by: Adrienne Wichard-Edd, photos by: Molly McDonald Peterson
Three birds perch on the label of the most expensive bottle of wine in the state of Virginia.
“A tribute to my grandfather,” explains Rutger de Vink, vigneron and owner of RdV vineyards. “When we were boys, my brother and I would play in the attic of my grandfather’s Amsterdam home,” de Vink remembers. “We discovered a bookshelf with a lever designed to look like a book; we’d pull it, and the wall would open up, revealing a little room—bunk beds, a metal sink, a toilet—clearly some kind of hideout.”
As de Vink would come to find out, his grandfather housed British pilots who were shot down during WWII. He was discovered, sent to a concentration camp, and eventually escaped.
“He never talked much about his experiences,” de Vink says. “One day I found a leather-bound memoir that he had written, stamped with three finches—vink means finch in Dutch—on the cover. Now they’re on our wine, a gift from him.”
So where did this man, who has the nerve to set a price — and a standard — so precipitously high for a bottle of Virginia wine, come from? Somewhere along a career that began in the Marines, wandered into Northwestern University’s Kellogg School of Management, and slogged through four years in the technology sector, de Vink figured out that he wouldn’t be happy until his hands were, quite literally, dirty. “My real passion has always been working outside. Even when I was working in a bank in Manhattan, I would go out and garden in my free time.”
In 2001, de Vink shed the suit and tie and signed on to apprentice under Jim Law at Linden Vineyards. From 2005 to 2007, he worked two harvests in Bordeaux, one each at Cheval Blanc and Chateau La Grange, and another in California at Ramey Wine Cellars. For three years, he’d been searching Virginia soil maps and land records for the perfectly savage hillock on which to establish a vineyard of his own. When he found the ideal plot in Delaplane, Va., the neighbors warned him it was nothing but a pile of rocks, though de Vink puts it more colloquially. But he knew that while loamy soil may be good for farming, you need granite to make excellent wine. In 2004, he was finally able to buy a 93-acre plot on which to plant his vines; he released his first vintage, a 2008, this past spring.
“I get tons of criticism. People think selling $100 wine in Virginia is impossible,” acknowledges de Vink. “But we don’t want to put it in a bottle unless we can knock it out of the park.” Indeed, skeptics and sommeliers alike have been surprised by what de Vink has managed to put in a bottle. This past summer, internationally renowned wine critic Jancis Robinson awarded an astonishing 18 points to both the ‘09 and ’10 vintages of their signature RdV wine, as well as a 17.5 to the ’08 vintage.
“We’ve done a lot of blind tastings,” reports de Vink, “and it’s not that our wine is better or worse, but we’re in the game. We’ve made a wine that can stand on the same table as a wine from Médoc or Napa.” The vineyard also produces a second-growth wine under the Rendezvous label for $55, as well as a “friends and family” bottle of eminently drinkable table wine for $25.
So if it’s possible to make a premier cru wine in Virginia, why doesn’t everyone do it? “Virginia can make a serviceable red wine on any farm—it’s romantic to be out in the country, drinking in a little tasting room—but that’s not who we are. We aren’t looking to host weddings; we’re not a tourist destination.” To that end, you won’t just stumble upon RdV. There are no signposts, no advertisements, nothing to draw your attention to the property or the product. And while de Vink is protective of his endeavor, he is also truly welcoming to those whose interest is commensurate to his effort: “This is the right place for people who are interested to learn more about winemaking.”
Private tastings, which cost $40 per person and book months in advance, are paired with small plates. “We make a wine that goes with a meal,” opines de Vink. “To drink these at a bar or as a cocktail wine isn’t quite right.” Tastings are conducted around a dining table surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a distinct connection to the terroir. The main building, designed by local architect Andy Lewis, pays homage to the American farmhouse: Two white barns flank an enormous, luminous silo that acts as an oversized skylight.
“At the end of the day, making wine is really an agricultural endeavor. The silo represents that for us,” he laughs, “although a lot of people who come to visit us from Bordeaux see the silo as they’re driving up and say, ‘Holy @$%, that’s a big tank!’
If the goal is to produce a top-tier, cult-level wine that will put Virginia on the map, de Vink is certainly sparing no expense to make it happen. Samples of wine in various stages of fermentation are shipped overnight to Bordeaux, where oenologist Eric Boissenot evaluates each sample and helps direct the winemaking process remotely. Soil scientists have been brought in from elite universities in both France and the U.S. to analyze and map out RdV’s property as well as monitor its progress throughout the growing season.
De Vink’s right-hand man, Cellar Master Joshua Grainer, is also an alum of Jim Law’s apprenticeship program who has worked harvests on both sides of the Atlantic. A former biologist who can wax poetic about the texture of a grape seed just as easily as he can explain the chemical process and significance of veraison (when the berries turn from green to purple, indicating maturity), Grainer elegantly conveys an entire education on winemaking without a hint of condescension.
There is formidable romance in this vineyard, like a secret you’ve been let in on. RdV’s philosophy is a pastiche of best practices that de Vink has picked up from winemakers he’s met along the way. On Fridays, staff members take turns preparing lunch for each other, which is enjoyed family-style at picnic tables in the property’s red barn. Much of what’s imbibed at those lunches comes from RdV’s wine library, which is stocked with exemplary wines from around the world. “It’s important to understand the world of great wines in order to benchmark our wine. To become a world-class winery, you need to taste outside your area.”
At the entrance to the underground wine caves, the words “semper fidelis” are stamped into the concrete floor. De Vink explains that this is not only a tribute to his military past but also to a favorite Bordelais winery, Château Cos d’Estournel, which carried the motto on its arched entryway.
“So it’s not just about being always faithful to our country, but also to the land”—and, one can’t help but feel, to the experience of the wine. It feels like a privilege to be here, but one that’s offered with so much grace and humility that it also feels like you’ve earned it.
Adrienne Wichard-Edds has roots in New York and California, but first learned to love wine in Virginia. Thank you, Jim Law.
