Michael Fridjhon: May 2007
Author:
Michael Fridjhon
Published: 13 Jun 07
What price authenticity? And how gullible wine consumers?Wine fraud has been in the news lately - the inevitable result of spiralling prices
and a market made of collectors, rather than drinkers. I remem
ber discussing the
subject with David Molyneux Berry when he was head of Sotheby's wine department
in the 1980s. Although at the time he was already engaged in disputing the veracity
of some of the Rodenstock "Thomas Jefferson" 18th century First Growths
(a view which may prove prescient as one of the current fraud cases unfolds in
court), he believed that wine did not lend itself to widespread fakery. "It's
not worth what it costs," he asserted. "The high value items are necessarily
available in tiny quantities."
He has been proved wrong because he under-estimated human avarice, did not anticipate the staggering increase in the price of wine collectibles and did not predict that technology would dramatically simplify what went into producing a fake. Twenty years ago the cost of putting together a bottle of "Chateau Petrus" which would withstand professional scrutiny and pass for the real thing was much higher than it is today. The 1982 vintage - a legend from the moment of its release - cost around R65 per bottle when it landed in South Africa in the mid-1980s. The total production of the property is around 2 500 cases - so you could not credibly arrive at Sotheby's with a truckload on offer.
Today a bottle of 1982 Petrus sells for R20 000 to R30 000, it's cheaper to fake and it does seem that Molyneux Berry's colleagues and successors are less squeamish than he was when it comes to applying the rule of reasonableness to an inordinately lucrative consignment. This problem of avarice extends from auctioneers and traders to collectors who are prepared to pay this kind of money to own a stash of trophy wines. Common sense should tell you that the original 30 000 bottles of 1982 Petrus have diminished over the years. Not every owner elects only to look at them and defer forever the gratification of opening a bottle.
There is ample evidence that the desire to own an object which enjoys talisman-like qualities outweighs the judgement of people hard-nosed enough to make the kind of money you need if you buy Petrus by the case on auction. I once formed part of a task team investigating an international Champagne fraud and as a result was granted access to Moët's museum of counterfeits. It is a fascinating place to visit - not least of all because of the palpable incompetence of most of the fakers. There were labels with the incorrect spelling of the brand name, "Dom Perignon Rosé" with the wrong colour label and several bottles which looked unlike any of the products they were supposed to reproduce. All had been reeled in from retail outlets somewhere in the world - and no doubt many others had been sold and consumed without their buyers being any the wiser.
Wanting to believe you've bought a Petrus or Dom P (whether or not at a bargain price) partly precludes your even allowing yourself to consider the possibility that you may have been conned. No one can say with certainty that the vinegar-like substance which emerges from a Jefferson engraved bottle purporting to be a 1787 Chateau Margaux is indeed a wine that was produced on that property 220 years before. However, it is easier to verify the authenticity of a 1982 Petrus.
The proprietor of Catalina's restaurant in Sydney had an answer to the problem of a market driven more by spending power than product knowledge. When asked by a customer for whom he had decanted an old bottle of Grange from Len Evans's private stock "How do I know that what's in that carafe is really Grange?" he replied "If you can't tell, it doesn't matter anyway."
He has been proved wrong because he under-estimated human avarice, did not anticipate the staggering increase in the price of wine collectibles and did not predict that technology would dramatically simplify what went into producing a fake. Twenty years ago the cost of putting together a bottle of "Chateau Petrus" which would withstand professional scrutiny and pass for the real thing was much higher than it is today. The 1982 vintage - a legend from the moment of its release - cost around R65 per bottle when it landed in South Africa in the mid-1980s. The total production of the property is around 2 500 cases - so you could not credibly arrive at Sotheby's with a truckload on offer.
Today a bottle of 1982 Petrus sells for R20 000 to R30 000, it's cheaper to fake and it does seem that Molyneux Berry's colleagues and successors are less squeamish than he was when it comes to applying the rule of reasonableness to an inordinately lucrative consignment. This problem of avarice extends from auctioneers and traders to collectors who are prepared to pay this kind of money to own a stash of trophy wines. Common sense should tell you that the original 30 000 bottles of 1982 Petrus have diminished over the years. Not every owner elects only to look at them and defer forever the gratification of opening a bottle.
There is ample evidence that the desire to own an object which enjoys talisman-like qualities outweighs the judgement of people hard-nosed enough to make the kind of money you need if you buy Petrus by the case on auction. I once formed part of a task team investigating an international Champagne fraud and as a result was granted access to Moët's museum of counterfeits. It is a fascinating place to visit - not least of all because of the palpable incompetence of most of the fakers. There were labels with the incorrect spelling of the brand name, "Dom Perignon Rosé" with the wrong colour label and several bottles which looked unlike any of the products they were supposed to reproduce. All had been reeled in from retail outlets somewhere in the world - and no doubt many others had been sold and consumed without their buyers being any the wiser.
Wanting to believe you've bought a Petrus or Dom P (whether or not at a bargain price) partly precludes your even allowing yourself to consider the possibility that you may have been conned. No one can say with certainty that the vinegar-like substance which emerges from a Jefferson engraved bottle purporting to be a 1787 Chateau Margaux is indeed a wine that was produced on that property 220 years before. However, it is easier to verify the authenticity of a 1982 Petrus.
The proprietor of Catalina's restaurant in Sydney had an answer to the problem of a market driven more by spending power than product knowledge. When asked by a customer for whom he had decanted an old bottle of Grange from Len Evans's private stock "How do I know that what's in that carafe is really Grange?" he replied "If you can't tell, it doesn't matter anyway."
