The Wine Knows

I've been in the wine end of the journalism business for fewer than 15 years, so my opportunities to meet some of the legends in the American wine industry have been few.

I am thankful I was able to meet Robert Mondavi, a man who, as much as anybody, raised the level and prestige of American wine.

In January 2004, I judged the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition for the first time. This competition, held each year in the Sonoma County town of Cloverdale, includes a winery-sponsored dinner. In 2004, Robert Mondavi Winery was the host. On the drive through the Alexander Valley, across the Mayacamas Mountains and down through Calistoga and St. Helena, we were regaled with stories by Dr. Richard Peterson, a giant in the California wine industry in his own right.

I'd driven past Mondavi Winery before but had never pulled in. As our bus drove through the gates, I knew I was in for an experience. Our group of 40 professional wine judges toured the winemaking facility and state-of-the-art vineyards. The tour guide explained how Mondavi used underground drip to reduce evaporation and satellites to see which parts of the vineyards needed extra care.

It was all rather grand - and we hadn't even gotten to dinner yet.

The meal was in a large area of the winery, and Mondavi wines were served throughout. We had the opportunity to taste Reserve Cabs from the '80s alongside new releases. A Sauvignon Blanc - excuse me, Fume Blanc - was one of the finest I'd ever tasted. I vividly recall one course with sea bass covered with enough shaved black truffles to pay the printing costs of an issue of Wine Press Northwest.

At the beginning of the meal, we were greeted by brothers Michael and Tim Mondavi. Then the man himself came out, escorted by his wife, Margrit. He moved slowly and carefully. It was obvious that age had caught up with someone who had defied it for so long. I was struck by how physically small he was, converse to what a giant he was in the wine world.

Several of those in attendance knew or had met Mondavi before and got up to greet him. I figured this might be my only opportunity to shake hands with him, so I patiently worked my way into the crowd of well-wishers and waited my turn. When it came, Mondavi looked up at me - he had to be a full 18 inches shorter than me - offered me a broad smile and shook my hand. He didn't have any clue who I was - and I didn't bother him with details - yet for that brief moment, he treated me like an old friend.

In that instant, I understood why he was so successful in life. His charisma and charm shone through. I could see why people wanted to be around him, to work with him, to follow him.

For the rest of the evening and on the bus ride back to Cloverdale, everyone was buzzing. The evening was just about perfect, thanks to the camaraderie, the meal and the appearance of the man.

When I returned home to Washington a couple of days later, I jumped on Amazon.com and ordered Mondavi's memoir, Harvests of Joy. I went on to read other books on the history of the American and California wine industries. Despite all the difficulties Robert Mondavi faced throughout his life, he charged on. The fact that he was in his 50s - about the time many start thinking about retirement - when he was fired from his job at Charles Krug and started over with Robert Mondavi Winery helps me realize just how much he accomplished.

I had just turned 2 years old when Robert Mondavi was crushing grapes for his first vintage in the new Oakville winery. Here I was 36 years later meeting the legend. Moments like this can make you look in the mirror and ask yourself what you've accomplished in life.

In my cellar are two bottles of Charles Krug 1964 Cesare Mondavi Vintage Selection Cabernet Sauvignon. They're waiting for me to turn 50 in 2014. Robert Mondavi's fingerprints are on that wine, as he didn't leave Charles Krug until 1965. He didn't make the wine - his brother, Peter, did - but he undoubtedly had a hand in it.

When the time comes to pop the corks on those bottles, I'll surely raise a glass to the man primarily responsible to the meteoric rise of the American wine industry.