The vines are beginning to bear fruit, but what about Langes-Swarovski’s costly gamble? The jovial 60-year-old scion of the Austrian crystal empire is by far the biggest foreign investor in China’s immature vineyards. His first vintage, a shiny new Cabernet Sauvignon called Bodega Langes, sells for more than $50 a bottle–double the price of his Chinese competitors’ best bottles. So far, sales have been slow. His product is available only by telephone or at the vineyard. Opened nearly a year ago, the estate of yellow brick buildings–including a boutique hotel and banquet rooms–goes days at a time without a single visitor. Still, Langes-Swarovski is confident that the country represents the wine industry’s biggest untapped market, and that Chinese palates will mature along with his wines. “The only other country where I would have done it is India,” he says. Already he touts his Cabernet, with its robust tang and casky aroma, as the finest in the land.
To be sure, that’s not saying much. In a report this year, Bordeaux-based wine consultants Vertumne estimated that 90 percent of the wine sold in China was of “low quality.” Until last year regulators allowed alcohol made with at least 50 percent grape juice to be sold as wine. Wine tasting is still an alien ritual to a people raised on baijiu, the national spirit mashed from sorghum: according to industry figures, Chinese consume around half a liter of wine per capita each year–far below the global average of 7.5 liters.
But there are signs that the grape-growing region, Changli, is catching on. Neighboring wineries have begun to call themselves “vineyards,” though few offer tours. Wealthy Beijing residents are driving out on summer weekends, filling most hotel rooms. Officials and traders estimate the production of pure vino is swelling at an annual rate well above 10 percent. Already some Chinese VIPs are opting to pay $30 for homegrown name-brand vintages; and the beverage is well on its way to transforming itself from special-occasion banquet elixir to nightly dinner-table accessory.
To that end, giant Chinese wineries such as Great Wall and Changyu run aggressive television ad campaigns, while younger brands compete with commercials showcasing leading lights of Chinese cinema, like grand dame Gong Li and on-screen twosome Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung. At the same time, they are coming to realize that their futures will hinge not just on commercials but on the lineage of their vines, says Carl Crook, managing director of Montrose Food & Wine, local importers who represent Chateau Mouton Rothschild of France and Napa’s Robert Mondavi in their search of vineyards. “In that sense, there is an opportunity for investors, because quality counts,” he says. “There is a tremendous amount of interest, but they’re still just looking.”
All except Langes-Swarovski. He employs all local workers and has even set aside space to open a school someday for vintners so he can share his secrets–no sweeteners, no pumping and only top-quality grapes–with his Chinese peers. “We want to help them develop their wineries in a similar way, to lift the whole image of the Chinese wine industry,” he says.
The strategy could ultimately prove farsighted, says Crook: “Langes might well turn out to be a good investment.” And Langes-Swarovski may soon get some high-powered help. On a state visit to Vienna in 2001, the then president of China, Jiang Zemin, told the vintner to save him his first bottle of wine. He did, and expects that Jiang, who is still in charge of the military, will stop by soon for a tasting. After all, it’s a lot closer than Bordeaux or Napa.
