Beware the Wine Scam

The most probable explanation is fraud. The auction site was clear to show that both the bottle and its lead capsule (the metal covering that surrounds the end of the bottle sealed with the cork) were in "perfect" condition. This bottle could be filled by an unscrupulous buyer with lesser wine. The con would then re-cork it, replace the capsule, and sell it as if it were a pristine bottle of 1982 Petrus for upwards of $5,000. For that kind of return, $855 seems like a solid investment.

The issue of counterfeit wine is serious—and growing. In addition to refilling authentic bottles, advances in printing allow criminals to counterfeit the labels themselves. The problem exists both with newer vintages (a few years ago Italian officials confiscated 20,000 counterfeit bottles of the super-Tuscan wine Sassicaia) and with more historic vintages. Serena Sutcliffe, dean of Sotheby’s wine department, has been quoted as joking that more 1945 Mouton was consumed on its 50th anniversary than was ever produced.

The volume of the top historic wines offered for sale at auction strongly implies that a significant portion of them may not be authentic. Even recognizing that the same bottle can be auctioned more than once in its lifetime, the availability of certain wines is cause for concern.
 
Perhaps the most famous example of alleged counterfeiting involves the rare "Thomas Jefferson" bottles of 1787 Lafite mysteriously "discovered" at an undisclosed location in Paris in 1985. Brought to auction by noted German collector Hardy Rodenstock, bottles of these wines eventually found their way into the hands of American tycoon Bill Koch and German collector Hans-Peter Frericks.

Suspicious of their authenticity, Frericks had one of the "Jefferson" bottles analyzed by a Munich lab, and the wine was found to contain higher levels of carbon-14 and the isotope tritium than possible for a wine made in the 18th century. The high levels of these isotopes could only be accounted for if the wine had been produced after the U.S. began atmospheric atomic testing in the 1950s.

Over time, Koch became skeptical as well and commissioned a team of experts to verify his bottles’ authenticity. A bit of digging revealed that Rodenstock’s real name was Meinhard Goerke. He was neither related to the Rodenstocks of German eyewear fame nor was he a professor.

Koch’s experts now claim to have determined that the engraving on the bottles, although in a calligraphic style typical of the time, appeared to have been achieved with a modern tool such as a dentist’s drill rather than an 18th century copper wheel. A lawsuit filed by Frericks was ultimately settled out of court, while the lawsuit filed by Koch is pending.

The problem with both cases is that neither individual acquired his wines directly from Goerke, and too much time has elapsed since the original auction in 1985. Jurisdiction is also problematic in a suit that involves a wine allegedly forged in France, auctioned in London, and claimed to be a fake in the United States two decades later.

Perhaps that is the forger’s edge. Unlike currency, a forgery is unlikely to be spotted until the wine is opened—especially if an authentic bottle and capsule are used—and the forger will be long gone. With many ultra-collectible wines, such as examples from prior centuries, the wines may never be opened as drinking them destroys their value. Even if a bottle is opened, few individuals have the experience to determine if it has been adulterated.

Legal issues aside, the most pressing question is finding a solution to the burgeoning problem of wine fraud. Some vintners are employing production methods that make wine counterfeiting more difficult. Harlan Estate makes its labels using currency-grade engraving plates on bond paper.

Meeker has a painted handprint from the owner on its bottles. While these approaches may stem the tide of false bottles, they do not rule out the possibility of refilling an authentic bottle with lesser wine. Some restaurateurs, cognizant of this practice, are careful to break potentially valuable bottles rather than risk having them "recycled" in an improper manner. Others, such as Zoe’s in Naples, have the purchasers of these collectible bottles autograph the labels or the bottles themselves and then display them within the restaurant.

It seems to me the ubiquitous nature of the Internet could be used to curb wine counterfeiting. Many high-end wine producers, including Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Kistler and Chave, individually number their bottles. These numbers, or ranges of numbers for people who buy by the case, could be entered into database. To be frank, a perfect one already exists at www.cellar tracker.com.

The owners’ identities are kept anonymous, but the remaining details about a wine, including tasting notes, are displayed for members to review. Adding a single field for the bottle number to this database would make it clear which individual owned which bottles. If a bottle were to show up at auction and Cellartracker.com, or perhaps in a database created by the winery itself, showed that the real bottle was still slumbering in the cellar of its original purchaser, the bottle would immediately be identified as a fake.

Even if a bottle were sold from its original purchaser, it would take no more than a few keystrokes to log in and register the transfer. Given that these types of wines often begin their life with values in excess of $1,000 a bottle, the amount of effort taken to verify their authenticity seems trivial when compared with the value at risk.

I foresee a day when, if two cases of 2000 Mouton Rothschild were offered for auction at Sotheby’s—one case with its provenance tracked from the winery through the collectors who owned it, while the second case was of unknown provenance or authenticity—the documented wine would fetch a significantly higher price. At that point, economics would compel collectors to voluntarily register their wines to preserve their value.

Perhaps then the value of an empty bottle will return to reason.