THE GREAT FRENCH WHINE
By Anne Jolis

Wall Street Journal
2748703652104574651970434512410.html?mod=googlenew s_wsj
Jan 13 2010

The Kiwi Cuvee 2007 Sauvignon Blanc offers "Lime, green pepper, and
wet grass aromas. . . . A vibrant, well balanced table wine that will
excel with chicken fajitas."

So goes the Beverage Testing Institute’s online summary of the Kiwi
Cuvee, which may sound like the wine was inspired by a New Zealander
backpacking through Mexico. In fact the wine is a produit de France,
and it has provided a taste of dry-yet-fruity irony, after Australia’s
trademark office rejected it for registration Down Under. Without
trademark protection, the wine probably won’t be sold on the Australian
market–at least not under the Kiwi Cuvee name. Responding to a
complaint from the New Zealand Winegrowers group, the decision said
the name was "likely to deceive or cause confusion," for instance in
restaurants where a chalkboard menu might not specify a wine’s origin.

And so, France gets a dose of its own medicine. The Australian
ruling is satisfaction for any producer whose marketing has been
thwarted by Europe’s system of geographical indications, which the
French pioneered. Many a Californian sparkling wine producer has
been frustrated by not being able to sell his product abroad as
"champagne." Armenian-made cognac, said to be Winston Churchill’s
preferred variety, must similarly be sold as "brandy" for fear of
invoking Gallic wrath.

It all started in 1883 with the Paris Convention for the Protection
of Industrial Property, the first multiparty intellectual property
agreement, which included measures on indicating a product’s source.

In 1909, Paris took the provision one step further and decreed that
only brandies from Cognac, France, or its surrounding regions, could
be sold as "cognac." Today, the European Union has registered close
to 900 protected product names, of which 166 are French. The EU has
even tried to limit the use of words such as "classic," "noble,"
"ruby," "tawny" and "vintage" in wines from the U.S. The World Trade
Organization provides basic protections for geographic labels, so
that consumers know where their products come from.

So it’s hard to blame New Zealanders for their delight in Australia’s
having informed Lacheteau that the "kiwi" brand is reserved there
for products hailing from New Zealand. What probably makes the
ruling particularly savory is that Lacheteau is the same company
that in 2005 sent legal threats to New Zealand’s Kahurangi Estate,
which was exporting a "Kiwi White" chardonnay to Sweden. Lacheteau
told Kahurangi it had trademarked the name "Kiwi Cuvee" and would
sue anybody–even New Zealanders–daring to use it in Europe.

Haute-foodie types insist that such bulwarks against competition are
not economic protectionism masquerading as gastronomic snobbery, nor
even the victory of the monopolist that beats in the heart of every
French farmer. Rather, the argument is that geographic differences in
soil, air, humidity and so on actually lead to a discernible difference
in quality and taste. So the justification for what is effectively a
trademark is that a product’s origin partly defines the product itself.

Perhaps there is truth to that. But then, nothing stops producers
from these prized regions from simply applying for and defending
regular trademarks. This would eliminate the temptation for every
local producer in the world to seek privileged status for otherwise
ordinary place-names. Producers of Parma ham or feta cheese could
very easily certify their products as meeting privately developed
standards of quality and brand them accordingly, without the global
bureaucracy that has grown up around "geographical indications."

Until now, New Zealanders haven’t seemed overly moved by the
geographical protection arguments. They have yet to complain about
kiwifruit grown in Chile or California. "Kiwi Shoe Polish" was created
in 1906 by a Scottish-born Australian, and is now owned and marketed
without trouble by America’s Sara Lee Corporation. So it’s hard to
see the New Zealand Winegrowers’ challenge as anything other than
payback for a century of French dictates about which products can be
called what, and by whom.

Expect now some form of retribution. Perhaps the next New Zealand-born
hairdresser to offer a "French twist" ‘do in Europe will be handed
a cease and desist letter.

Miss Jolis is an editorial page writer for the Wall Street Journal
Europe.