After the final results were announced, Odette Kahn marched up to Spurrier, gathering together all the force of her strong personality, elegant presence, and aristocratic demeanor. As an editor, she realized better than probably anyone else in the room did the importance of what had just happened and the impact this wine tasting might have.
“Monsieur Spurrier, I demand to have my scorecards,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Madame Kahn, but you’re not going to get them back.”
“But they aremy scores!”
“No, they are notyour scores. They aremy scores!”
Spurrier and Kahn continued the sharp exchange over the ownership of the scorecards, until she finally demurred, realizing there was no way to force him to give them to her. Spurrier then shoved the pieces of paper into the hand of his summer intern and told her to take them immediately back to the Académie du Vin.
The judges lingered for a while longer, sharing a glass of Champagne and talking freely about the results of the tasting. I spoke with five of the nine. Their immediate reactions were candid. They were generally complimentary about the California wines they had just tasted. Most said they had heard that winemakers in California were doing interesting things, but they had little firsthand experience with the wines. Said Aubert de Villaine, “I tasted my first California wines in 1964, and since then there have been more and more good wine houses there.”
Pierre Bréjoux told me, “I went to California in July 1974, and I learned a lot—to my surprise. They are now certainly among the top wines in the world. But this Stag’s Leap has been a secret. I’ve never heard of it.”
Pierre Tari said, “I was really surprised by the California whites. They are excellent. We clearly saw that the California whites can stand up to the French whites. They are certainly the best—after France. They have come a long way, but they have a long way to go.”
Christian Vannequé told me, “The white wines approached the best of France without a doubt. California can almost do as well producing something like a Chassagne-Montrachet. The reds, though, were not as good and don’t have the character of a Bordeaux. They are a bit minty, very strong in tannin and lack finesse.”
There were also a few sour grapes among the judges. Tari complained, “French wines develop slower than California wines because of the climate, so the test was not completely correct.” Added Aubert de Villaine: “In general there is still quite a difference. The French wines are still superior.” Snipped Odette Kahn, “It was a false test because California wines are trying to become too much like French wines.” Said Michel Dovaz, “In five or ten years, when the wines have properly matured, I’m sure the French red wines will do much better.”
The InterContinental staff then hurried the group out of the room so they could get on with preparations for the wedding-party guests who would soon be arriving. As the judges walked out, Spurrier gave Dovaz the extra bottle of the winning Stag’s Leap wine, which had not been opened. Dovaz thanked him and took it back to his apartment in Montparnasse on the edge of the student section of Paris. He opened the bottle a few weeks later, when a friend came for dinner. They each had a glass, but then Dovaz went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of French wine to serve with the meal. The Stag’s Leap, he felt, was an admirable wine that had tested well, but it didn’t quench his thirst.
After the tasting, Spurrier and Gallagher walked together back to the Académie du Vin. They chatted about the unexpected results, but didn’t think much beyond that. From their trips to California, they knew Americans were making some good wines. After spending an hour or so at his business, Spurrier went home for dinner with his wife and two children. He told her about the interesting tasting they had held that afternoon and the unexpected outcome, but soon the conversation moved on to more mundane topics.
The day after the event, I called Gallagher at the Académie du Vin, looking for help in finding some of the Californians whose wines had been in the tasting. She had told me that the group was currently touring French wineries. Among them was the owner of Chateau Montelena, which had come in first among the whites. I asked if she could get a phone number where he could be reached, and a short while later she called back with the number. The Californians that day were supposed to be at the Château Lascombes winery in the Margaux region of Bordeaux. She couldn’t guarantee anything, but perhaps I could track him down there.
At that exact moment at Château Lascombes, the California winemakers were having a glass of Champagne as an aperitif before lunch. One of the Château’s staff members came up to group leader Joanne Dickenson and said that Monsieur Barrett was wanted on the phone. Dickenson’s immediate reaction was that something must have happened at home to one of his children. Why else would anyone be trying to reach Jim Barrett in southern France in the middle of a wine tour? The only person in France who knew the group’s itinerary was the travel agent in Paris.
Dickenson spotted Barrett across the room, walked over, and told him that he had a phone call. He also thought it must be bad news. The two Americans then followed the Château Lascombes staff member to another building and into a tiny office. The room was so small that Barrett had to kneel down on the floor to talk. All Dickenson heard was Barrett’s end of the conversation, as he said, “No…Yes…Okay…” Barrett finally flashed Dickenson the okay sign and mouthed the words that everything was all right, so she went back to her hosts and the reception.
Once Barrett identified himself, I asked him, “Have you heard that your wine came in first in the tasting that was held on Monday in Paris?”
“No, I haven’t. That’s great.”
“Well, you won in the white wine part of it. And a California red wine also won. So it was a California sweep. What’s your reaction to beating the French at their own game and in Paris?”
Barrett’s mind started racing, but the careful lawyer came to the fore. He thought quickly, “If I open my big mouth and say the wrong thing, it’s going to seem arrogant, and they won’t let me back into the Napa Valley.” After a second’s hesitation, Barrett said, “Not bad for kids from the sticks.” He went on to add, “I guess it’s time to be humble and pleased, but I’m not stunned. We’ve known for a long time that we could put our white Burgundy against anybody’s in the world and not take a backseat.”
I asked Barrett a few questions about his winery and the price of his wine in California. He said his winery was still a very new venture but that his “balance sheet has gone from a Pommard red to something like a rosé.”
Following a few more exchanges, I knew I had a good reaction quote—“kids from the sticks”—and so I ended the conversation.
After talking with Barrett, I turned back to my old, gray manual typewriter to write my report. In those days,Time correspondents sent long files that gave the full story of an event, which was much more than ever appeared in the magazine. A report was then cut down to a much shorter piece by the magazine’s New York staff. My report went on for eight pages and nearly two thousand words. It started: “Nine of France’s top wine experts swirled and sniffed and sipped and spit Monday for over two hours at the Hotel InterContinental in Paris and rolled Bacchus over and awarded top prize in both red and white wines to two noble upstarts from California—Chateau Montelena for the white and Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars for the red.” I ended my report with a comment from the scorecard of Christian Vannequé about the Chateau Montelena Chardonnay, which he had ranked as the best white. I thought it summed up the attitude of the French judges toward all the California wines: “A very agreeable wine, which will blossom pleasantly and has a good equilibrium. To be followed.”
After our conversation ended, Barrett returned to the pre-luncheon reception, which was just ending. He immediately told his wife about the call, so that she wouldn’t be thinking the worst, as he had originally. Before sitting down he sidled up to Dickenson and said, “That wasTime magazine. A reporter told me we won Steven Spurrier’s tasting.”
Barrett
then sat down for lunch. Bob Travers, the owner of the Mayacamas winery, which also had a wine in the Spurrier competition, was sitting across the table and asked, “Is everything okay?” Travers also thought that something was probably wrong at home. Barrett looked at Travers with a smile as wide as a bottle of Chardonnay and said, “Yes, everything’s fine.” The results of the Spurrier tasting soon began spreading quietly but quickly from Californian to Californian around the room.
Some ninety people attended the formal lunch, which was done in the best French style. Dickenson was seated to the right of Alexis Lichine, a part owner of Château Lascombes, while André Tchelistcheff was on his left. After lunch Lichine made a gracious, though condescending, speech, saying how nice it was that the Americans had come to learn from the French how to make great wine and how if they worked hard, someday they too might be successful. To Dickenson it was hard to take that speech, all the while knowing that California wines had just beaten some of the best French ones in Spurrier’s tasting.
After lunch the California delegation politely thanked their hosts and got back into their bus. Everyone waved good-bye as the vehicle pulled away from Château Lascombes. As soon as it had passed the last pine tree and was safely out of sight of the main building, the group erupted like football fans whose team had just won the Super Bowl. Everyone was screaming; Barrett hugged Tchelistcheff. There were two more wine tastings that afternoon to bring the number of wines the Californians had tried in nearly three weeks in France to more than 250, but the group walked through the event in a dream. They were more excited about what had happened in Paris.
Once they arrived at their next hotel, Barrett sent a telegram to the staff at Chateau Montelena:
STUNNING SUCCESS IN PARIS TASTING ON MAY TWENTY-FOUR STOP TOOK FIRST PLACE OVER NINE OTHERS WITH LE PREMIER CRU WINE STOP TOP NAMES IN FRANCE WERE THE BLIND TASTERS STOP
When the telegram arrived at Chateau Montelena, the staff wasn’t sure what Barrett was referring to. They learned it was something important, when Grgich got a call fromTime asking to send a photographer to take his picture. After that call, Grgich still didn’t know what to do. So he started dancing around the winery shouting in his native Croatian, “I’m born again! I’m born again!” No one could understand a word he said, but who cared? Barrett’s son Bo watched Grgich from a second-story window and thought he had gone bonkers.
The next day the Tchelistcheff group flew back to San Francisco. It was near dinnertime when André Tchelistcheff and his wife, Dorothy, reached their home in the city of Napa. Dorothy thought it might be a good moment to call Barbara Winiarski and tell her about the results of the Spurrier tasting. Barbara and the Winiarski children were already having dinner when the phone rang. When Dorothy Tchelistcheff told her that Stag’s Leap had won the competition for the red wine, Barbara wasn’t sure exactly which wine tasting that was, but thanked her for the message anyway. The children, though, became excited when they heard they had won something, and Barbara motioned to them to be quiet. Once her mother hung up the phone and told the children, Kasia and her younger sister Julia danced around the table with elation. They couldn’t remember ever winning a wine contest before.
After dinner Barbara talked by phone with Warren, who was at his old family home in Chicago wrapping up some matters involving the estate of his mother, who had recently died. Barbara casually mentioned that their wine had won “that wine tasting in Paris.” Warren also had a tough time remembering which tasting it was. Without realizing the profound impact the Paris Tasting would have on his life and his winery, he said simply, “That’s nice.”
Part Four
The New World of Wine
The Paris Tasting destroyed the myth of French supremacy and marked the democratization of the wine world. It was a watershed in the history of wine.
—ROBERT M. PARKER JR., 2001
Chapter Twenty
The Buzz Heard Round the World
Wine is sunlight, held together by water.
—GALILEO
The June 7, 1976, issue ofTime magazine hit newsstands in New York City and a few other major metropolitan areas on Monday morning, May 31. The cover story was about a scandal involving the honor system at West Point. Back on page 58 in the Modern Living section was a modest story entitled “Judgment of Paris.” The lead story of the section was about a new theme park in Atlanta, and my article about the wine tasting filled out the last column. No photograph accompanied the Paris article, the normal sign of a significant story. In fact, the page it was on was overwhelmed by an ad for Armstrong tires. The last sentence of the first paragraph told it all: “Last week in Paris, at a formal wine tasting organized by Spurrier, the unthinkable happened: California defeated all Gaul.”
The day after theTime story appeared, something unusual was happening at Manhattan’s Acker Merrall & Condit, America’s oldest wine shop, then located on the Upper West Side on Broadway between West Eighty-sixth and West Eighty-seventh streets. Acker was one of the few liquor stores in the city at the time to carry a good selection of quality California wines. Owner Michael Kapon had been introduced to them in 1972, when a friend raved to him about the 1969 Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon. Kapon tried the wine, liked it, and began carrying several Mondavi wines.
The Mondavi Cabernet moved well at $4.99 a bottle, and Kapon always kept it in bins just under the displays of his top French wines such as Burgundy’s Romanée-Conti that sold for much more. His big sellers among California products, though, were still the Gallo and Almaden jug wines. Kapon sold five hundred to six hundred cases of those per month, compared with only a few cases of premium California wines.
Acker Merrall & Condit carried both Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon from two of the eleven California wineries that had taken part in the Paris Tasting: Chateau Montelena and Freemark Abbey. The price for each: $5.99 a bottle.
At midmorning the store manager went to the back room where Michael Kapon was working and told him that the supply of Chateau Montelena and Freemark Abbey wines was running out. The manager had asked one customer why he was interested in those wines. The person told him about theTime story. By noon Acker Merrall & Condit had sold out of the five cases of wines it had from the two California wineries at the Paris Tasting.
The scene was repeated in countless wine stores around the country. One New York City shop reportedly received four hundred calls asking about the winning wines the day after the article appeared. Napa Valley folklore tells of a desperate man rushing into the Wine and Cheese Center in San Francisco and imploring, “Have you got any Montelena?”
The appearance of the story inTime magazine was important for the future impact of the Paris Tasting. If no journalist had been there that day, the tasting would have been like the tree falling in the forest that no one heard. As Spurrier said later at the time of the twentieth anniversary of the event, “If we hadn’t had a reporter fromTime, there would have been no fuss at all.”
Timehad a readership of 20 million and talked directly to the American middle class, the exact group that was becoming more interested in wine. It was those people who read the story, told their friends about it, and suddenly had a new respect for California wines. Had the news been reported only in one of the new American wine newsletters or magazines, it might have attracted attention among wine connoisseurs, but would have been little noted by the general public.
If no one from the press had been present, it would have also been much easier for the French and others simply to deny or distort what had happened. As it was, a whole mythology about the tasting grew up as people in both California and France embellished the event. In fact, my major objective in writing this book was to set the record straight once and for all about what transpired that day in Paris. Nearly three decades later, it is still constantly cited as the turning point in the development of California wine.
The most influential wine writer at the time was Frank Prial of theNew York Times, who four years earlier had started
a weekly column entitled “Wine Talk,” which appeared on Wednesdays. Prial took the unusual step of devoting two columns in a row to the Paris event, which got the news out to the public perhaps even more than the originalTime story. At the time, New York City was the major wine-consuming market in the U.S., and his articles brought home the importance of this event in Paris, with French judges, to many consumers who cared what happened in France and had previously paid scant attention to California wine.
On June 9, Prial discussed the Chardonnay wines in the tasting. He noted that in similar events in the U.S., “the latest only six months ago in New York,” California wines had outscored top French Chardonnays, but “champions of French wines” argued that the American tasters were biased toward American wines and the French wines were perhaps damaged in shipment. Since the judges in Paris were French and the California wines had the disadvantage of travel, Prial asked, “What can they say now?”
In his second article—this one on June 16—Prial dealt with the Cabernet Sauvignon part of the event. This time he was more skeptical about the results, implying they may have just been a fluke. That was an explanation that appeared in several American publications at about the same time. The source for that view was probably Steven Spurrier, who was quoted in an article in theMinneapolis Star saying, “You can’t expect 10 people drinking 20 wines to come out with the same answers twice.” Just after the event Spurrier appears to have become concerned, probably with some justification, about the impact it was having and what that might mean for his future as a wine merchant in Paris. Spurrier’s early comments to reporters dwelled on the randomness of blind tasting as if to play down what had happened. Gallagher was also unhappy that press stories, starting with theTime one, emphasized Franco-American wine competition, rather than the discovery of new California wines, which had been their goal in staging the tasting.
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