A tall, brawny Irish American walks into your office, puts a crystal goblet on the desk, and pours out a serving of a deep-purple nectar.
"This stuff used to be illegal," he says in a gravelly voice. "We're the guys who got the law changed. Twice the antioxidants of blueberries, four times the vitamin C of orange juice, as much potassium as bananas … Try it."
Something like grape juice but heavier, not as sweet; tart but not as much as cranberry; dry, strong, and complex, like a good red wine. Meet Ribes nigrum, aka the black currant, and one of the misbegotten little berry's most dynamic champions on American shores, Greg Quinn. As a farmer, a juice maker, and an entrepreneur, he has big plans for the super-fruit.
He hesitates to go down the list of the currant's potential health benefits, he says, because it starts to sound like snake oil: improving night vision, lowering blood pressure, managing pain, and preventing Alzheimer's.
The rest of the world has known about the black currant for generations, he points out. The fact that it is a stranger here, and just poking its head up now, is a story that starts, oddly enough, with the Vietnam War.
As a young broadcasting school graduate, Greg Quinn drew a single digit in the draft lottery, which meant an almost certain plane ticket to Southeast Asia. But after a battery of tests revealed that Quinn had an unusual aptitude for languages, an Army recruiter leaned across the desk and whispered, "How'd you like to be a spy?"
After 47 weeks of total language immersion and training, Quinn was off to the tiny German town of Rimbach, on the Czech border. There a huge mountaintop antenna monitored radio chat behind the Iron Curtain. But spying left plenty of time to sample the local cuisine. To Quinn, who grew up in a middle-class, blue-collar Connecticut household, the foods of Europe were a revelation. And what better way to learn to cook them, he reasoned, than by opening a restaurant? With the blessing of the Army (and discounts on food and liquor from the PX), he rented a space and went into business.
Behind the restaurant were six bushes with dark-blue berries he knew nothing about. Schwarze Johannisbeeren they were called in German—black currants in English. He started to use them in sauces and tarts.
Fast-forward: Quinn sells the restaurant, goes to New York, works in the food business for several years, starts a family (two girls and a boy), and takes up gardening. Soon he's writing a monthly gardening column for the local paper, lecturing at the New York Botanical Garden, and appearing on Fox as the Garden Guy. He writes eight children's books about nature, enough to provide a modest income.
Then Quinn's three kids head off to school; he gets divorced and finds a new love, Carolyn, who's willing to help him take his hobby to the next level. The couple find a 140-acre ex–dairy farm in New York's Mid-Hudson Valley, and Quinn is ready to become a citizen farmer.
With about 25 acres for cultivation, Quinn knew that if he wanted his farm to be profitable, he would need a niche crop that he could sell to?high-end restaurants. He started visiting his neighbors, farmers who seemed to be hanging on by their fingernails. Then he met vintner Ben Feder, who made specialty cordials. Among them was cassis, a black currant dessert wine.
"Where do you get your currants?" Quinn asked.
"Now, that's a real problem," Feder said. "I have to go to Canada for them. Because, of course, you can't get them around here." Why not? Because they were illegal to grow in New York. Of course.
That struck a chord with Quinn. He knew—and loved—black currants from Germany. And he vaguely recalled what had led to the ban—something about a fungus. So he did a little digging.
Harvested in the wild, currants have been used for centuries as food and medicine. In the early 1900s, there were more than 7,400 acres of commercial red currant fields in North America. Nearly half of those were in New York State, most in Quinn's neck of the woods. But in the late 1800s, an Asian blight called white-pine blister rust?arrived in the United States. It thrived on two hosts: currants and white-pine lumber. With their industry threatened, lumber lobbyists fought to ban all currant farming.
译文:
果汁事业成功的背后（上）【读者文摘】--Shaunna版
一个高挑健壮的美籍爱尔兰人走进办公室，将一个水晶高脚杯放在桌子上，倒入深紫色的花蜜。
“这些东西原本都是违法的，”他严肃地说。“是我们改变了律法。两倍功效的蓝莓抗氧化剂，四倍的橘子汁维生素C，富含与香蕉一样丰富的钾元素…试试。”
花蜜看似葡萄汁，但成色又比较深，味道淡些；不如蔓越橘那么酸；一如红酒般干燥，浓郁，口味混杂。美国海岸的葛瑞格·奎因发现了黑茶镳子，又称黑加仑，同时他又是非法小浆果的忠实拥护者。作为一名农夫，果汁制造者和企业家，他对超级水果有着很伟大的构想。
由冷战分子转为农民的葛瑞格·奎因
他很犹豫地记录下醋栗对健康的各种潜在益处，奎因说，因为刚开始时觉得醋栗很像万灵油：改善夜视力，降低血压，缓解疼痛，预防老年痴呆。
葛瑞格解释说，世界其他国家对红醋栗的认识已经好几代了。事实上美国对它还非常陌生，但奇怪的是，因为越南战争的爆发，反而让红醋栗在美国慢慢开始崭露头角。
作为广播系年轻毕业生，葛瑞格·奎因在抽签中抽了个单数，也就意味着去往东南亚确定的飞机票。然而，一系列综合测试结果显示，奎因拥有对语言不平常的资质，一名军队招募者靠着桌子轻声问他：“你想做间谍吗？”
经过47个星期语言的完全沉浸和训练，奎因动身去了位于捷克边界的德国小镇Rimbach。铁幕后有一座巨大的山顶监视无线电通讯站。但间谍活动却让他有大量的时间来研究地方菜。奎因出生于康乃狄格州一个中等阶级普通工人家庭，欧式食物带给他某种启示。他前思后想，除了开餐馆，是否还有更好的方法来烹煮这些菜肴呢?托军队的福（能从PX买到打折的食物和酒），他租了个场地，开始了他的事业。
餐馆后，便是六大片点缀满黑蓝色浆果的灌木丛，而奎因对这种浆果一无所知。在德国，它们被称为赛威兹醋栗，即英语中的黑加仑。于是奎因开始用黑加仑调制酱汁，制作果馅糕点。
时光飞逝：奎因售卖了餐馆，动身去了纽约，一连几年都致力于食物业，经营了一个家庭（有了两个女孩和一个男孩），并开始从事园艺。不久，他便开始为当地一家报社的园艺专栏撰写月刊，继而在纽约植物园演讲，并以园艺人物登上了福克斯榜。他写了八本给小孩看的有关大自然的书，赚取了不错的收入。
随后，奎因的三个孩子都上了学；他离了婚，也找到了真爱，卡罗琳，那个自愿帮助奎因好让他的兴趣爱好更上一层楼的女子。夫妻俩在纽约哈得孙河峡谷找到了个140英亩的大牧场，奎因想成为一名农夫。
25英亩地耕作之后，奎因就知道如果想要农场盈利，他需要一种利基作物用以卖给高档餐厅。他开始拜访邻居，那些靠自己双手坚持生活的农夫们。随后他去见了创造招牌甜酒的酒商本·费德。桌上摆放着黑醋栗，一种黑加仑甜酒。
“你是从哪得到醋栗的？”奎因问道。
“现如今，那确实是个问题，”费德说道。“我只有去加拿大才能得到它们。当然，那是因为你无法在这里弄到它们。”为什么呢？因为在纽约，种植醋栗是非法的。
这话引起了奎因的共鸣。他了解也钟爱来自德国的黑加仑。他模糊地想起那些曾被强制禁用的与真菌有关的东西。因而他做了些调查。
由于自然环境下能疯狂地生长，几个世纪以来，醋栗都被用于食物和医疗方面。18世纪早期，北美曾有超过7400英亩的商用红加仑牧场。其中大半在纽约州境内，多数在奎因居住的区域内。但在17世纪晚期，一种叫做松锈病的亚洲疾病席卷美国。这种疾病因两种因素而得以肆虐：醋栗和白松木。由于工业受到威胁，木材议案通过者不惜发出禁令，禁止所有醋栗农作。
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