No Wine Before It's Time 

by

John J. Simmons

"Let's try making our own wine," said my wife, Honey.  "The Sneeds do and they just love it.  They've made apple, grape, and peach wine.  Now they're starting plum, more grape, and strawberry."

"I don't know.  Ever since the fun with the beer...." 

"Don't be silly," she snapped.  "This is different, winemaking is easy.  What can go wrong?  Besides, I like wine much better than beer.  Now, I'll get all the instructions for you."

We explored the idea until I gave in.  But I didn't compromise!  I capitulated on my own terms.

After listening to our friends' instructions ("...and mind the hydrometric temperature or the framis will inconcoct..."), I promptly found a winemaking shop where they convinced me that I could do it.  (It was the phrase, "would you like us to go over these instructions with your wife?" that did it.)  However, I did think the title of the book they sold me was a bit impertinent:  EVEN YOU CAN MAKE WINE.  Then, when I discovered the cost of the equipment I would need, Chateau de Rothschild began to look like a bargain.  Fortunately, I had a good bit of equipment left over from my beer-making experiment.  Not all of it was damaged in the explosion.  Courageously, I set about purchasing yeast, chemicals, sterilizing solution, bottles, but NO GRAPES!

No need to buy grapes.  Didn't we have those grapevines along the fence?  The succulent little tidbits of nature were a variety known as Mustang.  Like the horse of the same name, they were derived from cultivated stock, but have been fending for themselves for generations.  They threatened to choke off trees, shrubs, and even the fence itself.  What a wonderful way to get back at them.  The fruit was quite tasty as long as you didn't eat the skin, you spit the pits out (they were much too large to be called seeds), and ignored the pulp.

There are two reasons these particular grapes survived so well:  (1) the little needles like fiberglass shards covering the leaves and vines and (2) the big needles on the Devil's Thorn which the grapevine intertwines.  After a preliminary picking excursion with leather gloves and canvas shirt, I reverted to tongs and blowtorch.  Some wine recipes have you boil the grapes--I just combined operations.

Having successfully harvested the grapes, I was preparing to mash the grapes when my wife walked in.

"What the @#$#%! do you think you're doing?"

"Why, Hon, I was just getting ready to make your wine."

"Where are your clothes?"

"You don't want grape juice stains on my clothes do you?"

Her eyebrows shot up and a suspicious note entered her voice.  "How were you going to mash them?"

"Hey, I'm no dummy.  I've seen how they do things.  I even scrubbed my feet."

Honey burst out laughing.  "You were going to fit those ten gallon feet into that five gallon bucket?  This I've got to see."  She drew up a chair.  She knows I don't perform at my best in front of an audience.

With the encouragement of her cheerful laughter ringing in my ears, I changed my mind and used a wooden potato masher instead.  It's a good thing I did, too.  I had forgotten about the high acid content of the grape juice.  Still, most of the masher handle and a good bit of the body was intact with only five minutes of mashing.

I immediately poured the mashed grapes into the trash can.  I suppose I should explain that this plastic trash can was a fugitive from the beer making.  It had graduated from holding the beer wort to holding grape must.  I'm not sure it considered this a promotion.  After stirring in the secret ingredients (sugar and special wine yeast), I let it sit and stew, er, ferment for a week.  It's hard to let something happen in the corner of your dining room that if it was in your refrigerator, you would call the garbage squad (or maybe the paramedics).  In addition, I had to stir the stuff twice a day.  Whew, the place smelled like a brewery, or at least a winery.

After a week, I couldn't take any more and tried to pour the stuff into a giant bottle.  Have you ever tried to pour liquid from a container with a two foot opening into one with a two inch opening?  Even so, I would have managed fine if it hadn't been for the courageous kamikaze grape skins and seeds.  Eventually, I got it all into the bottle.  Personally, I think the purple adds a pleasing variety to our dining room floor.

Examining the brew in the bottle, I began to have some doubts.  The Big Muddy was a clear mountain spring compared to this stuff.  Over the course of the next month I checked and checked.  There was no discernible clearing.  According to the book it was time for racking.  At last, a chance to build an authentic medieval torture instrument.  I had it half-built when Honey came out to the workshop.

"What's this?" she asked, eyeing the seven foot frame.

"It's a rack.  For the wine."  I tried not to sound too superior.

"What's it do?"  Had I not known my wife better, I would have sworn there was a hint of suspicion in her tone.

"The book says we have to rack the wine, and I can't wait.  This little baby will make it talk when I get through."  I affectionately ran my hand along its surface.

While I removed three splinters from my hand, Honey pointed out the book's reference to racking meant moving the fermenting juice from its home in the big water bottle to another big water bottle.  She is always looking for an excuse to keep me out of my workshop.

Of course, I didn't have another big water bottle.  Undaunted, I proceeded to promote the trash can to Holding Tank.  While the purple fluid rested in its holding tank, I cleaned out the Big Water Bottle.  Practice makes perfect and I got another chance to practice pouring wine from a BIG-mouth container into a small-mouth container.  Another two hundred times and I should have it down.

What came next should have been the easy part--waiting.  And it would have been if it hadn't been for that little question:  What do you do with FIVE gallons of soured wine, also known as VINEGAR?  Hon said not to worry, she could use a cup or so a month.  This was great comfort.  In only six and a half years, I would be free of French cooking.

Then Hon looked at me and sweetly said, "You can always serve it to your friends.  They wouldn't know the difference."

I would have sniffed a snappy comeback, but as I thought about it, I realized I might have my deliverance from French cooking years early.  It would be worth a try.

After only three months of plotting which friends would be the recipients of my largesse, it was time to prepare their presents.  The practice gained in pouring from the trash can held me in good stead.  Hoisting the five gallon bottle to my shoulder and balancing it there, I poured, drop by precious drop into the little wine bottles.  And my shoes.  And the dining room floor.  Just when Hon had gotten used to violet, the tile changed color again.

Getting the corks into the bottles was like getting a size twenty-seven lady into a size four girdle.  Thank God for Spandex, right?  They should make wine bottles from Spandex.  But, you know, I am starting to grow rather fond of the color purple.  Did you know that if you wash wine stains out of fabric, you get this nice periwinkle blue?  It makes for interesting T-shirts and undershorts.

Finally, the moment of truth.  In an incredible burst of gallantry, I told Honey that I would allow her to taste the wine.

"No way, buster!  This is your experiment.  You go first."

After a spirited and selfless rebuttal, I saw things her way.  I'm told the purple around the left eye matches the wine.  Anyway, I tasted it, and had to make a whole new list.  The stuff was too good to give to that crowd.  Which leaves me with one nagging question:  how come we only made five gallons? 

This was written back in 1992. It stems (no pun intended... well, maybe not intended) from an actual wine-making experiment we conducted.

I should also mention that my wife's name is NOT Honey and that her personality is totally unlike that of the woman in this piece.  [Did I type all that okay, dear?]

We actually did gift some of the bottles to friends and/0r family. And, yes, they are still family... and most are still speaking to us.

As an added treat (for those of you have gotten this far), I have copied the explanatory note and instruction sheet we included with each gift bottle.

Oh, and the floor tiles did eventually clean up pretty well.

John

Simmons Vineyards  

1991 was a good year for Simmons Vineyards. It was the year we began. 

The bottle you are about to enjoy is the product of pride and craftsmanship (and dumb luck.)

We began by carefully neglecting the grapes for years. When they had grown to proper tartness and flavor, we carefully handpicked each grape. (Carefully because of the Devil's Thorn growing among the vines.)

After scrupulously scrubbing our feet, we mashed the grapes with wooden mallets. Monitoring the fermentation process afforded us the opportunity to enjoy the progress of the wine.

Three gallons later (total, not imbibed), we had wine. We planned for it to end up with a low sugar content (so I could drink it) which means a dry wine with a high alcohol content.

I like a dry wine or beer. Since Glenda likes a sweeter wine, she enjoys it as a wine cooler. I think it goes well with a meal.

Notice the rich color. This original color results from our clever cultivating of this special mustang grape, combined with our unique soil and climate.

We could suggest you put this rare vintage aside to age until it is more valuable than a House of Rothschild, but it has already aged three months, and why go overboard? It may be drunk immediately (to toast our good health and prosperity) or stored away for a more auspicious occasion (say, a funeral.)

We hope you enjoy your wine from Simmons Vineyards.

Instructions for assembling your picnic bag

1) Unroll blue picnic bag.  

2) Locate large cardboard circle and insert cardboard circle in mouth of bag.  

3) Gently press cardboard circle to bottom of bag until it lays flat on bottom of bag.  

4) Locate bottle of wine and place in bag (cork end toward mouth of bag.)  

5) Locate wine glasses and position around wine bottle.  

6) Locate cookies and stuff in around wine bottle and glasses to cushion them.  

7) Stuff in any other goodies you can find for picnicking.  

Bag is now assembled.