The Salesman

I first met Jim McCullough in 1984. He was imposing, well over six feet tall, and had a deep sonorous voice that rumbled out of his Irish physique with a somber vibration that belied his wonderful sense of humor. Raised in Philadelphia, his family lived across the street from the Catholic Church where his mother cared for the priests. His sister became a nun and Jim even thought of joining a seminary. Alas, his love of ladies and the good life seduced him away from heavenly pursuits. Influenced by his upbringing, Jim McCullough was a twentieth-century man with nineteenth-century sensibilities.

In 1984 I was sent to Los Angeles to work the market for Gundlach Bundschu. Our sales in Southern California were abysmal, and I had been dispatched to find out why. McCullough, I discovered, had left the radio business in 1976 to become the first wine salesman to brave the Rocky Mountains. In those days Aspen, Vail, Telluride, and Steamboat were barely known for their skiing, and certainly no one there knew anything about fine wine. Jim McCullough taught them. He set up tastings, organized staff trainings and regaled them with eloquent histories of famous chateaus. At a time when French First Growths sold for $15 a bottle, his bosses were stunned when this strange, tall Irishman broke one million dollars in annual sales and then continued to do it year after year.

Inevitably McCullough had a falling out with his employers and secured a job as Western Regional Sales Manager for the Spanish wine company Torres. Almost single-handedly he increased their sales to one hundred thousand cases. So stunning were their sales that by 1984 the illustrious Chateau and Estates Wines Company had taken over the brand and McCullough with it. It was not a good match. McCullough was a bit too unpredictable for the staid Chateau and Estates management, so they stuck him in Los Angeles to focus on their one California winery (Gundlach Bundschu) and Torres but refused to let him represent his beloved Bordeaux wines.

After a particularly horrific day of riding around with a typical Los Angeles wine salesman, being insulted by various wine buyers and dealing with interminable traffic jams as we travelled from one account to the next, I could take no more. I called for an end to the day and insisted the wine salesman drop us back at our car. We were in Manhattan Beach. I took McCullough to a liquor store where we bought a bottle of Mt. Veeder Cabernet. I grabbed two plastic cups, and we made our way down to the beach. With the pounding surf in front of us, I opened that bottle of wine and poured it into the cups. We toasted each other and took a sip. That bottle of wine was deader than the Dead Sea.

I insisted McCullough stay at the beach while I went back to the store to exchange the bottle. When I realized the store had no air-conditioning, I figured there might be more problem bottles, so I traded our dead bottle for a bottle of Hornitos tequila and two limes. Armed with fresh cups I returned to the beach where we looked at the gorgeous sunset and drank most of that bottle of tequila. I talked to him about selling wine, distribution, and marketing. His answers showed insight, knowledge, and creativity. I returned to Sonoma and told Jim Bundschu that if he had any sense, he would hire Jim McCullough to be our sales manager.

It came to pass. Jim McCullough was hired as sales manager for Gundlach Bundschu Winery. The year was 1985 and our venerable winery was making some very dynamic wines, but sales were dragging. McCullough took some time to get the lay of the land. He spent time with Jim Bundschu and lots of time with me. He determined that the biggest single problem with the wine was its name: no one could pronounce it. He proposed we break it down to four simple, one-syllable words: Gun-lock-bun-shoe. He had even sketched pictures of a gun, a padlock, a bread bun, and a shoe.

Realizing that there was no advertising budget, McCullough suggested creating a poster that would teach people to pronounce the name. The poster was made at minimal cost. McCullough hit the road and sales started to pick up. Upon his return, McCullough regaled us with details of his trip. Once people learned to say Gundlach Bundschu, they insisted on buying it and teaching others how to say it. He dotted his narrative with historical details and personality assessments as incisive as a Rorschach test. And he was funny, hilariously funny, fall-out-of-your-chair funny.

From that point on and for the next 15 years, Jim McCullough sold every bottle of Gundlach Bundschu wine ever produced. Together, we created dozens of posters that have become eminent artifacts of wine history. He helped create “Fortune Corks” which printed a great quote on every cork. One of the quotes was from McCullough’s grandmother. She often said of her grandson, “Ye were cut out to be a gentleman, but the devil ran away with the pattern.” When the Bundschu clan hijacked the Napa Wine Train, it was McCullough who insisted we wear black velvet capes and masks.

As time went on, and the winery’s sales skyrocketed, McCullough and I convinced Bundschu that we needed to acknowledge and thank the friends we had made on the road. We created the Sonoma Valley Wine Patrol and highlighted each year with a four-day party that took 80 invited celebrants into a region in ways no tourist could duplicate. McCullough sought out historic buildings in downtown areas and would somehow arrange for elaborate wine dinners to be held in their lobbies. He could find fiddle champions in Missouri and entice them to perform. He would lead tours of mansions, farmer’s markets, and tiny neighborhood parks known only to locals… and Jim McCullough. The wine patrollers would eat nothing but great food, but they could find themselves at a dive full of personality just as easily as an elegant restaurant.

McCullough certainly was successful. Without him, there might not be a Gundlach Bundschu Winery, and we certainly would not have gained the reputation as the legendary “Joy Boys” accorded us by history. McCullough was a complicated man. Salesmen would cringe when he came to town. They knew they would sell a lot of wine, but they also knew a couple of accounts would throw them out based on some of McCullough’s insensitive comments. He was one of the greatest speakers on wine I have ever heard, but he could kill a happy crowd in an instant with a morose comment.

McCullough was gone from Gundlach Bundschu by 2000. He worked in New Mexico, then Oregon before returning to Sonoma. He worked in tasting rooms where he sold tons of wine but eventually was let go for various slights. A twentieth-century man with nineteenth-century sensibilities doesn’t do well in the twenty-first century wine business. Eventually, he returned to his native Philadelphia, ostensibly to live out the rest of his life in the bosom of his large family. His health was not good, and he spent the last few years of his life receiving dialysis treatments three times a week and enduring repeated hospital visits. He passed in 2019.

With Jim McCullough you got the good, the bad and the ugly. He was one of the seminal characters in California wine history, but he is largely unknown and forgotten. I loved him like a brother. Before he died, had you turned up in Philadelphia, he would have found you the best cheesesteak, the finest cheap seat at the Philharmonic, and given you an historical perspective as clear as the liberty bell. Of course, he’d probably have pissed somebody off as well.

Forgotten History

Tales from the Reawakened Wine Patrol

by Lance Cutler

Sometimes life is all about timing. Being in the right place at the right time makes all the difference. I didn’t plan on being there. I just knew I had to get out of Los Angeles. I had to escape with my family to some other place. I yearned for a more rural existence, one far removed from the despair of inner-city Los Angeles and the hassles with police and the intense, passionate pleadings of political true believers.

So, in 1977 I found myself in Sonoma, California, a small rural community steeped in history and populated primarily by elderly retirees. The center of town circled around a lovely park with mature trees and a duck pond. The northern-most mission of the Spanish conquest anchored one corner, the hardware store another. In the middle of First Street East, locals would shop at the market taking time to sit at the lunch counter for a cup of coffee and gossip.

A poor farming town in a gorgeous setting, Sonoma survived by growing apples, pears, prunes, and some wine grapes. Restaurants were family style and inexpensive. If the food was not exciting, at least it was plentiful. The bars did big business, mostly on-the-rocks drinks, martinis and Manhattans.

I landed a job as director of a small, private elementary school. The pay was $600 per month, nine months a year, with free tuition for my daughter. We lived in an 864-square foot house on two acres of land, which we shared with our landlords, the Boninos. Our rent was $165 per month; $150 if we kept the leaves raked.

In the summer of 1978, with no salary coming in from the school, I signed on for a job in the Gundlach Bundschu tasting room. A small family winery dating back to 1858, Gundlach Bundschu had been revived by Jim Bundschu and his two brothers-in-law. I worked the tasting room Saturday and Sunday from 12 to 4. Often, no one would show up for hours at a time. I earned $3.00 per hour. The Merlot and Zinfandel sold for $5.00 per bottle; the Cabernet Sauvignon was $5.50.

I returned to the school in September, working from 9 to 3 and then working at the winery from 3:30 until midnight to help with harvest. In February of 1979, the Bundschus asked me to work full-time at the winery. They offered $3.50 per hour. I accepted the offer.

I worked at Gundlach Bundschu for 18 years. I became winemaker, then general manager and won the Winemaker of the Year Award in 1983. Along with Jim Bundschu and Jim McCullough, I helped turn Gundlach Bundschu Winery into one of the most respected and revered wineries in all of California.  We made wonderful wines which sold at very fair prices.

We honored the Hispanic contribution to winemaking and grape growing. We started the first humorous marketing program in the fine wine business. We invented the Sonoma Valley Wine Patrol. We hijacked the Napa Wine Train, kidnapped Richard Branson, and trained many of the best winemakers of California. We rode the tidal wave of the fine wine boom as it grew from a simple, local business to become one of California’s most important industries, accounting for more than $84.5 billion in annual economic output.

The three of us, working together, created a magical kingdom that welcomed anyone willing to work hard and laugh at themselves. Hundreds and eventually thousands of people discovered this special place and signed on to be a part of it. There was no other winery like it. There likely will never be another.

This is the story of how that magical place started, developed, and eventually withered away. It is a story filled with creativity, a brutal work schedule and laughter, lots of laughter. It is also a story of death and murder. In the end, this is the story of the California wine business.

For those of us in the wine business in those days, life was hard, but it was fun, and no place was more fun than Gundlach Bundschu. It was a magical place spreading joy and wonder everywhere.

Is it all true? I can’t say for sure. Memory twists the truth, and what’s true for one person is not always true for another, but I was there. These are things that I did. This is how I remember it.

People say you must record the history. You must pass on the truth. We cannot leave the story to private equity firms, billionaire serial buyers and large wine conglomerates like E.J. Gallo and Constellation.

I was in the right place at the right time, and this is my story, so I’m going to try to tell it.

It Could Work

by Jake Lorenzo

Last week Jake Lorenzo went to Napa to pick up some glass for my upcoming bottling of Guerrilla Vino. Coming home, it was 2:00 PM, with the lunch rush winding down, so I stopped into a restaurant to say hello to a longtime Chef/owner friend and maybe have one of his legendary meatball appetizers. Chef sat at a table sampling some wine with a salesman and the director of his wine program. Seeing me, he leapt from his chair, gave me a hug and insisted I join them. The salesman poured a Cabernet Sauvignon from Alexander Valley that was lush, complex, full of flavor, and carried by great acidity with a soft tannic finish. We all nodded our heads, “Delicious.”

The salesman said, “And the winery is blowing this out for just $10 a bottle, trying to land by-the-glass placements.”   Chef talked to his young wine director, Bobby, asking what they would charge as a by-the-glass price. With a straight face Bobby replied, “I think it would do well at $22 a glass.”

Jake Lorenzo went off like a plugged fermentation lock exploding from a barrel. I hurtled across the table, knocked Bobby backward in his chair and had my hands squeezing his throat as his face turned red. Fortunately, Chef and two waiters pulled me off him before I had caused any serious damage. Bobby gasped to catch his breath, terror in his eyes as he looked at me.

I admit; it was not this detective’s proudest moment, but for more than 30 years I have been railing against restaurants that used outrageous wine and beverage markups as their primary profit centers. Depending on the size of their glass pour, Bobby was proposing marking up this bottle of wine 10 to 12 times cost. This detective bled for the winery, forced to sell their wine at a major loss, probably in need of some cash flow and to move some products off their inventory. Instead of passing along the savings to their clientele, thus encouraging more consumption (after all a depletion is a depletion) Bobby was gouging the winery and his customers assuming $22 a glass for wonderful Cabernet Sauvignon would seem like a deal.

Jake Lorenzo has always had a hard time with restaurant wine markups. The old standard wine list markup of three times cost caused my blood pressure to rise. When they decided the price of a single glass of wine should equal the cost of the bottle, my fists would clench involuntarily. As I watched glass pours shrink for six ounces to five ounces and now sometimes just four ounces, I needed Jakelyn’s mother or Chuy or some other trusted friend to remind me to breathe slowly until my heartbeat returned to normal.

Surely, I thought people weren’t going to put up with these ridiculous mark ups. Years ago, when restaurant wines started at $30 per bottle, I assumed there would be some backlash. No? When the bottom of the list started at $40 customers would make it known that the price is too high. Still, no? Well, who the hell was going to drink wine with their pizza when the cheapest bottle went for $50? I had counted on the dining public coming to its senses and demanding that restaurants lower their markups or at least provide reasonable alternatives for those of us who love a good meal accompanied by a thrilling bottle. It didn’t happen, and restaurants assumed they could continue to raise prices at will.  At some point a private eye needs to give up. When wine lists climbed to a $60 per bottle starting point, this detective stopped going to restaurants.

Since I rarely go to restaurants now, I didn’t notice that people had finally hit the wall on wine pricing. Several recent surveys show a 15 to 30 percent drop in restaurant wine sales. That’s not all, tourists no longer flock to wineries to taste their wares, wine club members are fleeing like beachgoers in the face of a tsunami. Wineries are laying off staff, closing production facilities, and ripping out vineyards. Local wine is just too damn expensive for many of us, but wine gives us pleasure and is part of our daily ritual, so we scour store shelves for reasonably priced wonders from other parts of the world. Instead of going to a restaurant, we cook a nice meal at home with friends, share a couple bottles of wine and save a fortune.

Let’s get something straight, right off the bat. Jake Lorenzo, private eye, loves a delicious meal cooked by a talented chef, especially when accompanied by a couple bottles of fine wine. Jakelyn’s mom and I aren’t fashion plates, we don’t gamble, nor do we use drugs, so our discretionary spending is focused on travel, food, and wine. A three hour lunch is one of the glories of life, and for decades we have been dedicated to discovering the right chefs, sampling their inventive cuisine, and enjoying those meals while sipping tasty wines.

After a delicious meal, it is customary for us to invite chefs to our table to share a glass of wine. If they are congenial and show a sense of humor, we invite them over to the house, offering to cook for them. Usually, by the time we give them a second invitation, they have checked around with other chefs who have visited us and are willing to come over. For years, chefs have joined us at table, scoured my wine cellar, and wandered through Jakelyn’s mother’s garden

Sadly, it seems this time has passed. Jakelyn’s mother and I rarely go out to restaurants to eat. When a simple meal for the two of us with a single bottle of wine adds up to $200 to $300, we cannot justify the devastating hit on our monthly budget that a couple meals out will inflict. We still want to go to your restaurant, eat your food and support your business, but you need to work with us to get us to come back.

I propose restaurants start locally. Forget about trying to attract the rich and famous and work on getting your neighbors to walk through the door. Have at least one night a week where you waive corkage. This would allow us to sample your food and drink decent wine but still have enough money to pay the electric bill. Try one night a week where all the wines on your list are half price. Believe it or not, wine lovers appreciate good wine with delicious food. Give them the opportunity to try wines a bit beyond their reach. You’ll still make plenty of profit, and you’ll have customers returning regularly. Actively search out inexpensive wines that you love and add them to your list at reasonable markups so your customers can enjoy them as well. When you get deals on wine from desperate wineries, share some of the savings. If your cost is $10 per bottle, charge $30 on the list and $8 per glass. You’ll still make three times cost, but you’ll make your customers happy.

As much as you want to push strange tasting natural wine, or rare, exotic varietals, drop a few from your list to honor local, historic pioneers still pursuing the dream. Were it not for their struggles and success you probably wouldn’t even be here, and after corporate entities had their way with the California wine business, there aren’t many family wineries left.  Every Napa restaurant should be selling Storybook Mountain Zinfandel, Lang and Reed Cab Franc and something from Frog’s Leap. Shouldn’t any Sonoma County restaurant have Pellegrini-Olivet Lane on its list or maybe Rochioli? Doesn’t Tobin James belong on every list in Paso Robles along with a Dusi Zinfandel? Adam Tolmach has been making great wine from the very beginning. His wines deserve a place on any restaurant wine list from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara. Learn your history. Honor the pioneers. They are not getting any younger.

Happy hour is your friend. A few selected dishes along with some interesting wine and beer selections will encourage people to try your food. Bring back winemaker dinners that are bargain priced instead of $150 and up. Wineries are desperate to deplete mounting inventory. They’ll give you a deal to feature their wine with your food.

It could work. What have we got to lose? Times are tough. We’ve got to try something. Restaurants and wineries should be partners in providing a great experience for people who love food and wine. We should work together for a common goal.

It could work.

 on the passing of dreams

Jake Lorenzo

From the Library, July 2008        

In the late 1960s, the first California varietal wines to grace this detective’s palate came from the new Robert Mondavi Winery in Oakville. I had no idea where Oakville was since I was often mired in my daily commute from Santa Monica to East Los Angeles where I was teaching Hispanic kids to read in English. Teaching got me into drinking, and drinking led me to the wine business.

By 1977, Jake Lorenzo had moved, with his family in tow, to California Wine Country. It was certainly one of the best life decisions I have ever made. In my 30 years’ working in the wine business, I never passed an evening with Robert Mondavi. I shook his hand a couple of times, had a couple of superficial conversations and in the very early days spent many a delightful evening listening to the superb music at his summer concerts.

He was a big man, tall with a booming voice and an enthusiasm that matched, but more than anything Mondavi was a salesman and a dreamer. His dream was to sell a pile of California wine, and his pitch was to take on the established, great wines of the world and challenge them “mano a mano” with his upstart varietals.

Robert Mondavi would march into the greatest restaurants in the world. He would plunk his bottles down on the table, order some of the famous First Growths off the list and insist that his guests taste the wines side by side, knowing that just having his bottles on the same table as the great wines of France lent them an air of legitimacy. He would smile his snake-oil grin and concede, “We’re not there yet, but some day soon our California wines will be as good as theirs.” Then he would pay the bill, tip large and move to the next grand restaurant to repeat the show.

Mondavi was our ambassador to the wine world. He pushed his winemakers to compete with the finest wines of the world because he knew that was where the money was. He was imaginative, insistent, clever and decidedly American in his brash, trash-talking challenge of the established icons of wine. His surprising legacy is that he not only convinced the French and Europeans that California could compete with them, he convinced us that our wine was as good as theirs.

Every California winemaker will be forever indebted to Robert Mondavi because he took the high road in trying to sell his upstart wines, and that high road was to dedicate his efforts to quality.

Mondavi’s passing reminds me of others who have left us, others far less famous but not necessarily less important. Next year will be the 20th anniversary of Tracy Toovey’s death. Tracy exemplified the enthusiasm, dedication and sense of wonder that comprised the wine industry in the ’70s and ’80s. Tracy worked as the cellar master at Grand Cru Winery. The hours were long, and the work was very difficult. Pay was not much higher than minimum wage.

Tracy was gentle and kind, but he was fiercely determined to make fine wine and he took immense pride when his attempts succeeded. Tracy, like most of us in those days, lived and breathed winemaking. We hadn’t come from families with wine history, and we were eager to make up for lost time. We all held wine tastings, traded wine and shared any wines we could find from other countries. A chance to taste some of the great wines from France or Italy would see a whole group of us piled into a car going to San Francisco, even if it meant having to work at the winery over the weekend to make up for lost time.

When Tracy got married, the ceremony was held at Grand Cru Winery. Lance Cutler performed the nuptials. Mark Stupich, Jeff McBride and Ray Kaufman all sang in the choir. The guests made up a “who’s who” of working winemakers and cellar rats, and the sheer amount of wine consumed would have made Robert Mondavi confident about the success of California varietals in the future.

Over the next few years Tracy and his wife had two kids and bought a tiny house in Glen Ellen. Most evenings and weekends he would work on the house, adding on bedrooms or a dining room or installing new handmade kitchen cabinets. He planted some vines in his backyard and made wine from those grapes. Tracy worked at a job he loved, passed his time with a family that he worshipped, and spent time exploring hobbies and interests that intrigued him.

In 1989 Tracy Toovey, like the rest of us, had been in the wine business for more than 10 years. We had seen demand for our wines grow and grow. We had been through one ill-financed expansion after another. We had learned our lessons about cold stability, heat stability, malolactic fermentations and Brettanomyces infection. We reveled in harvest, groaned on the bottling lines and enthusiastically shared each new bottling with our contemporaries as soon as they were bottled. Life was good.

Then, for Tracy Toovey, life was over. Tracy was murdered on April 14, 1989 at the winery by Ruben Salcido who was reportedly drunk and coked-up. Salcido ended up killing seven people including his wife and two of his children.

For Grand Cru Winery, the aftermath was not their finest hour. They refused to even pay for health insurance for the surviving Toovey family. Cellar rats, vineyard workers and other winery workers in Sonoma Valley stepped into the breach. We signed petitions donating one hour’s pay each year so that Tracy’s family would have continued health care.

The harvest of 1989 was one of the rainiest on record. It was as if the sorrow over Tracy’s death had opened up the tear ducts in the sky, and it couldn’t stop crying. The mud was so deep in the vineyards that it would suck the boots right off your feet. Whole blocks of Chardonnay grapes rotted to nothing on the vines.

In 1989 most of us in the wine business were young, strong, passionate and in love with our jobs and our lives. To lose Tracy–someone our own age, someone with a family like ours, someone who shared our aspirations–was a devastating blow. It made us think. It made me think about life, family and what is truly important.

Robert Mondavi had a dream, and he will be remembered in history books for achieving that dream and creating the California wine industry as we know it. Jake Lorenzo says that Mondavi never would have achieved that dream were it not for the likes of Tracy Toovey. It was the dedication and enthusiasm that hundreds of workers like Tracy brought to the wine industry that gave it the extraordinary spirit that lifted it into the 21st century.

Tracy Toovey had a dream. He never got to see it through. But he changed Jake Lorenzo’s life, and without you knowing it, he changed yours too. Robert Mondavi can have the history books. Tracy has this detective’s heart. I hope you are lucky enough to have memories of him tucked into yours as well.  wbm

Fuenteseca 2020 Huerta Singular Tequila Blanco

“La Tuna de Arriba”

The Fuenteseca 2020 Huerta Singular Blanco Tequila from “La Tuna de Arriba” is a unique expression of tequila and terroir. Complex smells of earth, honey, spice, petrichor, and roasted agave take turns rushing to your nose to combine into an overwhelming scent that shouts with exquisite agave tequila aromas. Each whiff transforms into flavor on the palate and every sip reveals different pleasures reflecting what is promised by the nose. The first sip shows a tiny bite of sharp alcohol before quickly shifting to a stunning textural oiliness that slides down the throat like silk. Roasted agave flavor fills the mouth and leaves a luscious, velvety aftertaste.

From start to finish this is a magical spirit that thrills all the senses and guarantees that every encounter will reveal different pleasures. It is one of the greatest tequilas I have ever tasted, and I look forward to every evening I allow myself to finish by sipping and savoring a glass of 2020 Fuenteseca Blanco.

Lance Cutler

Author

The Tequila Lover’s Guide to Mexico and Mezcal.

Angels

The Story of Enrique Fonseca: Tequila Master

by Lance Cutler

In March of 2006, The Consejo Regulador de Tequila (CRT), the agency responsible for verifying standards, authenticity, and quality of tequila created a new category of tequila. This new category was named Extra Añejo (extra-aged or ultra-aged) and required that tequilas in this class be aged a minimum of three years in oak barrels.

Dozens of producers hurried to enter this class, which was seen as the best way for tequila to compete with spirits like Cognac and single malt scotches. Many of the tequilas came in gorgeous designer bottles. Stories of how the tequilas were aged, along with unsupported claims of tequilas that were eight to ten years old, accompanied each bottle. Many of these tequilas were oaky. All of them were expensive, usually in the $100 to $300 per bottle range.

One man, a man of vision and dogged determination, smiled when he heard of this new category. This was something he had been working toward for more than 30 years. He was anxious to enter the class, and some of his tequilas already qualified, but he realized that patience was critical. He wasn’t interested in being one more brand to enter the fray. Instead, he was determined to be the architect of an entirely new concept of aged tequila; one that was honest, verifiable, and completely transparent. He wanted to produce tequilas that truly competed with the greatest spirits of the world. That man was Enrique Fonseca.

When it comes to tequila, Enrique Fonseca’s ideas are so far outside the box that he seems to exist simultaneously in the past and the future with no real foothold in our present time. Yet, his innovative ideas linking the past traditions of tequila with a future none of us knew existed are built upon solid, self-taught principles and 35 years of hands on experience turning himself into a Master Distiller.

Fonseca’s family has been farming for four generations. They grow corn, wheat, a wide variety of citrus and other agricultural crops, but Enrique always loved the blue agave most. He has worked in agave fields for 50 years, and along with his father, the Fonsecas were among the most respected and largest agave growers in Los Altos, Jalisco. In 1985 they signed contracts with both Tequila Sauza and Jose Cuervo to provide each distillery with 20,000 tons of agave each year.

The contract was scheduled to run for 12 years, but after 4½ years, when agave prices tumbled, the two giant tequila companies refused to honor the balance of the contract. Now that they were geared up to produce so much agave, the Fonsecas had to find a home for it. It wasn’t like they could simply grow less agave until they developed new markets, because agave takes 7 to 10 years to mature, and the Fonsecas had already planted hundreds of acres of agaves to help them fulfill the contracts.

To preserve their mature agave, rather than risk losing it completely, Enrique decided that they should purchase a distillery and make tequila exclusively from their own agave. In 1989, he purchased the old Bacardi distillery which had changed hands several times. Most recently it had been operated by the Viejo Vergel Brandy Company to make brandy, but the company had produced large quantities of tequila as well.

So, in 1990 Enrique Fonseca found himself the owner of the distillery known as La Tequileña, even though he knew absolutely nothing about the distillation process. His distillery had a variety of alembic stills along with a copper double-column still, a type generally used for rum, but not tequila. Along with the distillery came abundant stocks of tequila, but it was uniformly uninteresting product.

Enrique knew that he had some of the best agaves in Jalisco. He was sure he could make some wonderful tequila if he could learn the process. Unfortunately, the specific nuts and bolts of tequila production were (and remain) a pretty closed subject. Other tequileros were unwilling to share their methods and secrets. He tried hiring people with experience making tequila, but the tequila didn’t improve.

He continued his reading, even as he operated his distillery and ran his agricultural businesses. He started reading about Scotch and learned that Aeneas Coffey had designed one of the first successful column stills in Ireland in 1830. His intent was to allow the production of higher alcohol product with lighter character without the need for multiple distillations. Unfortunately, Irish whiskey producers (who dominated the world market at the time) thought the whiskey produced from Coffey’s stills was too light and bland. They opted to continue with their traditional pot stills. Coffey took his still to Scotland where distillers embraced it, reveling in the ethereal flavors it lent to their product. Soon those lighter Scotch whiskys were to displace Irish whiskey as the most popular in the world.

Enrique had an epiphany. “The tequilas we produced in those early years were kind of bland and lacked true agave flavor,” he described. “The Scots had found a way to use the column still to produce lighter, higher-proof product that, when blended with traditional alembic still product, created complex whiskys with loads of character. Well, I had alembic stills and I had one of the only column stills in use at a tequila factory in all of Mexico. I figured if the Scots had figured out how to use the column still to improve their Scotch, then I should be able to use it to improve my tequila.”

Enrique saw an opportunity to develop a new style of tequila, one that was linked to fine traditional styles, but that brought them into a more modern context. He had to verify his idea and see the stills. He decided to go to Scotland to find out how they did it. The occasion of his honeymoon in 2001 was his excuse for going. His new wife Maria Elena Moreno spent her honeymoon in Scotland and Cognac, France, which might have been lovely, were she not being dragged from one distillery to another listening to her husband discuss intricacies of distillation methodology with a host of Master Distillers.

The Europeans were very generous with their knowledge, and Enrique was overflowing with enthusiasm. He felt he had seen the future. Now he could move forward and achieve his goals of producing a new style of tequila, He knew it wouldn’t happen quickly and that there would be bumps along the way, but at least he knew which direction to follow.

He took what he had learned in Europe and worked hard to master the art of distillation with his column still. He was able to elevate the proof of his product which gave it lighter body, while maintaining a refined and elegant sensibility that was full of agave character. As he learned more and more about the art of distillation, his background as an architect kicked in. He theorized that taller alembic stills would give better control of temperature and pressure leading to more control over the distillation process and allowing him to produce better product. He insisted on using copper for his stills, instead of stainless steel, because it added complexity and was more traditional. He redesigned the cooling tubes to slow condensation. Before he knew it, he had designed his own unique stills.

He realized that the formula used by distillers to control temperature and pressure, key issues in determining the quality and character of the end product, was based exclusively on the mix of alcohol and water through the course of distillation. But the agave product from which tequila was distilled had mixed solids, acids and other compounds that had to be considered in the formula. His appetite for distillation knowledge was boundless. It led to learning about azeotropic distillation methods, which operate at different temperatures than plain distillation, giving different boiling points and allowing for more control by the distiller.

Enrique admits, “I just can’t help myself. I am constantly tweaking things looking for a better way to make tequila. A lot of times my ideas seem crazy, but sometimes they work.”

His first attempts using his new stills produced tequila that was intense, but very “rustic.” He tried blending it with some of the more neutral column-distilled product in his vast stocks and got lucky. The tequila was good, better than anything he had produced up to that time. He was on the right track. By 2002, Enrique Fonseca was convinced that he was making some very good tequila, and that as time went on, it would continue to improve.

His trip to Europe had opened his eyes to a lot of things, and one of those was fine wine. He fell in love with the different grape varieties, the consequences of vintage and the importance of terroir. He became intrigued with the possibilities of blending wine and how winemakers used tastings to assess their products and determine blends.

Enrique continued to follow his own muse in producing his tequila, but he started tasting more and more tequilas from his competitors. These tequila tastings led to a discovery: most tequilas fell into one of two categories. Some tequilas were artisanal, rustic and full of intense agave flavor, but they tended to be inconsistent from one bottling to the next. Other tequilas, especially those from the larger companies, were more consistent, but didn’t have the agave power or complexity to make them interesting. Enrique determined to concentrate on two goals for his tequila: he wanted to make traditional, focused agave tequila that was sophisticated and balanced rather than rustic, and he wanted to be able to do it consistently.

To achieve those goals, he taught himself to become a blender, much like a winemaker. He set aside different lots of tequila from different locations. He aged a single lot in different types of barrels. He marked lots according to what time of year they were harvested. He separated tequilas produced in his alembic stills from those produced in his column still. He tasted all those individual batches regularly and often. He experimented with mixing various lots, all the while focusing on his goals of balanced agave flavors and consistency.

“I became fascinated by the aging process and wanted to educate myself further,” Enrique said. “During my trip to Scotland and France I learned about the maturation of spirits in wood. They have been aging spirits in Europe for 400 years, so I learned a lot from that experience. But winemakers look at the maturation process differently,” he explained. “Winemakers select the type of oak they use in the maturation process depending on whether a wine needs more or less tannin or more or less oak flavor, but the winemaker’s focus is always on the base product, which is the wine. I realized that the ultimate key to high quality was the base blanco tequila itself. The flavor intensity of agave, along with the balance, would determine how I would mature each individual lot.”

Barrels had always occupied a special place in Enrique’s heart. From the time he started producing his own tequila in 1989 and for every year thereafter, he had the vision and temerity to set aside special lots of tequila for long-term aging. His La Tequileña distillery in Tequila has 5,000 barrels of high-quality tequila aging slowly. Rancho Chapingo, his stunning property in the Los Altos highlands near his hometown of Atotonilco El Alto, currently houses another 8,000 barrels of prime tequila. The barrels sit in a building, specially designed by Enrique (who happens to be an architect) to maximize aging conditions while minimizing evaporative loss.

Still, evaporative loss of spirits stored in barrels is inevitable. This loss, known as the “angel’s share,” averages four to six percent annually at Rancho Chapingo. Angels are not shy about taking their share. When you have 13,000 barrels evaporating at an annual rate of four to six percent, it amounts to a loss of 580 barrels per year, every year. It makes storing tequila for long-term aging a very expensive proposition.

Enrique, who is a barrel-chested man with an easy laugh and a glint of humor in his eyes said, “At first, I was putting my tequila in barrels just because the barrels needed liquid in them to survive. I didn’t know it would make the tequila better. As time went on, I started to like the way the tequilas tasted, so I bought some more barrels and stored more tequila. After that, things just got away from me. Before I knew it, I had thousands of barrels full of aged tequila. I figured I better start producing tequila from this stock before it all evaporated.”

Enrique was instrumental in working with the CRT to establish how truly aged tequilas would be designated. He wanted the harvest date of the agaves used for that tequila to appear on the front of the bottle. Through his efforts, a change in the extra-añejo Tequila Norm was added to require that extended-aged tequilas have the age of the tequila, at the time of bottling, printed on the front label to certify the true age of the tequila. If this element is missing, then the tequila has no valid age statement and has not been certified by the CRT, no matter the claims in the literature.

So, seven patient years after the CRT created the Extra Añejo class—seven years of struggling and negotiating with the CRT over how to verify long-term aged tequilas, Enrique Fonseca has released his first Extra Añejo tequilas. The brand is called Fuenteseca Extra Añejo Reserva and is composed of six amazingly distinctive tequilas. The tequilas are presented by age: 7, 9, 12, 15, 18 and 21 years old. These age claims are documented and guaranteed by the CRT. Only 1,000 numbered bottles of each tequila have been produced.

Enrique Fonseca is unique in the tequila industry. His family has more than 100 years of experience in agave cultivation. He has one of the largest private agave holdings in Jalisco and possesses the largest collection of long-term aged tequilas in the industry. For 35 years Enrique Fonseca toiled at his craft. He taught himself the art of distillation until he is now considered one of the foremost Master Distillers of tequila in all of Mexico. He had the foresight to age individual lots of tequila and he tasted them over and over until he is now, undoubtedly, a Master Blender. His Purasangre, Lapis, and Arte NOM Añejo brands are formidable examples of delicious, intense tequilas with a hard core of agave flavor, an air of sophistication and exemplary balance, especially given their reasonable price points.

Now with the release of his Fuenteseca Extra Añejo Reservas, all this experience and passion has culminated in the ultimate expression of his abilities. The Fuenteseca Reservas genuinely command comparison with the other truly great spirits of the world. These are very special tequilas made by a very special man.

When Enrique Fonseca ends an evening at his beloved Rancho Chapingo, he finishes it by sipping one of his Fuenteseca Extra Añejo Reservas. He gazes into the black, late-night sky glittering with sparkling stars. There is a distant, muffled sound that he can barely make out, the sound of exultation and bliss—the sound of angels gleefully partaking of their share.

Life Goes On

by Jake Lorenzo

Wine Business Monthly has decided its readers no longer need the insights provided by an aging winemaker/detective. They clearly gave little thought to the financial needs of that same aging writer, but that is the way of the world. It’s been two months since this detective has written anything, but the time has come to say something.

So, Jake Lorenzo sits at the keyboard gazing through the window at our glorious backyard garden, which after weeks of backbreaking work is 90 percent cleared of winter weeds. Hummingbirds flit about the bright red/yellow bulb flowers that dangle like Christmas ornaments on the maple bush. The Green Goddess lilies are in full bloom, orange poppies glow in the sunlight and purple lilies have started their ascension. Spring is upon us. Life goes on.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day and I spent the morning making a SO2 addition as I racked three carboys of Pinot Noir Nouveau. I topped my barrels of 2025 Pinot Noir and Syrah, and I transferred a couple cases of Guerrilla Vino Pinot Noir from the winery to my house cellar. I went to the garden, harvested both lettuce and arugula, washed and cleaned them, and put them into the refrigerator. I walked down to Ye Olde Public House and had a solitary Guiness enjoying the idle conversation of unfamiliar bar mates and bartenders. Life goes on.

It’s not like this detective has been idle during this period of gainful unemployment. The days of madness that encompassed Christmas and New Years were loaded with friends, fine meals, and good times. We had eight for our traditional Christmas dinner of Prime Rib with Yorkshire pudding, spread out company through the week and celebrated New Year’s Eve with 14 in attendance for our traditional Dungeness Crab Feed (cooked like Cajun Crawfish.)

Daily weeding in January was broken up with chores. I had to put a new roof on the shed because it leaked when it rained. That revealed some rot, so a couple of beams got replaced along with two side panels. I pressure-washed the whole shed, primed it and then repainted it. It’s looking great for the upcoming summer.

By then it was time for Jake Lorenzo’s birthday, so we escaped the Northern California rains for two weeks of sunshine with friends in their Cabo San Lucas home overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We watched whales frolic in the Pacific, leaping from the water to splash back into the ocean again and again. Fleets of tourist-filled boats chased them until the whales grew weary and dove deep to be left alone. We weren’t as close, but still had a magnificent view, leaning on the edge of the pool with palomas in hand.

Each night, we’d wander down to town for a great meal, visiting old favorites like Farol 16, JM Steakhouse, or Invita Bistro. We did our mandatory crawl to Vas Que Vuelas for tlayudas followed by Tacos Ramiros and his incredible suadero. We were thrilled to find Mesa de Luna, a brand new favorite to add to our regular rotation. Guacamole y Pork Belly Chicharron, Aguachile de Costillas, Roasted Beet Carpaccio, and incredible Grilled Octopus all served with homemade tortillas, bread, and desserts. Some things don’t change and two weeks in Mexico is always good for the soul, even when the government unleashes its soldiers on the cartels inciting a round of setting vehicles on fire to disrupt traffic patterns.

We spent late nights deep in discussions, and since our hosts and the other guests were in the wine business we often pondered the downturn in the wine business. We made it a rule to never talk about the wine business while drinking wine, So Jake Lorenzo offered his theories while imbibing mezcal or tequila. Jakelyn’s mom stuck to a bottle of McCallan 12 Scotch, which she timed out perfectly to finish on our last night.

Typical causes for wines decline came up in our conversations. Wine was too expensive as were the tasting fees. Boomers were drinking up their cellars instead of replenishing them. Young people weren’t drinking. Tariffs were increasing costs. There were too many vineyards, grapes, and wineries. All good plausible causes for wine’s downturn, but this detective inserted something else. The population is too concerned with its health.

Granted, this is not original to Jake Lorenzo. I got most of my information from Dr. Iggy Calamari, inventor of the wine powered pacemaker. Dr. Calamari cited studies that show being fit is today’s biggest status symbol. One third of Americans said they’d like to live forever. They get real time health tracking from wearables that can run blood results on Chat GPT. Consumers are focused on their health, and they are being told that wine is unhealthy.

It’s not enough for people to feel good, they want to look good too. These days looking good is being skinny. One out of every eight adults, 15.5 million people in the United States, are using or have used GLP-1 medications like Ozempic or Wegovy to help control their weight. Dr. Calamari warns that GLP-1 medications target all pleasure centers in the brain. They don’t just reduce your desire to eat, they can reduce your desire to gamble, go out to events, or drink. If you are using GLP-1s, then you are likely drinking less than before. The desire to drink occurs less often and when you drink you drink less.

Whatever you think of President Trump, his policies have had a devastating effect on tourism in the United States. This past year, we welcomed 11 million fewer tourists than the year before. The U.S. was the world’s only major travel destination with a decline in international tourists. Take 15.5 million people on GLP-1 drugs and remove an additional 11 million tourists looking for a good time from the wine drinking equation, and you’ve got a good start for a downturn in consumption.

This detective thinks this focus on personal health is unhealthy. I work in my garden to grow my own organic vegetables, so much of what I eat is healthy I stretch my muscles when I reach for a bottle of wine on the top shelf of my wine cellar or when I crouch down to select bottles from cases on the ground.  I get enough exercise walking to my local wine shop to buy wine.

After years of experience, I am convinced that drinking wine relieves stress, that having a satisfying meal with friends contributes to our well-being, and that spending time with friends is essential for living a rewarding life. I’m glad people want to be healthy, but we must bring moderation to bear on this emphasis on personal health. The true benefit of being healthy is to enjoy life. Wine helps us enjoy life. Life goes on. Pull a cork today, it’s the best you can do for yourself.