, the Los Angeles River (now a concrete flood channel), or Highway 101. Their respective national origins are Irish, German, and French. Where did these names come from? As it turns out, they are all the names of major wine makers and grape growers, whose properties dominated commercial activity in Los Angeles in the late 19th century.
Burbank, Azusa, Pomona, Glendale, Alhambra, and especially Pasadena all have street names associated with wine making, including even the names of grapes that were grown in these places (like Mataro, the Spanish for Mourvedre, in Pasadena).
Thomas Pinney, the author of the majestic two-volume A History of Wine in America, has turned his attention to the history of the wines of Los Angeles in an attempt to retrieve the reputation for grape growing and wine making that LA (as it is always called) has so thoroughly lost. As Pinney writes in the preface, “The most striking fact about the history of winemaking in Los Angeles, city and county, is the completeness with which it has been forgotten” (p. i). Pinney’s book has been taken to heart by a few people, and coupled with the locavore movement, has led to a tiny re-birth of wine making in Los Angeles. (Full disclosure: I own a small house in the Eagle Rock neighborhood of Los Angeles, and I have planted 48 cabernet sauvignon vines in my front yard.) Wine in California starts, of course, with the Spanish colonists, who brought with them the clergy and their desire for wine. The history of this very early period is frustratingly poorly documented. It is known that grapes were cultivated, and wine was made in some quantity, but details are sparse, and this part of Pinney’s book is necessarily abbreviated. He concludes, based on work by Roy Brady, that 1782 was perhaps the first vintage of California wine, made from the Mission grape, and grown in Mission San Juan Capistrano from cuttings brought from Baja California. Until very recently, it was unknown precisely what the Mission grape is. Speculation suggested it was indigenous, as it did not seem to be cultivated in Europe. In fact, the advent of genetic testing has permitted the identification of the Mission grape as a Spanish variety, Listan Prieto, which is no longer cultivated in Europe.
As Pinney carefully explains, no one is certain about where the first commercial, as opposed to missionary, wines were produced in Los Angeles. However, a good case has been made that the Spanish land grant made to Jose Maria Verdugo in 1784, which now comprises the towns of Eagle Rock, Flintridge, Glendale, and La Canada, is probably the first commercial vineyard site in Los Angeles and, indeed, in California. Verdugo Road remains as the sole reminder that this 34,000 acre rancho was once a part of the Spanish Alta California.

From this early beginning in the 18th century, the Los Angeles wine industry grew dramatically over the 19th century. Pinney takes us through the remarkable cast of characters who were part of this growth, which expanded from Central Los Angeles into the San Gabriel Valley and beyond. By the late 19th century, things had begun to go awry. This seems to have been partly a result of excess and speculative planting—by 1890 Los Angeles City and County produced 1.3 million gallons of wine, about 10% of all California production, but had a population of only 50,000 people—partly a matter of population growth and the pressure on agricultural land, and partly a result of Pierce’s Disease.
The story of Pierce’s Disease is the story of a fabled German grape growing cooperative in Anaheim, California. Then a part of Los Angeles County, Anaheim now lies in Orange County and is perhaps, best known as the home of Disneyland. The plan was to set out 50 plots of 20 acres each, 8 acres of which were to be planted in grapes. The settlers paid $750 each and were recruited from the German immigrant communities in San Francisco and Los Angeles. An unusual feature of the plan was that the surveying, irrigation arrangements, and vine planting would be accomplished by a work crew before the settlers arrived. This grand plan actually worked, and by 1859 the first settlers arrived to find streets, a park site, a town center of 40 acres, and 8,000 Mission grape vine cuttings planted on each plot of land. The first vintage of 2,000 gallons of wine was produced in 1860, and production grew rapidly to 300,000 gallons by 1863. By 1880 there were 60 winemakers in Anaheim, and the wines were being distributed in both San Francisco and New York.
Suddenly, in 1885 a mysterious disease appeared in the vineyards, and by 1890 all of the vines in the Anaheim region had died from an entirely unknown cause. Ultimately, the U.S. Department of Agriculture sent Newton B. Pierce to investigate this mysterious death of 25,000 acres of vines in the Anaheim area. Pierce’s report, for whom Pierce’s Disease was ultimately named, concluded that the disaster was unique and that there was no known remedy for it. He correctly hypothesized that the disease could be explained as the result of what we now call a bacterium if such bacterium disabled the normal physiological function of the plant. Although the cause has now been confirmed, it remains the case that there is no cure for the disease, and that shielding the vines from the leafhoppers that carry the bacteria is the only prevention of it.
The demise of the Anaheim settlement was not the end of grape growing and wine making in Los Angeles, which survived well into the 20th century in other parts of Los Angeles County, but in a continuously declining capacity.
Pinney has produced a fascinating and well-written book that is beautifully illustrated with documents from the Huntington Library collection and from the California Historical Society archives. It is not often that a history book can actually cause a change in history, but Pinney’s book has caused a stir of activity that may bring wine making back to Los Angeles. Inspired in part by Pinney’s book, the Angeleno Wine Company (https://www.angelenowine.com) has opened its doors on Spring Street in downtown Los Angeles, with a winery and tasting room that provides wine made from local grapes in precisely the same area where the wine industry first started in California. The proprietors explain, “Our dream is to bring a culture of winemaking back to Los Angeles.”

Orley Ashenfelter
Princeton University
c6789@princeton.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.23

Biodynamics is an approach to agriculture that utilizes specific soil preparations, and coordinates crop production with celestial cycles, intending to combine the spiritual with the material and create a complete farm ecosystem, which includes the farmer and a relationship to the cosmos. The increased popularity of and focus on sustainability in many areas of production has driven a corresponding increase in organic and biodynamic production, particularly in wine. The author of this book, Monty Waldin, is a prominent media presence in the United Kingdom and Europe. As well as being a wine writer, critic, and consultant, having worked in various vineyard capacities for a number of years, he is also an authority on organic and biodynamic wine production. Waldin sees biodynamics as a sustainable approach to wine making, as well as a spiritual practice that ostensibly results in the added benefit of increased quality and expression of terroir.
In the Introduction, Waldin outlines the differences in approaches to grape growing, from traditional subsistence farming to industrial agriculture, organic and ecological. This is where the sustainability of each approach is discussed, and Waldin lays the framework for his argument that biodynamics is the most sustainable alternative. Waldin’s purpose is not just to describe the biodynamic process, which he does very well; it is also to draw attention to and increase support for what he believes to be the most sustainable form of wine production.
In Chapter 1, Waldin presents the origins of biodynamics, as based on the philosophical work of Rudolf Steiner. Steiner gave a series of lectures in 1924, shortly before his death, entitled “Spiritual Foundations for the Renewal of Agriculture.” Often called simply “The Agriculture Course,” between June 7 and 16, 1924, Steiner gave eight lectures and four discussion sessions in which he outlined an approach to agriculture based on “Anthroposophy,” the spiritual science. This perspective offers a “…view of life that includes both spirit and matter” (p. 4).
Waldin weaves Steiner’s philosophy into his descriptions of how biodynamics works, using quotes and references from the 1924 Agriculture Course and Steiner’s own handwritten lecture notes. Throughout the book, Waldin integrates the work of many biodynamic practitioners, always relating it back to Steiner, while interspersing it with his own perspective.
Chapters 2–6 contain detailed descriptions of the biodynamic preparations, how to make and use them, and some advancements and popular alternatives. Chapter 7 describes aligning agriculture with celestial cycles, and Chapter 8 discusses biodynamic certification around the world.
The main focus of the book starts with Chapter 2, which describes the nine biodynamic preparations, forming the lengthiest chapter in the book. In this chapter, Waldin works through biodynamic preparations 500–508: three field sprays and six compost preparations. He covers these in their lot number order, starting with the most commonly recognized preparation, Horn Manure 500. The other preparations are Horn Silica 501,Yarrow 502, Chamomile 503, Stinging Nettle 504, Oak Bark 505, Dandelion 506, Valerian 507, and Common Horsetail 508. Horn Manure 500, Horn Silica 501, and Common Horsetail 508 are sprays that require “dynamizing,” or stirring. The other preparations are composts and can be added to the general vineyard compost.
Throughout the chapter,Waldin methodically elaborates each of the preparations in the same fashion, discussing the biodynamic perspective on its make-up and structure, how it is made, and how it is used. The descriptions are thorough and lengthy, approaching a full-on biodynamic manual. This is not a list of criteria for biodynamic certification, however, but would serve as a strong reference for such.
Waldin’s descriptions do not read like a reference book. His integration of biodynamic processes, Steiner’s philosophy, practical considerations, and inter-relationships in a rich description, offers a complete tour through the preparations and their relationship to the vineyard ecology, without being, or reading like, a manual.
It is in this chapter that the purely physical aspects of the preparations (the elements they contain, their chemical makeup) are tied to their philosophical and spiritual function. This is the most contentious aspect of biodynamics, subject to the most debate and skepticism. The chapter ends with a concise but informative summary done in one page, and a tabulation of the six compost preparations.
In Chapters 3 and 4, Waldin elaborates on Chapter 2, and discusses composting and “dynamizing” in more detail. In Chapter 2, the composting of vineyard material is discussed in general, and Waldin explains how the biodynamic composts 502–507 are to be added to it. In this chapter, he also starts to compare different biodynamic approaches and comments on the work of Maria Thun and Alex Podolinsky, suggesting that the modifications made by these practitioners to create sprays are insufficient substitutes for solid composts. After having touched on the compost’s general role in sustainable farming, Waldin moves into more specifics about composting, starting with site selection, and managing the piles.
Chapter 4 explains “dynamizing,” which is essentially stirring, and how it is done in the preparation of the liquid spray preparations. The process is more than simple mixing, asWaldin describes the purpose of the vortex created by stirring the mixture in relation to spiritual forces essentially being combined with the preparation.
Chapters 5 and 6 cover other biodynamic sprays and techniques, and other alternative treatments. Here Waldin touches on some of the different perspectives and practices advanced by various proponents of biodynamics. In Chapter 7, he explains how the use of the preparations and alternatives can be used according to the “celestial” calendar. This is an important part of biodynamics, based on the foundations of Steiner, but elaborated, expanded, and advanced by the work of Maria Thun.
The final chapter is devoted to biodynamic certification and provides information on various organizations around the world that provide certification of biodynamic viticulture, winemaking, or both, and the relationship to organic certification.
Waldin’s insight is valuable here as well, as he offers more on the history of biodynamic practitioners and producers, and their effect on the certification. France, for example, has two biodynamic certification bodies as a result of a historic split between biodynamic wine producers and producers of other crops.
Waldin’s book provides an integrated history of biodynamics as well as a guide to its practices. He shows the connections between Steiner’s philosophy and the practitioners that have used, developed, and attempted to improve biodynamic practices.
One of the interesting contentions to come out of this examination is that wine is actually anathema to biodynamics. Alcohol impedes the spiritual connection between humans and the cosmos, and Steiner eschewed its consumption. Other pertinent analyses appear as Waldin also calls out some biodynamic alternatives, offering a fair description while commenting on their limitations and disadvantages. For example, in Chapter 5, his summary of cosmic pipes and field broadcasters ends with the comment that “…if biodynamics was as easy as sticking a prep-filled pipe in the ground, then perhaps everyone would be doing it” (p. 123).
His passion for both wine and biodynamics is palpable, supporting both in spiritual pursuit of the enjoyment of life. At first, his underlying mission of support for sustainability is also prominent. The sustainability message does seem to fade into the background in favor of describing the practices, and it is not entirely apparent by the end of the book.
The book requires either a read through, and then a reread once familiar with how the chapters are connected, or jumping around to different parts of the book as need be to fill in gaps for understanding. As an example, the preparations described in Chapter 2 make both general and specific references to the material in the subsequent chapters, while referring back to Chapter 1 as well. Anyone not entirely sure how the composts are used, or what “dynamizing” is, has to wait until Chapters 3 and 4, respectively, to find out. With a subject as dense as biodynamics, this can be forgiven, and Waldin does provide direction throughout to help the reader navigate to the related parts of the book. Despite the depth of the topic, the book is appropriate for the uninitiated as well as the expert. Waldin’s descriptions are in sufficient detail in layperson’s terms, while still offering direction, advice, and perspective for the experienced practitioner. It is an enjoyable read for both supporters and skeptics of biodynamic wine, and for any wine enthusiast desiring to know about a trend that is showing prominence in the world of wine.

Kenneth A. Fox
University of Saskatchewan
fox@edwards.usask.ca
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.24

It is now possible to fill an entire bookshelf with excellent volumes covering the various topics related to beer and brewing. If one considers well-written and accessible books about all forms of alcoholic beverages, then it would be possible to fill an entire home library. A Natural History of Beer, by Rob DeSalle and Ian Tattersall, strikes a fascinating balance as a book about everyone’s favorite frothy beverage. On the one hand, it digs deeply into many of the scientific, cultural, and economic aspects of beer, including chemistry, physiology, and even psychology.
For such a relatively slim volume (256 pages), the research that went into writing it, as reflected by the breadth and depth of the bibliography, is stunning. On the other hand, this book is arguably the perfect starting point for anyone interested in learning and reading more about beer in order to become a more informed drinker, brewer, or shopper.
After finishing the introduction and opening chapter, the book can be read in any order. Each chapter is a fairly self-contained treatise on a different topic, and the topics vary widely from one another. As would be true of any reader, I found myself drawn to some topics more than others.
But each chapter, regardless of my interest in the subject beforehand, opened my eyes to facets of beer that I had never considered and knew little to nothing about.
For example, as a Californian living in perpetual fear of the next drought, I was drawn to the chapter on water. There I learned about the concept of specific gravity, which I had heard of but thought it to be related to space travel, and how it is used to assess the alcohol content of beers. As another example, I was excited to read the chapter on hops, because increasingly I find that the pourers at my favorite bars and breweries tell me all about the hops in the beers I am about to drink, using names that mean little to nothing to me. This chapter taught me two things that I will be repeating at social gatherings for the foreseeable future. For one, in olden times, it was believed that hops were associated with the phenomenon known as “man boobs,” which today we generally attribute to the calories found in beer. For another, the closest relative to humulus lupulus, the vine that produces hops as we used them for beer brewing, is cannabis! So for anyone who has been guilty of confusing a brewery with a dispensary based on graphics in the signage, know that your keen eyes identified two close horticultural cousins.
The topics in the book also vary in their accessibility. For example, most readers will take readily to the stories of the rise, fall, and rise again of both traditional public houses and craft breweries. Perhaps my favorite chapter was titled “The Resurrection Men,” which discussed the small handful of brewers and chemists who travel the globe to recreate ancient brews from lost civilizations as accurately as possible.
Some of these drinks are, to modern drinkers, beers in name only, but that does not mean I would not get in line to sample them, given a chance. After reading fascinating vignettes about how breweries such as Delaware’s Dogfish Head are bringing long dead beers back to life for the masses, I wanted to learn more. Fortunately, DeSalle and Tattersall point the reader to Ancient Brews, a 2017 book by Patrick McGovern, which I have already purchased and am excited to read. This finding is emblematic of Natural History’s capacity to serve as a gateway to learning and reading more about the world of beer.
DeSalle and Tattersall are kind enough to warn readers when the book is on the verge of plunging into deep scientific and technical territory. Chapter 5 discusses the molecules that are essential to beer, and the authors alert the reader that some of what is to follow can be safely skipped. In my case, the authors were correct to consider that a detailed and meticulously researched discussion of nitrogenous ring structures and targeted sequencing might be lost on me. But they were also correct in that the ensuing discussions on topics such as the role of yeast in beer brewing and the evolutionary history (a.k.a. the phylogeny) of beer, as supported with a series of figures that belong in posters on the walls of homes and offices of craft beer drinkers all over the world, were easily understood without the molecular details.
A common refrain from researchers across disciplines is that “we don’t know what we don’t know.” Swinnen’s and Briski (2017) Beeronomics: How Beer Explains the World opened my eyes to impacts beer has had on markets over the centuries (and even millennia) and made me realize that the business and economic aspects of beer are far more important, interesting, and complex than I had ever considered. Natural History showed me this is true across a wide range of disciplines, most of which are referenced by the authors in the opening pages of the book. In some cases, I am happy to leave the deeper understanding and the work on the knowledge frontiers to folks with far greater training and interest in the hard sciences than myself. But in others, I am excited to continue my learning, read in more depth, and perhaps even pursue some questions I had never before considered in my own research.
A Natural History of Beer is fantastic reading for anyone who loves beer but seeks to understand why. It helps to explain beer’s place in the world and discusses the positive economic and social impacts of beer and brewing with an even hand, along with some of the beverage’s potential downsides. I encourage JWE readers to get their hands on this book, read it in whatever chapter order they like, and get in touch with me about what topics it made exciting for you.

Richard Volpe
Cal Poly State University
rvolpe@calpoly.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.25

Unlike previous accounts of what it was like to be there at the beginning of the wine industry in theWillamette Valley, Maria Ponzi’s memoir is from the point of view of a child. Works such as those by Susan Sokol Blosser (2006, 2017) tell the story from the perspective of the adults who made the decision to relocate to Oregon to grow grapes and make wine in a region deemed inhospitable for this crop as opposed to someone who was swept along. When the success of the region began to be recognized, stories of the pioneers became the subject of several books from an outsider’s perspective written by industry observers including Vivian Perry and John Vincent (2013), and Cila Warncke (2015). As the first generation of the industry founders retire, the issue of succession was being resolved in different ways, with a few of the original wineries passing to the second generation. Ponzi’s well told tale recounts her initial resentment toward being expected to work from an early age, her brief foray into a different industry, and finally, her return to embrace the family business wholeheartedly and assume its leadership.
Ponzi acknowledges in the introduction: “At first glance, a young girl born into the wine business may seem like she has a charmed life. While the romance has slowly evolved, it was far from that in my early years” (p. xi). Her story is told in two parts, each comprised of short chapters. Part One, by far the longer, covers the period from her birth in California through her marriage in 1995, about four years after her return to Oregon. Events of the past couple of decades are very briefly summarized in Part Two. The one-page epilogue is a snapshot of the current state of Ponzi Winery and the Oregon wine industry. A black and white photo album of the family from 1968 to 2019 adds a valuable visual dimension to the history.
Born in 1965 in Los Gatos, California, the same year as David Lett, known as Papa Pinot, planted the first vitis vinifera vines in the Willamette Valley, Ponzi had a front row seat during the entire birth and growth of the wine industry. Her parents Dick and Nancy Ponzi, are among the venerated dozen or so first families who took the leap to make wine where few thought it possible and succeeded beyond their expectations.
In 1967, during a trip to visit his older brother in Iceland, Dick tasted a homemade wine fermented from a vegetable. Dick and his brother reminisced about their father’s winemaking, which was done without protecting against oxidation. Ponzi reported, “This conversation and the delicious celery wine sparked something in my father that night. He left the island inspired” (p. 13). Back home in California, Dick began making wine from grapes he picked at the Novitiate Winery. Twoyear old Maria and her four-year old brother, Michel, participated in the harvest and crushed along with their pregnant mother. Luisa Ponzi, destined to become the winemaker of the family business, was born two months later.
The familymoved to Oregon the following year after a visit to Nancy’s parents, who had retired to the Willamette Valley. During that trip, Dick met Charles Coury, who, along with Lett, is credited with bringing PinotNoir to the valley in the late 1960s with plantings that produce to this day. Ponzi stated, “It was after that meeting in Forest Grove when everything seemed to fall into place for my parents” (p. 23).
Moving his family into a 700 square foot shack on a strawberry farm in Scholls, Dick traded his engineering career in California for the life of a winegrower and farmer. To fund his enterprise, Dick taught mechanical engineering at Portland Community College while Nancy ran the household. Taking cues from the neighboring farmers, the Ponzis figured out when to plant. “Instead of taking classes to learn this stuff, they’d just pick up another book and read,” (p. 38) revealed Ponzi. Though their dreams were met with derision and disapproval, the entire family proceeded undeterred to plant their first vineyard in the spring of 1970. Soon after, crops were planted and animals were brought in to provide food for the family. And as if there was not enough on his plate, Dick built a house while Nancy tended the vineyard.
Ponzi recalls, “Each day they’d put in long hours, pushing themselves until… the darkness would…force them to put down their tools…We rarely had dinner before nine-thirty…” (p. 95).
During the 1970s, the vineyard and farm matured, the first grapes were harvested and made into wine, the house and winery were completed, and the children began school. Maria coped with the difficulty of fitting in with classmates who echoed their parents’ opinion of the hippies from California trying to grow grapes. It was also the time the “Pinot Obsessed,” as Ponzi calls the first winemakers to plant the finicky grape in the Willamette Valley, came together. Myron Redford, Dick Erath, Coury, and Lett were part of “the group of young winemakers [who shared] a mutual love for the Pinot Noir grape and [dreamt] of what could be” (p. 111). In addition to sharing insights, tools, labor, and resources, some members lobbied the Oregon legislature to pass laws to protect the budding wine industry.
Since money was short in the early days, trading wine for goods and services provided relief. Ponzi boasted, “The five of us were well cared for by a local dentist for years through several cases of Riesling” (p. 222).
Recognition of the quality of Oregon Pinot Noir, in general, and Ponzi’s in particular, came quickly. The 1975 Eyrie Vineyard South Block Reserve made by David Lett placed second among Pinot Noirs and above all but one Burgundy in the 1979 Gault-Millau Wine Olympics. The 1977 Ponzi Pinot Noir impressed Frank Prial of the New York Times. “Not only did he write about it, but he loved it!” (p. 230) effused Ponzi.
Tensions with her mother increasedwhen Ponzi entered high school. Nancy disapproved of any activities, including cheerleading and typing, that ran counter to her feminist perspective. Ponzi explained, “Instead, she encouraged my interests in writing and politics” (p. 231). At the same time, she gained acceptance by her classmates.
Still, she was expected to help around the vineyard and “did [her] best to sneak out of work” (p. 234). “When I did complain, reminding Mom that ‘I didn’t ask for this life,’ her standard response was ‘Well, this is what we’re doing, and that’s the way it is,’” (p. 235) Ponzi laments.
After college, Ponzi took a job in advertising in Boston. From the East coast, she learned of the latest praise for her father’s winemaking. After three years, she was offered a big promotion at the same time as the news from home was intriguing her. “I was curious about the newcomers to the valley and suddenly felt territorial.
I realized I missed my parents and the bustling family activities” (p. 280).
“I yearned for something more. I felt perhaps the ‘grown-up’ winery could provide that for me.” (p. 281). She returned to Oregon in 1991 and dove into marketing.
Twenty years are covered in the 19-page Part Two. Significant events include the birth of her children, the continued recognition of Dick Ponzi in the wine press and by his peers, the ascendance of Pinot Noir in the wake of the movie Sideways, and the construction of a new winery.
I found just a couple of minor discrepancies. On p. 35, we read: “In 1965, Lett planted the valley’s first nursery in McMinnville…,” yet according to the winery’s website (https://eyrievineyards.com/envisioning.shtml): “In February 1965, David rented a temporary nursery plot near Corvallis, and planted the 3000 vinifera grape cuttings he gathered from UC Davis and selected growers and brought with him to Oregon. This was the first planting of Pinot noir and Chardonnay in the Willamette Valley, and the first ‘New World’ Pinot gris.” Also, there may be conflicting information. On p. 149, we are told: “By 1975, there were fourteen wineries in Oregon,” but on p. 200, “By now there were nearly ten wineries in the state.” Since the story unfolds chronologically, this gives the impression that the industry was contracting. Was it?
Ponzi’s narrative is interwoven with many quotations either attributed to herself or recalled by her. This is remarkable given that she was as young as two-years oldwhen the events she describes were taking place. As in the last movement of Mahler’s Symphony No. 4, when the soprano sings Das himmlische Leben, it seems like we are hearing the voice of a child at times, although it certainly was not recounting a heavenly life. “[This intimate tale] draws almost entirely from childhood memories, keen eavesdropping, and lengthy tableside conversations” (p. xi) asserts Ponzi. She also interviewed some of the pioneers and did additional research but “most of this story draws from my recollections…Like a child’s view, it is intimate, honest, and pure” (p. xii). In later chapters and in Part Two, it also seems that the tone of the writing matures along with Ponzi.
With the release timed to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Ponzi Vineyards, Pinot Girl is a valuable addition to the literature recounting the birth of one of the most exciting wine regions in the world less than 60 years ago. Ponzi’s deeply personal and detailed account offers insights into the evolution of her attitude toward the family business at each stage of its development that is distinctive from those of the first generation and of wine writers and journalists. It is also a window into how one person came to embrace her destiny to become part of the second-generation leadership in one of the first wineries in the Willamette Valley. Read it.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.26

This concise history of the beer industry in Namibia begins with the pithy observation by Frank Zappa to the effect that every nation worth its salt needs an airline and its own beer. As it happens, the former no longer holds true, while beer remains a marker of national and, for that matter, subnational identities. The brewing industry is today regarded as a source of national pride in Namibia, as Windhoek Lager has not merely conquered the domestic market but has made substantial inroads south of the border where South African Breweries (SAB) held a de facto monopoly for decades. This is a tale, lovingly told, of an unlikely success built on the most fragile foundations.
The early sections of the book are, in effect, a careful piecing together of fragments of information about a series of operations that were very small and left little trace.
The nascent breweries relied upon the consumption of a very small number of Germans who remained in South West Africa after 1919. At first, the beer was imported directly from Germany, although the first local brewery was established in 1900. Van der Hoog traces the fierce rivalry between breweries in the “beer triangle,” consisting ofWindhoek, Swakopmund, and Omaruru, culminating in the eventual merger that constituted South West Breweries (SWB) in 1920—the company that eventually assumed the current name of Namibia Breweries Limited (NBL).
The main rival to SWB from the mid-1920s was the Hansa Brewery. These two companies struggled through the ups and downs of the decades that followed. During WWII, the breweries were suspected of pro-Nazi sympathies and were placed under close surveillance. The author provides a brief, but fascinating account of the subterfuges that were necessary to acquire German hops, the distribution of which was routed through third countries.
Inevitably, the story after 1919 is intertwined with the realities of South African rule, initially under a League of Nations Mandate and subsequently under occupation in defiance of the United Nations. The ban on the sale of alcoholic beverages to Africans that was adopted in 1920 was in conformity with the terms of the Mandate and was arguably more restrictive than in South Africa itself. This changed with the passage of the 1928 Liquor Act, which entrenched racialized prohibition in South Africa, following which the liquor laws seem to have converged. In line with the South African model of control, beer halls were opened by municipalities dispensing an imitation of “native beer,” the proceeds of which financed the administration. In both countries, illegal brewing and shebeens nevertheless proliferated in the 1950s— leading to the abandonment of racially exclusive liquor legislation over the following decade. This happened in Namibia in 1969, seven years later than south of the border.
Van der Hoog demonstrates that the escalation of the liberation wars across the subcontinent had an important impact on the beer industry. The north of Namibia, particularly Ovamboland, had been treated as a South African labor reserve and had been isolated from the rest of the territory. No beer could be sold there, in effect, but the author indicates there was a lively trade in smuggled beer from Angola. The civil war that accompanied the messy withdrawal of the Portuguese had an impact on the cross-border trade in the mid-1970s. South African soldiers, who backed one side in the war from bases on the northern border, created a demand for SAB beer, but there was also an opportunity for SWB to sell its beer into Ovamboland effectively for the first time.
The most satisfying section of the book investigates the relationship between SWB and SAB. Van der Hoog notes that SAB initially acquired a stake in SWB (which had taken over Hansa Breweries in 1967) and acquired the right to make and sell Hansa Pilsner under license in South Africa. When the two companies parted company, SAB retained the use of this trademark for the South African market. The author traces a long history of suspicion, and eventually open warfare, between the Namibian brewery and its much larger neighbor. Interestingly, Van der Hoog also reveals that brewing, according to the Reinheitsgebot, which is often thought to date from the German colonial period, was introduced as late as 1986 to differentiate the products of the company from those of SAB. With a lower alcohol content, Namibian beer incurred lower excise duties in South Africa. This is also the section where the identity politics surrounding beer is discussed in greater detail.
The author points to the elision from beer as a white Germanophone preserve to the embodiment of the newly independent Namibian nation after 1990. Despite a checkered relationship, the author notes that the South West African People’s Organzation government repeatedly blocked SAB from establishing a brewery in Namibia (until 2015) in order to protect the brewery. At the same time, NBL was able to make significant inroads into the South African market. The creation of a brewery inside South Africa, in tandem with Heineken, positioned NBL within a regional struggle for dominance among some of the largest corporate players in the alcohol market.
The book is based on a wide range of archival sources and interviews and is accompanied by some fascinating photographs and examples of advertising material.
The writing is understated, and it does not set out to make grand statements—even in relation to the matter of identity. It is also much more about the history of Namibian brewing than of beer consumption per se. Given the richness of the material, it is a monograph that one feels could have been fleshed out in many different directions. The author has laid down a marker that he, or someone else, will hopefully follow up in the future.

Paul Nugent
University of Edinburgh
Paul.Nugent@ed.ac.uk
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.46

Switzerland represents just 0.3% of the world’s wine grape cultivation area and global wine production. Barely 1% of that production is exported, and two-thirds of the wine consumed in the country is imported. Why, then, write, publish, or read a book about Swiss grapes? One good reason is that more than 250 different grape varieties are grown on its 15,000 hectares of vineyards, of which about onethird are indigenous, and another one-third are crossings (either spontaneous or from breeding programs). The latter include many PIWIs, that is, fungal-resistant varieties (see http://www.zukunft-weinbau.de/forschung/piwi-liste/). True, few of the varieties deemed to have Switzerland as their country of origin (e.g., by Robinson, Harding, and Vouillamoz, 2012) are grown to significant degrees in other countries. Yet, there is an increasing demand from wine growers in all wineproducing countries for more information on alternatives to those relatively few “international” varieties that dominate the current global mix.
That demand for more wine grape information is driven partly by the desire of current producers to differentiate their products by diversifying their vineyards or reducing their dependence on chemical inputs. That, in turn, is helped by producer awareness of the impact climate changes (higher temperatures, changes in precipitation, and more extreme weather events) are having on wine grape quality and vineyard yields. One adaptation is to switch to warmer-climate or more-resilient grape varieties. Another strategy is to re-locate to higher latitudes or increased elevation.
Part of the demand is driven as well by fledging producers in cooler countries, such as in northwest Europe, as they contemplate investing in a new local industry.
At the same time, the biotechnology revolution is providing plant breeders everywhere with new opportunities, which is increasing the interest in exploring and exploiting desired traits (e.g., fungal resistance) of little-known varieties.
A further reason for this book to be valued is because the origins of Switzerland’s native grapes are poorly (or mis-)understood. Some varieties were likely introduced by the Romans, others imported from Italy by Benedictine monks, and still others may have come from Egypt or Constantinople.
No one is better placed than Dr. José Vouillamoz to cut through this haze. A Swiss grape geneticist, he is one of the world’s leading authorities on the origin and parentage of grape varieties through DNA profiling, having trained with Carole Meredith at the University of California, Davis. In addition to co-authoring with Jancis Robinson and Julia Harding the award-winning book Wine Grapes, he has authored numerous scientific articles on grape varietal parentage.

The book starts with a brief five-page history of the grape varieties of Switzerland over the past two millennia. Then, for each of more than 50 native grape varieties, the book presents the main synonyms, history, family tree, etymology, planted area, regions of cultivation, and types of wines produced.
This slim volume is not the magnum opus provided, for example, by D’Agata (2014) for Italian native varieties. But it is sure to be the go-to text for both scholars and wine producers interested in Swiss varieties. Hopefully, it will inspire qualified people in other countries to produce similar books for their regions’ varieties. It is also an excellent companion for anyone contemplating a stroll through the country’s vineyards, not least because it has a color photo of a grape bunch for the reviewed varieties to aid identification of varieties before you reach the cellar door or auberge for a grand tasting experience.

Kym Anderson
University of Adelaide and Australian National University
kym.anderson@adelaide.edu.au
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.47

$13.69 (Kindle) at amazon.com (also in French: Cépages Suisses: Histoires et Origines, Lausanne: Ed. Favre, 2017

In German: Schweizer Rebsorten: Ihre Geschichte und Ursprünge, Bern: Haupt Verlag, 2018)

Professor Kym Anderson belongs to the “founding fathers” of wine economics. He is a co-founder and co-editor of the Journal of Wine Economics and has headed the Wine Economics Research Centre at the University of Adelaide since its inception a decade ago. The International Economics of Wine, a 700+ page strong volume, is, if not a complete, but at least the quintessential summary of his wine-related research, and includes previously published articles from various journals between 2000 and 2018.
Anderson’s research not only reflects the rising significance of wine economics as a field of scholarship, but it has crucially contributed to it and furthered it in fundamental ways. His work cannot be separated from the unique and massive data collections he has built over the years. All databases are freely accessible at the University of Adelaide’s Wine Economics Research Centre and include: Data on the Economic Contributions and Characteristics of Grapes and Wine to Rural Regions of Australia; Global Wine Markets, 1961 to 2009: A Statistical Compendium (with Signe Nelgen); Australian Grape and Wine Industry Database, 1843 to 2013; Annual Database of National Beverage Consumption Volumes and Expenditures, 1950 to 2015 (with Alexander Holmes); Annual Database of Global Wine Markets, 1835 to 2018 (with Vicente Pinilla); and Database of Regional, National and Global Winegrape Bearing Areas by Variety, 1960 to 2016(with Signe Nelgen).
The book includes 26 articles (chapters), all authored or co-authored by Kym Anderson, and is organized in six sections that refer to aspects of wine and wine economics: Globalization of Wine; Australia’s Wine Internationalization; Market Developments on Caucasia and Asia; Distortions to Wine Producer Incentives and Consumer Prices; Internationalization of Winegrape Varietal Choices; and Convergence in National Alcohol Consumption Patterns.
“Globalization of Wine” sets the stage. Seven papers analyze the enormous rise in the global wine trade over the last 30 years. This globalization surge is all the more astounding because global production has hardly increased since 1960. But wine sales have grown significantly in value terms. Exports as a share of global wine production have risen from 5% to 15% between 1960 and 1990, and to 40% by 2012.
Wine, formerly one of the least traded agricultural products, has become one of the most internationally traded ones.
What caused this change? It seems the emergence of highly competitive and productive New World producers, such as Australia and New Zealand, are among the contributing factors—not always to the benefit of classic European wine-producing countries.
Various free trade agreements (FTAs) have added to the rise of wine’s globalization.
Chile and Australia, with their numerous FTAs, have mastered this domain like no other countries. Anderson mentions the positive influence of the Canada–U.S.
FTA that preceded the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA).
Instead of decimating Canada’s budding wine industry, it fostered Canada’s specialization in cool-climate wine making.
Driven by rising incomes and accompanying changes in taste, the increasing complexity of wine demand has further fueled the international trade of wine.
Consumers are no longer content with just the local product and wish for greater variety. In addition, increasing specialization has led to a surge in intra-industry wine shipments. Many wine exporting countries are also large wine importers. For instance, France, the world’s largest wine exporter by value, is also the world’s third-largest importer of bulk wine—mainly from Spain.
The first section of this book includes a paper analyzing the impact of climate change on the competitiveness of the world’s wine regions. In particular, Anderson examines the market challenges for cool climate regions. Cool-climate wine production is riskier due to shorter growing seasons, higher freezing risk, and higher vintage-to-vintage variations. This, and the fact that cool-climate producers tend to be small, make cool-climate wine production more expensive. However, New Zealand has shown that these obstacles are not insuperable.
The Globalization section ends with two articles on the effects of Brexit. Kym Anderson and Glynn Wittwer employ a partial equilibrium model to simulate various scenarios. Their results suggest that the impact outside the United Kingdom will be minor, compared with other developments in the world’s wine markets. “Inside the United Kingdom, however, the effect of Brexit on incomes and the British pound are likely to have nontrivial initial impacts on the domestic wine market and to be far more consequential than the direct impact of changes in bilateral tariffs” (Anderson and Wittwer, 2017, p. 212).
In the section of the book on “Distortions to Wine Producer Incentives and Consumer Prices,” Anderson sheds light on taxes and subsidies, including examinations of excise taxes versus import tariffs (for nonproducing countries) and ad valorem taxes versus taxes on the alcohol content of wine and its competitors.
In a paper with Hans Jensen (Anderson and Jensen, 2016), Anderson analyzes the European Union’s (EU) long-standing financial support for its wine industry. The authors show that subsidies are nontrivial and distributed unevenly across EU member countries. Their calculations suggest that during 2007–2012, annual assistance amounted to approximately 700 euros per hectare of vines or €0.15 per liter of wine produced in the EU at winery gate, “equivalent to a nominal rate of direct plus indirect producer assistance of approximately 20%” (Anderson and Jensen, 2016, p. 289).
The section on the “Internationalization of Winegrape Varietal Choices” is based on Anderson’s recently updated Database of Regional, National and Global Winegrape Bearing Areas by Variety, 1960 to 2016 (Anderson and Nelgen, 2020a), which lists the bearing areas of almost 1,600 wine grape varieties in 53 countries and 600 of the world’s wine-growing regions for 1990, 2000, 2010, and 2016. A paper entitled “Drifting towards Bordeaux? The evolving varietal emphasis of U.S.
wine regions,” by Alston, Anderson, and Sambucci, reveals the results for the United States. In fact, all papers in this section of the book demonstrate that there has been considerable convergence of varietal choices across countries over the past 30 years.
The trend to so-called international varieties (mostly of French, Italian, and Spanish origin) can be observed everywhere.
The book is densely packed with knowledge, data, and data analysis, too much to discuss in this brief review. Needless to say, this book is a must-have for every wine economist and interested layman. It is uniquely informative and may inspire future research.
For those who need more, there is good news. Kym Anderson recently published four additional books that are equally inspiring: Which Winegrape Varieties are Grown Where? (Anderson and Nelgen, 2020b); Growth and Cycles in Australia’s Wine Industry (Anderson, 2020); Global Wine Markets, 1860 to 2016: A Statistical Compendium (Anderson, Nelgen, and Pinilla, 2018); and Wine Globalization: A New Comparative History (Anderson and Pinilla, 2018).

Karl Storchmann
New York University
karl.storchmann@nyu.edu
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.48

Terroir exists these days somewhere between novel and passé. Its precept that place ascribes taste is ubiquitously echoed, yet nearly impossible to scientifically verify. For consumers, terroir prioritizes authenticity and quality, dictating in no uncertain terms that nature (or God) is paramount in the vineyard and cellar (e.g., zero-zero winemaking, native yeasts, etc.). Yet, this narrative presupposes terroir’s illiberal qualities; the winegrower’s labor is subordinated to the soil while the consumer’s palate is nullified by the allegedly objective taste provided by climate and the environment.
So how then has terroir—illiberal and unprovable—become the defining enological maxim of our time?

Scholarly studies of terroir have scrutinized its various manifestations in geology and culture, but have in most cases, failed to recognize its rootedness in a region’s politico–economic landscape. Also overlooked is terroir’s fluidity. Even in Burgundy, the unofficial home of terroir-ism, its meaning is continuously reinvented due to various micro and macro factors, including the parcelization of vine holdings through partible inheritance and globalization. Terroir has winners and losers.
Ensuring one’s place as the former rather than the latter requires work, even the reworking of the very definition of terroir.
As a native Burgundian, Marion Demossier (University of Southampton) had to tread with more care than usual, even for an anthropologist, in her unpacking of the region’s terroir. The puzzling hierarchization and differentiation associated with this relatively small area seem at first glance to constitute a rather high time and effort barrier for consumers. But, in fact, this complex arrangement is the semi-intentional result of intellectual work, mostly by landowning and winemaking elites, as they encountered challenges at the vineyard, local, regional, state, and global levels.
Chapter 1 (Wine Landscapes and Place-Making) examines the relationship between landscape and social organization. The hierarchy of Burgundy wine (villages to grand cru) is a result of the region’s continuous need to position itself within ever-evolving global hierarchies. Whether the growth of French tourism in the 20th century or the emergence of a global wine culture more recently, the construction of place in Burgundy has been moored to trends outside of its villages’ walls. In Chapter 2 (Wine Growers and Worlds of Wine), Demossier’s analysis parallels (probably unintentionally) a recent trend in wine journalism that repositions the winegrower at the center of wine quality. Here, Demossier is at her best, as she turns away from the “black legend” of anthropological doom and gloom, which tends to focus only on eroded communities, and instead hones in on the Burgundian elite who have managed to creatively adapt to—and perhaps even help to shape—the forces of globalization. The vigneron, located somewhere between a peasant who seeks only to let nature speak and an artisan who skillfully shapes raw materials into a finished product, has been instrumental in ensuring “that the Burgundy story remains constructed around terroir, history, authenticity and quality” (p. 77).
Chapter 3 (The Taste of Place) engages with the anthropological and historical literature of taste, as well as the voices of prominent critics, including Jasper Morris and Jancis Robinson. The result is a fascinating admixture that admits to the nuanced ways in which intermediaries (négociants, chefs, critics, consumers, etc.) defined quality norms related to gustatory taste and subsequently shaped local reputations in Burgundy. This is an important corrective to the all-too-often imposition, especially in Burgundy but also elsewhere, including Germany, of allegedly static tastes codified in centuries-old maps and tax tables.
Demossier evocatively captures terroir’s paradoxes in Chapter 5 (Beyond Terroir).
Here, by returning to the role of the winegrower, she illuminates the need for the perpetuation of micro-differences in a world made ever more uniform by capital and global environmental movements. Whereas “beautiful vines” in the 1990s meant intensive intervention, including the use of tractors and herbicides, the morerecent biodynamie movement meant a return to “letting the terroir speak,” as Demossier has heard from various growers (p. 156).
Chapters 6 (Translating Terroir, Burgundy in Asia) and 7 (Creating Terroir, Burgundy in New Zealand) shift the geographic focus beyond Europe while allowing Demossier to simultaneously broaden and sharpen her analysis. For all of New Zealand’s differences from Burgundy as a site of winegrowing, there exist important commonalities between the two regions, including capitalist economic structures and the need for each region’s consumers to cultivate “differential distinction” through the purchase and consumption of its wines. Nevertheless, an unequal relationship exists between the Pinot Noir vineyards of Central Otago and Burgundy, or what we might consider the varietal’s colony and metropole, respectively, with knowledge seeming to flow in one direction only.
Burgundy culminates in a fascinating story about the region’s attempt to achieve UNESCO recognition, told firsthand by Demossier, who offered input into drafting the proposal. As a response to the increasingly global, identical, and quality-oriented wine trade, elites within Burgundy worked to evoke and construct the notion of place (vineyards, or climats, in particular) as something natural and resistant to the changes foisted upon the rest of the world by the internationalization of the trade.
Demossier cleverly notes that while heritage is ostensibly about the past, in the case of Burgundy, it is more so about the future.
Demossier’s book offers a candid glimpse into a fascinating world in which one should not always believe what one hears or sees. She is as critical of her own enmeshing into the narrative (as a native Burgundian) as her fellow anthropologists are wary of her deep-dive into the “soft” anthropological subject of elite Burgundian winegrowers. However, a careful reading of Demossier’s work sheds light on more than just the narrow world that it purports to study.
The construction of terroir narratives is not unique to Burgundy, nor is the ascribing of taste to place unique to wine. Tracing the application of terroir-ist strategies, whether in the slatey vineyards of the Mosel River Valley or in the volcanic soils of Boquete’s coffee fields, helps us to understand how local interests intersect with global forces. Producing, marketing, and consuming what we believe is unique belies the encroaching uniformity, which might help us understand how culture operates in realms far removed from Côte d’or.

Kevin D. Goldberg
Savannah Country Day School
kgoldberg@savcds.org
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.49

The pinnacular profession of the wine world is a winemaker. Yet, for too many years, the path to the top for women was blocked by male-domination, law, tradition, ignorance, superstition, and outright sexism. In 2011, Lucia and John Gilbert, both retired academics, embarked on a research project to chronicle the progress women have made in becoming winemakers, first looking at California and later France, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and New Zealand. Women Winemakers summarizes their findings based on meetings with nearly 150 lead winemakers, almost all women, in these regions. It serves as the tangible companion to their website, www.womenwinemakers.com, which invites and posts updates. Lucia has made a career of studying women who break into traditionally male careers, whereas her husband John, a chemist and biochemist, concentrated on the science of winemaking. In contrast to Wine Girl by Victoria James (James, 2020) and Pinot Girl by Anna Maria Ponzi (Ponzi, 2020), which were also released in 2020 by two industry insiders, this volume presents an outsider’s perspective of the recent history, personalities, and current circumstances of women in the wine world. The Introduction begins with a quotation about the wine business from Women of Wine by Ann Matasar (Matasar, 2006). She asserts that “no industry has so resolutely excludedwomen from positions of influence for so long” (p. 1). The recent history evidencing the increased opportunities for women and revealing remaining challenges is the focus of the Gilberts’ work. “Our goal in writing this book is to make leadwomen winemakers more visible (authors’ emphasis)” (p. 1) the authors stress. They do so in four parts. The first, consisting of three chapters, is entitled The Trailblazing Women Winemakers. The second, 1980 to the Present: The Career Pathways Taken, comprises four chapters, one for each pathway: sensory, family, science/agronomy, and enology. The three chapters of Part III, Where to from Here? cover an assortment of topics, including advice to anyone wanting to become a winemaker. It is followed by maps of the six regions with the location of each winery visited by the Gilberts marked. Endnotes and References are next. Part IV contains five appendices and a glossary. An eight-page two-column index is included. There are more than two dozen black and white photographs and figures interspersed throughout the text, page numbers for which are listed separately on pages x–xi. The first two chapters of Part I introduce the trailblazing female winemakers in California during the years 1965–1974 and 1975–1979. “We start with 1965 because this is the year when MaryAnn Graf graduated from UC Davis in Fermentation Sciences, the first woman to do so” (p. 9) the Gilberts explain. After a series of lower level positions, Graf was hired by Simi in 1973 and became the first female winemaker in California. In addition to her, seven other women who became lead winemakers between 1965 and 1974 are profiled. Among them is Zelma Long, who succeeded Graf in 1979 after a stint as the chief enologist at Robert Mondavi, where she hired a few of the others. “Zelma was in a unique position… not only as a gatekeeper for hiring but also as a wise mentor” (p. 23) the authors point out. Long, who wrote the Foreword to the book, went on to a distinguished career and garnered several awards. The second chapter covering the next five years introduces a dozen women who began working in California’s wine industry in the years after the Judgment of Paris tasting in 1976. Four of these are portrayed in more detail. One of them, Carol Shelton, shared her experiences at Rodney Strong/Windsor Vineyards over 19 years first as an enologist and later as a winemaker for the Windsor Vineyard label. There “she had to deal with the usual and pervasive sexist attitudes…despite being named the most awarded winemaker in the US for at least fifteen years and winemaker of the year several times” (p. 34). She finally decided to go out on her own when the president of the winery sent flowers and congratulations to her male counterpart after she won a top award at the California State Fair. In Chapter Three, we visit with six female winemakers in the Champagne region of France; Piemonte, Italy; Rioja and Priorat, Spain; the Douro Valley, Portugal; and Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand. In addition to traditional paternalism and inheritance laws that favored sons, women in Europe faced bizarre beliefs that limited their roles. For example, in Champagne “even in the early 1990s, some still held to the myth that the presence of a menstruating woman in the cellar would turn wine into vinegar” (p. 40). In Spain, opportunities for women were restricted under Franco. Though circumstances improved after his death in 1975 and the transition to democracy, Daphne Glorian-Solomon, proprietor and winemaker of Clos Erasmus in Priorat, maintains that “[t]he higher you get, the harder it is for a woman to get the job. People still have a hard time to accept a woman as a boss” (p. 49). Part II contains four chapters, each of which explores one pathway to a career in wine and contains profiles of women winemakers who followed that route after 1980. Chapter Four, The Sensory Pathway, also highlights Professor Ann Noble, the first woman hired as a faculty member in the Department of Viticulture and Enology at University of California, Davis, and a developer of the “Aroma Wheel.” The Family Pathway, the title of Chapter Five, considers several women, each of whom became “the first daughter to become the winemaker for her family’s estate” (p. 77). In Chapter Six, we meet three female winemakers who followed the agronomy pathway and three who came to wine via science, chemistry, in particular. The enology pathway taken by six women is the subject of Chapter Seven. Part III begins with Chapter Eight, Predictions Based on Our Empirical Studies of California Winemakers, which summarizes the results of three studies that seek to validate “the assumption (authors’ emphasis) that women were increasingly moving into the lead winemaking positions in California and that gender equality was close to being achieved” (p. 127). The first looks at the percent of female and male lead winemakers to see “whether women winemakers in California have shattered the ‘glass ceiling’” (p. 127). Though the criteria for doing so are never presented, the conclusion, based on the finding “that 9.8% of California wineries reported a woman as their main or lead winemaker…” (p. 129), is that they have not. The second study revealed that female winemakers “[p]roportional to their representation… are making wines that are more highly acclaimed in comparison to those of their male counterparts, as evidenced by their inclusion in Opus Vino…” (p. 134). This conclusion should be strengthened with support from other reputable sources. The third study found that the percentage of wineries with female lead winemakers increased “from 10% in 1999 to 14.7% in 2015 overall, and 20.5% when only available positions were considered” (p. 134). “We interpret the results to mean that progress appears steady but slow,” (p. 134) the Gilberts conclude. Career advice for winemaker wannabes is outlined in Chapter Nine. The recommendations are based on the conversations the authors had with the women winemakers they met with. “The responses from the diverse group…were remarkably consistent” (p. 142) they determined. These include getting a formal education and experience working harvest, in the cellar and laboratory, and tasting. Also “[c]onfidence, persistence, and a strong work ethic are all essential” (p.145). Being part of a network, finding a mentor, and getting involved professionally are all important. The chapter includes a list of 20 qualities of a competent winemaker that can be viewed as success attributes. Examples are a strong science background, solid technical training, and a discriminating palate. “Special Words for Women Entering the Field or Early in Their Careers” are offered regarding getting a first job, how to behave, and how to move up. Juggling work and family is also covered. This 14-page chapter, a distillation of lessons learned from those women who made it, is the most valuable contribution of the book. Chapter Ten very briefly returns to the importance of career pathways, addresses why it is taking so long for women to achieve their goals, and what is being done to promote change. Each region the authors visited has some activity or organization dedicated to the advancement of women. For example, “Femmes & Vins de Bourgogne is one of the ten regional association of Femmes de Vin (French Wine Women)” (p. 161). The appendices in Part IV contain shorter profiles of the women winemakers introduced in more detail in Chapters One and Two, along with others who were only briefly mentioned as well as those who began their careers between 1980 and 1984. There are also lists of winemakers by region and country. Guiding questions for the interviews are also shared. While the inclusion of a glossary might be helpful to some readers, I found at least one inaccuracy: Cabernet Franc is a parent of Cabernet Sauvignon (the other being Sauvignon blanc), not a cousin as indicated. The Gilberts are mostly successful in producing a volume intended for a wide audience that blends scholarly analyses with case studies. Their adherence to the mantra guiding academic expositions, “tell them what you are going to tell them, tell them, tell them what you told them,” unfortunately occasionally results in excessive repetition of the same point over just a few pages. That Graf was the first female graduate in fermentation science at the University of California, Davis, is mentioned on pages 4, 9, and 10. Cathy Corison’s quotation: “Back in 1978, when I did my first harvest, I never thought that women would be recognized as winemakers” appears on page 1 and 36. The short profiles in Appendix I of those already presented in more depth earlier add nothing. SinceWomen Winemakers is a snapshot of a work in progress, many of the particulars in it will change over time. Nevertheless, there are insights of lasting value, especially to those contemplating a career in the wine industry with aspirations of reaching the top of the profession. The four pathways are a clever categorization of the sources of motivation for those considering entering the business. Success attributes of and lessons learned by those who have reached the top offer essential wisdom. For the rest of us not in pursuit of a career in winemaking, the book and website give us visibility into another enterprise where women are finally making progress, albeit at a pace too slow for many.

Neal D. Hulkower
McMinnville, OR
nhulkower@yahoo.com
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.50

As the title states, China has one of the oldest, if not the oldest, drinking cultures in the world. Residues of alcohol have been found on Chinese pottery dating back 9,000 years. Given the size of the Chinese population, its distilled white liquor, baijiu, is also the most consumed spirit in the world. Yet knowledge and appreciation of baijiu remain limited outside of east Asia.1 On their first sip, most novices react 1The word jiu refers to alcoholic drinks and baijiu (literally, white liquor) specifies it as distilledwhite spirit compared to, for example, putaojiu (grape wine) or pijiu (beer). negatively. It takes time and experience to appreciate an unknown fermented and distilled drink. Derek Sandhaus’ purpose in writing this readable book, therefore, is to introduce China’s history of alcohol-making to a broad audience, to distill the findings of scholars who have worked on the history, economy, and culture of drinking in China, and to encourage a greater appreciation of a rich tradition. He is an enthusiast and, as one of the teams promoting the Ming River brand of baijiu in the United States, he has a direct interest in making the drink more popular.
The pun in the title is intended since the book includes extensive discussion both of the history of baijiu, its contemporary production, and social and economic roles and also of the challenges faced by visitors during many hospitable encounters at the Chinese meal table. As the traditional saying quoted in the book notes: “A sober guest is the host’s shame” (p. 94). While some readers not experienced in Chinese banquets or less interested in Derek Sandhaus’ sacrifices of liver health in researching the range of regional flavors and production might find the anecdotes on those aspects slightly long, this reader enjoyed the insights they produced and was reminded of many past encounters across the Chinese dining table.
Derek Sandhaus first went to China as a student in 2006 and had some typically negative experiences of baijiu. It was not until after 2011 when he went as a “trailing spouse,” accompanying his wife to a diplomatic appointment in Chengdu in Sichuan province, the home of some of China’s most favored baijiu varieties, that he began to explore the drink. By 2016, he had become a strong advocate for it and was launched on a mission to spread its fame and to promote the sale of the spirit outside China.His book records his journey and his efforts to find out more about its history and to learn about its production.He traveled widely in China to get to know the regional varieties, he consulted historians and other specialists and their studies, and he observed the contemporary economic and social context. The result is an enjoyable and insightful study that provides an excellent starting point to explore China’s drinking culture.
Overall, the book addresses four core themes: the history of alcohol in China, focusing primarily on the distilled baijiu; the production process and the main ingredients and varieties; the social and political context; and the way the industry has evolved in contemporary China. Its bibliography and footnoting provide a guide to further study for those who are inspired to learn more.
In discussing the history of Chinese alcohol, Sandhaus makes extensive use of scholars in the field, such as Kupfer (2019). He argues for a domestic origin of alcoholic drinks, subscribes to the “beer-before-bread” theory of the emergence of agriculture, and notes the importance of alcohol for the development of cultural and religious life. The early Chinese alcohols were grain based and eventually gave rise to a yeast starter consisting of a clump of mashed grain, a qu. This innovation became a distinctive feature of fermenting in China and gave many baijiu’s distinctive flavors. Combined with local waters, the result was the emergence of a multitude of regional styles and characters. In tracing this history, Sandhaus refers to many of the Chinese myths and legends about the origins of alcohol and to the rich literary tradition in praise of drinking. It was not until the Yuan Dynasty (1279–1368) that the art of distillation arrived in China from its Middle Eastern origins, although Sandhaus speculates on the possibility of an earlier transmission along the Silk Road and quotes Chinese scholars who argue for a local origin. Once it arrived, however, it acquired strong local characteristics, with a preference for sorghum as the grain base and the use of a solid-state fermentation and distillation process whereby steam passes through the fermented grain to extract the alcohol. By the early Ming Dynasty (1368–1644), baijiu had become widespread across China.
Over time, the production of baijiu adopted a range of production processes and characteristics. While sorghum remained a key grain, barley, maize, wheat, and rice were also used. The fermentation processes diversified, with different types of qu, and the distillation techniques varied. Sandhaus describes many of the key issues involved and the impact on flavor and character. He notes the broad classification into four main types: strong flavor (aroma) nongxiangxing, light flavor (qingxiangxing), sauce flavor (jiangxiangxing), and rice flavor (mixiangxing). Each has the qualities of taste, aroma, length, and so forth that are enjoyed by connoisseurs, although the Chinese vocabulary for appreciation is less complicated than that of the wine drinker. He also notes that there are also many sub-categories of classification.2 Each style has its major producers, and many of them are very strong liquors, commonly in the region of 50% or more alcohol. The strongest this reviewer has encountered was Lao Baigar from Shandong at 63%! The other aspect appreciated by Sandhaus is that the grain base of baijiu complements the nature of Chinese cooking. Drinking and toasting are always accompanied by food.
Turning to the contemporary social and political context, Sandhaus underlines the importance of drinking as a feature of doing business in China, particularly since the reformperiod began in 1978. Eating and drinking together have become a prominent aspect of building relationships and trust across the economy and politics. Sandhaus explores this issue through many anecdotes and shows how excessive consumption became an aspect of corruption and influence-building. The Chinese phrase yan jiu (cigarettes and alcohol) puns with the word yanjiu (research), and the latter, has been commonly used as a satirical comment on the potential for officials to “research” an issue through fine living with cigarettes and alcohol. He also discusses how excessive alcohol consumption has generated some widespread problems of poor health and obesity among officials and is a target of efforts to curb corruption.
A further issue to emerge from the book is the way the baijiu industry has developed in modern China. Under the planned economy model, there were efforts to standardize production and quality and to focus on some key brands and styles.
Guizhou Maotai, Sichuan Wuliangye, Beijing’s Erguotou, and Xi’an’s Fengjiu were all examples of this trend after the 1950s. Local products tended to be ignored and neglected. Since the reforms began, however, there has been a revival of varieties and products and much greater competition between regions and brands. Some of the most famous brands now sell for very high prices, especially aged bottles.
Sandhaus draws out many aspects of these issues, but it would be worth exploring further how the development trajectory of the baijiu industry illustrates the evolution of both the planned and the reform economies. The planned economy emphasized administrative controls of production, standardization, pricing, and distribution.
The economic reforms decentralized production and encouraged competition.
Local officials promoted the development of local economies, especially in the making of consumer goods and regional products. Producers diversified their products to compete in the market. Brands sought to strengthen their identity and prestige.
The growing wealth of society also encouraged more consumption and helped establish a hierarchy of consumption by social status. In much the same way as the market for malt whiskies has evolved in other parts of the world, the baijiu market has grown in complexity and range. A similar story can be told for other Chinese products such as green teas and special foods and medicines (e.g., Etherington and Forster, 1993). This is an aspect that Sandhaus broaches but would be worth a deeper study beyond this book.
In sum, this book provides a broad and well-researched introduction to the history and contemporary fate of baijiu drinking in China. Mr. Sandhaus has a mission to encourage a greater appreciation of the drink and its merits, both as a devotee and as a marketer. He even supplies some cocktail recipes to provide a gentle introduction to the spirit for the uninitiated, although those of us with some experience of it might still prefer the pure flavor.

2 Those who would like to get further insight into production processes and classifications would find Zheng and Han (2016) very helpful. They list three major and nine minor categories and the exemplary distilleries for each type.

Andrew Watson
University of Adelaide
andrew.j.watson@adelaide.edu.au
doi:10.1017/jwe.2020.51