Harlan began by purchasing a small winery
in St. Helena, Merryvale. He knew this was not his ultimate destination, but it
gave him and his young winemaker, Bob Levy, the opportunity to learn the
minutiae of winemaking, wine marketing and selling. When they had learned all
they could at Merryvale, Harlan turned his attention to seeking the place, in
Napa Valley, where he would develop his own estate vineyard.
He knew he wanted something in Oakville.
The choice, in the early 1980s, was not obvious. True, Mondavi, his idol and
role model, was in Oakville. But Christian Moueix, from Petrus, had chosen
Yountville, one township to the south, for his Dominus. And there were the
great vineyards of Rutherford, including Inglenook's, that Francis Ford Coppola
was then re-assembling into Rubicon Estate, thanks to "The Godfather" money.
This is not to mention renowned estates on Napa's various mountains--Veeder,
Howell, Spring--which then were coming into vogue. So there were choices.
But it was Oakville Harlan desired, and not just anywhere in that commune. He wanted something on the Bench, which is to say, on the west side of Highway 29, where the land begins to slope, at first gently, then steeply as it meets the up-thrusted Mayacamas Mountains. On the east side of Highway 29, the ground is level as it approaches the Napa River. Soils are deeper and richer; the wines, it is said, are not so fine.
. He wanted something on the Bench, where the land begins to slope, at first gently, then steeply as it meets the up-thrusted Mayacamas Mountains
So
Harlan wanted something in the hills. But not too high--he did not want to
engage in mountain winemaking. He desired something in the middle, just as the
best vineyards of the Côte de Nuits are situated midway up the slopes. And then
he found his spot: an area locals now refer to as Harlan Hill. In the immediate
vicinity are Far Niente and Futo. Harlan built a magnificent stone lodge for
the wine's production--not a frou-frou monstrosity of the type so common in
Napa, not a ripoff version of a castle, but a ruggedly masculine stone slab
that looks like it was hewn from the mountain's foundation.
The wine itself does not say Cabernet
Sauvignon on the label; Harlan, Levy and their team reserve the right to tinker
with the cépage each year. (By U.S. law, a wine can be labeled varietally only
if it contains at least 75% of the named grape.) It is always a very beautiful
wine, classically Napa-esque in its ripe, soft roundness and the plushness of
tannins that gives it a rich, velvety mouthfeel.
Bill Harlan, essentially an entrepreneur selling luxury goods, has, over the years, developed something of a cottage industry in producing other Bordeaux blends, each designed for a particular niche among the collectors and dilettantes who covet his wines. In addition to Harlan Estate, there are The Maiden, The Matriarch and various BOND bottlings (numbering, at last count, at least six). Pricing is controversial, because, as I have told Bill, the quality of the other wines, none of which costs as much as Harlan Estate, is so high, it approaches that of Harlan Estate and may, on any given occasion, exceed it, as I have experienced during blind tastings. (The barrel selections, at which M. Michel Rolland is present as consultant, are conducted openly.) This, to my mind, is proof that the people who pay $500 (or whatever the rate is for a bottle of Harlan; it varies from hour to hour, since those lucky enough to obtain it directly from the winery often immediately offer it in the after-market) are paying for the label, not necessarily the contents of the bottle.
This is not a criticism. Bill Harlan set out to produce a generational wine, using the Classified Growths of Bordeaux as a model, and he has succeeded. He has thereby established the template by which every other Napa Valley cult wine must forever be judged.
