Scavenger Cellars

When I see fruit dropped on the ground, ripe fruit, tears well up in my eyes, wavering on the brink of unleashing a tapped fire hydrant and then I realize, it's the business. Wineries chose to drop fruit for a variety of reasons. Most of the times fruit is dropped pre-harvest to lower yields and concentrate flavors but often times bunches are dropped if the fruit isn't up to par or heavily damaged, ie. rot. On Wednesday, however we were dropping bunches with shriveled and unripe berries alike. Reason being is that the winery is seeking quality over quantity and unripe cabernet sauvignon berries might give off unwanted "green" flavors and overripe berries will jack up the alcohol.

Wine grape berries in sunny California often shrivel if exposed to too much sunlight and are not fully shaded by the canopy.

If there is a maxim in the fine wine industry it is balance. Even a wine with high alcohol, say 15 or 16%, can be balanced if it has the fruit and acidity to match. This is California after all where bigger is better is the current trend.

In an attempt to maintain low alcohol levels our client ensured that no shriveled berries would sneak by the fondling fingers on the sorting line. Mouth agape I marched along the rows in the throes of agony thinking about the amount of fruit laying prostrate at its phenological height.

Coming up the vine row with long strides, my boss Dave approached expressing the same sentiments. "Man when I saw you looking at the fruit on the ground I could only think 'Tom must be pissed they are dropping all this fruit'" he ruminated. Right he was. "You should ask Ben if you can pick up some of the fruit," he casually mentioned. The idea of picking up the eighty-sixed cabernet began to twist and turn in my mind like a far fetched Almodovar plot. I couldn't think about abandoning such great fruit to decomposition, no matter how natural the process might be.

After clearing the clean up with the V.P. of operations, the machinery was put in order to pick up the pieces.

Three Nosepickers

Chowing down on four tacos and washing it down with a tall boy of energy beverage my picking crew(all gabachos...what was I thinking?) showed up to Lytton Springs Road and we were on our way north. It was already four o'clock and I knew we were racing against the clock, the sun already beginning its rapid descent below the coastal range.

"Let's go, let's go," I shouted and we paraded up to Cloverdale at warp brushburn speed. The worst part of picking up all the grapes was the fact that they were scattered across the block here and there.

Splitting up we scrambled to gather as many bunches as possible in our picking bins and from five rows over I heard Janet scream "This is just like dumpster diving...except these our grapes." And she is kinda right. Sometimes there is no better price tag than free, but if bumper stickers have taught me anything over the past years it is "Freedom isn't Free". Scratch that Glenn Beck bullshit. What I meant is that even if something is free there is not way to procure it without doing the dirty work.

Do you really think that pizza sitting on top of the dumpster by its lonesome is going to grow legs and walk its deliciousness to your drunk ass's house at 3 am in the morning? I don't think so. You gotta go out and get yours!

De-stemming by Lantern Light

De-stemming. This was a chore I greatly underestimated. I thought 'Hell, a quarter ton. It'll take us two maybe three hours. Max'. I sounded super Californian.

And I was planning on doing it solo before Janet, Lynette and Josh volunteered to give me a hand. Literally. In kind I re payed them with porter and stout. A fair trade I believe.

Four hours latter and I realized the beauty of the machinery. With the help of modern technology we could have finished in a little under ten minutes, but instead we sat on the flat bed shooting the shit for hours in the company of good friends. Maybe it was worth it after all although next time I might wait 24 hours and rent a destemmer from the local homebrew store. Sometimes a good night's sleep is worth more than gettin' er done and a pair of jittery hands in the morning.

A Sticky Situation

The following day I phoned my business partner and spoke of the good news. "I picked up a quarter ton of Cab last night. Thinkin' it might be a good idea to blend with the extra half barrel of Syrah..." I announced to a what seemed a dead line.

"You picked up Cab? What the fuck is going on with you? First Chardonnay and now Cabernet? Maybe you should go get a job in fucking Napa Valley!" Shaunt taunted, half kidding.

And it was true. First, I picked Chardonnay, a grape I swore off for lacking uniqueness and submitting peacefully to oak's evil tricks. Now I was gonna to ferment Cabernet Sauvignon, a grape I abandoned in my early twenties for the allure of the more seductive Pinot Noir and sturdy Rhone Syrahs.

But the fruit! The fruit of this cabernet was too good to give up. Bright blue fruit and dark blueberries, ripe and round, soft, velvety tannins. I am stoked about this wine! Currently it sits in a cold soak outside my room, with three submerged frozen gallons of water taking in the crisp Santa Rosa air and starry sky. At 27.5 degrees brix this baby is gonna be a big wine. Tomorrow or the next and my baby will be inoculated and on its infant march toward winedom.

Being back in ferment mode never felt so good!