Nectar of My Grandfather and the Gods

 

When October comes around with its welcomed chill and variegated pallet, I delve into my most cherished  family tradition – making wine. If you are of Italian extraction as I am you don’t have to delve too deeply into the past  to find a forebear who made wine. For me it was my grandfather.

This is my 37^th year of wine making and each and every year has brought a  unique satisfaction. My friend and I whom I started making wine with  all those years ago now make it separately but still exchange notes and bottles throughout the year. And yes, lament the fact  of the ever increasing price of  California grapes. When we started, the price for a 42-lb case was $12; today for a 36-lb. case  the price is $40. Together, there were times  we made 100 gallons; now, we each make separately about 25.

Throughout the years we have accumulated  a wealth of  experience and  a more discerning palate. We have tinkered  and tweaked our recipes to produce  a most enjoyable wine every year. And it’s absolutely all pure, fermented grape juice, no additives. As a result it has a short life span: from December to May. It peaks in March but by that time more than half of the stash of bottles has  been dispensed as welcomed  Christmas  or birthday gifts to friends and family.

When I see  someone take that first sip of the new wine and exclaim how wonderful it is, it makes the painstaking  job of making it all worthwhile. But it also reminds me of my grandfather in his wine cellar. Myself and my  two older cousins would look on while pilfering small bunches of grapes to eat.  We’d watch him turn the crank of his grape crusher until he was finished  with the first step in the process. He’d clean his equipment and we’d help; then he would pour us kids a small glass from the vintage of the year before. It sure didn’t taste like the wine I make now. It had a much rougher edge to it. It wasn’t as smooth  or had  hints of cherry or blackberry notes like the Cabernet Sauvignon  I’ve made in the past and am making this year. No his  was a heartier fare to enjoy after a hard day’s work, contributing to the building of  this great country.

I’m sorry I never had the opportunity to clink glasses of my wine with my grandfather, he would have been very proud  that I had kept up the tradition as I am of him for handing it down to me. Salud, grandpa.