Trudging along Lake Ontairo tuesday, a foot of thawing snow crunching under my hikers and a cool calm breeze soothing my blistered lips I couldn't help to begin to wonder if the local Western New York meteriologists had led the public astray. The eleven o'clock local news forecasted a Ramones strength blitzkrieg drop of 2-4" with erratic white outs. Snowfall was to come in fast, jagged bursts causing limited visibility and temperatures plummiting below zero. Contrary to the predictions, I was enjoying a casual stroll, my only trouble invovled keeping up with the steady fox trot of my parents' dog Madison, a capricious canine jetset on following every dead end rabbit loop along the way.
But where was the smackdown the local weathermen prognosticated? Had the Pope, Don Paul, slugged down one two many whiskey sours at Mother's, rendering him unable to follow the aberrant movements of sub-polar storm systems? I wanted answers! Shit, frankly I didn't give a damn. Don Paul, much like the real Pope, answers to no one! Not even you Mike Cjeka! (Another weather jockey whose last name subconciously drills into his viewership that he can forecast the weather with supra-natural powers).
Even when the Pope fails to hit the four-degree-guarantee, the mustachioed penguin marhces on uperturbed. The artic Buffalo tundra suits Don Paul and he appears to be tenured 'til he drops; and honestly if you are going to have a meterological icon he might as well have boast a nick- name resembling someone famous. In Buffalo, NY America's second poorest major city the weather and economy have one thing in common: they are both undeniably atrocious.
Growing up as a kid in WNY, I would adjust the tin foil tipped rabbit ears above the tube to tune into the clearest channel to weigh the likelihood of a snow day. The weather was an undiscriminating actor, dropping its load as it pleased. Whether or not it dumped a foot of heavy snow overnight determined whether I would be turpedoed off to prison in the number 62 yellow submarine or if there might be a snowball's chance in hell school would be called off. In elementary school there was nothing better than sleeping in and waking up to polish off half a box of Lucky Charms by the time Thunder Cats charged onto the convex TV screen. Hell, maybe the whole box if there was a secret decoder inside.
Tuning into the Pope was sorta like going to T.G.I. Fridays. Each experience included flare, excitement and then an utter letdown. At T.G.I. Fridays it was the mind-boggling vest buttons, ogling the young blonde waittress and then finally electing groovy grilled cheese off of an uninspiring kids menu. On WKBW it was the Pope's bristled upper lip, the glimmering chance of a day off school and the upbeat verdict: "Tomorrow highs will reach the low-teens, overcast with a chance of snow." Groundhog day.
While returning home from the park I decided to abandon the tranquility of nature for a second and check my cellphone which had been laying listless and half frozen in the back pocket of my overalls. Two voicemails. Somewhat peculiar, but nonetheless not unlikely. Verizon it seems has failed to place a hulking metal skeleton on every grassy knoll in the countryside. The first message arrived from my mother, announcing that the Motorola World phone was available at the Lockport store. Verizon strikes back. Erasing the first and skipping to the second Jonny Oake's voice rang loud and clear, happily announcing that he and a crew would be picking frozen grapes for icewine on Wednesday. I was invited to come along. Quickly, I phoned the grapelord back, saying "Yeah, that would be great, I'd love to help out" in a calm, cool tone, when in reality I was anxious to get in on the action.
For once in my life I had a reason to be excited about hailing from a region thats climate is known for brutal winter weather that makes life an everyday struggle for the better part of four months.
Pulling into LynOaken Farms I felt lucky to lend a hand in making icewine (Eiswein in Germany, the original home of icewine) for Leonard Oakes Estate. For starters, there is a small window when the icewine grapes can be picked. According to quality standards set by the Vinters Quality Association of Canada, icewines require a natural hard freeze, meaning the berries must be frozen on the vine at temperatures of at least 17 degrees ferhenheit (-8 Celsius). If the temperatures drop too low the berries could become too hard, making it nearly impossible to extract must (pressed juice) from the grapes. Throughout the last month while I have been back in WNY I have remained in touch with Jon, continually pestering him about a potential pick date for the icewine, but was answered several times with a vague, open answer "Well that all depends on the weather." What was I to expect, my friend grew up in a tight knit farming family.
But where was the smackdown the local weathermen prognosticated? Had the Pope, Don Paul, slugged down one two many whiskey sours at Mother's, rendering him unable to follow the aberrant movements of sub-polar storm systems? I wanted answers! Shit, frankly I didn't give a damn. Don Paul, much like the real Pope, answers to no one! Not even you Mike Cjeka! (Another weather jockey whose last name subconciously drills into his viewership that he can forecast the weather with supra-natural powers).
Even when the Pope fails to hit the four-degree-guarantee, the mustachioed penguin marhces on uperturbed. The artic Buffalo tundra suits Don Paul and he appears to be tenured 'til he drops; and honestly if you are going to have a meterological icon he might as well have boast a nick- name resembling someone famous. In Buffalo, NY America's second poorest major city the weather and economy have one thing in common: they are both undeniably atrocious.
Growing up as a kid in WNY, I would adjust the tin foil tipped rabbit ears above the tube to tune into the clearest channel to weigh the likelihood of a snow day. The weather was an undiscriminating actor, dropping its load as it pleased. Whether or not it dumped a foot of heavy snow overnight determined whether I would be turpedoed off to prison in the number 62 yellow submarine or if there might be a snowball's chance in hell school would be called off. In elementary school there was nothing better than sleeping in and waking up to polish off half a box of Lucky Charms by the time Thunder Cats charged onto the convex TV screen. Hell, maybe the whole box if there was a secret decoder inside.
Tuning into the Pope was sorta like going to T.G.I. Fridays. Each experience included flare, excitement and then an utter letdown. At T.G.I. Fridays it was the mind-boggling vest buttons, ogling the young blonde waittress and then finally electing groovy grilled cheese off of an uninspiring kids menu. On WKBW it was the Pope's bristled upper lip, the glimmering chance of a day off school and the upbeat verdict: "Tomorrow highs will reach the low-teens, overcast with a chance of snow." Groundhog day.
While returning home from the park I decided to abandon the tranquility of nature for a second and check my cellphone which had been laying listless and half frozen in the back pocket of my overalls. Two voicemails. Somewhat peculiar, but nonetheless not unlikely. Verizon it seems has failed to place a hulking metal skeleton on every grassy knoll in the countryside. The first message arrived from my mother, announcing that the Motorola World phone was available at the Lockport store. Verizon strikes back. Erasing the first and skipping to the second Jonny Oake's voice rang loud and clear, happily announcing that he and a crew would be picking frozen grapes for icewine on Wednesday. I was invited to come along. Quickly, I phoned the grapelord back, saying "Yeah, that would be great, I'd love to help out" in a calm, cool tone, when in reality I was anxious to get in on the action.
For once in my life I had a reason to be excited about hailing from a region thats climate is known for brutal winter weather that makes life an everyday struggle for the better part of four months.
Pulling into LynOaken Farms I felt lucky to lend a hand in making icewine (Eiswein in Germany, the original home of icewine) for Leonard Oakes Estate. For starters, there is a small window when the icewine grapes can be picked. According to quality standards set by the Vinters Quality Association of Canada, icewines require a natural hard freeze, meaning the berries must be frozen on the vine at temperatures of at least 17 degrees ferhenheit (-8 Celsius). If the temperatures drop too low the berries could become too hard, making it nearly impossible to extract must (pressed juice) from the grapes. Throughout the last month while I have been back in WNY I have remained in touch with Jon, continually pestering him about a potential pick date for the icewine, but was answered several times with a vague, open answer "Well that all depends on the weather." What was I to expect, my friend grew up in a tight knit farming family.
Now it was go time. The Saskatchewan Screamer and other sub-artic airstreams came barreling into WNY creating the ideal conditions to pick: four days with temperatures staying below 18 degrees Ferhenheit.
As fate would have it, I had chosen the exact same week to vacation at my parents lakeside house. Fortuitous, I think so.
Second, it is impossible to make ice wine everywhere. In September I made the decision to move shop to California, an state abundant in vines and wineries where icewine represents an elegant, complex style that cannot be duplicated in warm climate viticultural appelations worshipped for their full bodied reds. That's not to say there aren't immitations or attempts make ice wine. Several wineries on the West Coast pick their grapes at optimal ripeness and then artificialy freeze the berries to create immitations of the style. The same is done in other parts of the world where temperatures will rarely if ever even fall below freezing, i.e. Australia, New Zealand and Israel. While artificial immitations may take on many of the characteristics of true ice wines including their complex, they often times fall short of embodying the real deal.
As fate would have it, I had chosen the exact same week to vacation at my parents lakeside house. Fortuitous, I think so.
Second, it is impossible to make ice wine everywhere. In September I made the decision to move shop to California, an state abundant in vines and wineries where icewine represents an elegant, complex style that cannot be duplicated in warm climate viticultural appelations worshipped for their full bodied reds. That's not to say there aren't immitations or attempts make ice wine. Several wineries on the West Coast pick their grapes at optimal ripeness and then artificialy freeze the berries to create immitations of the style. The same is done in other parts of the world where temperatures will rarely if ever even fall below freezing, i.e. Australia, New Zealand and Israel. While artificial immitations may take on many of the characteristics of true ice wines including their complex, they often times fall short of embodying the real deal.
In the last three decades Niagara-on-the-Lake in Ontario, Canada has demonstrated that it is a world class producer of icewines, establishing strict guidelines and quaility standards through the Canadian governing body the Vinters Quality Association (VQA). After seeing the frozen Vidal clusters, healthy and hanging limply on the vine in mid-January, my eyes swelled with a wild enthusiasm: Western New York is a sleeping giant. The region wedged between Niagara Falls and Rochester along the Niagara esarpment has the potential to become a recognized wine region in the United States.
With a cup of insta-Folgers in my belly we were off and walking amongst four rows of Vidal vines, carefu
lly examing how to move the remaining hanging and fallen clusters sitting at the bottom of the nets into the picking luggs. Walking up a row and giving the vines a good shake, the Grapelord decided we would knock the remaining hangin clusters into the closed nets and drop them into lugs. The remaining brown clusters, frozen and oxidized, held tightly but their fragile stems, let loose with a jarring shake to the fruiting wires. Our crew of six, walked the rows carefully ensuring every last cluster fell to the bottom, hand cutting stubborn clusters that ardently refused to let go of the mother ship. From time to time I would hand select a frozen berry, place it between my upper and lower minuscus and release its juices with an offbalanced chomp. Ummm....raisons, figs and a splash of sourness.
Of note, is the grape variety Vidal Blanc, a hybrid of Labrusca and Vinifera parentage, that is known for its ability to flourish in cold climates, achieving high sugar levels while maintaining balanced acid levels. These characteristics have qualified Vidal Blanc as a suitable and often times go to candidate for enduring the long hanging period neccessary for making icewine in the Notheast. Other varieties used to produce icewine inlude the traditional Riesling and Cabernet Franc (Canada) as well as the newly popular Seyval Blanc. Ice wine, however, is not limited to these varieties as creative vinters in the New World have taken advantage of lax regulation to craft the dessert wine from others including Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Chardonnay.
After dropping the Vidal to the bottom of the nets, where it sat heavy and bulging, we got down on our knees to do the dirty work. Up to this point, it was hard for me to quantify the number of people hours that it took to nurture the grapes from gestation to harvest, but as we stooped low the effort became more and
more clear. Shortly following the harvest period in early November, the farm crew had meticulously placed mesh nets around the four remaing Vidal Blanc rows, rolling and sealing the nets at the bottom. The purpose was twofold: keep the remaining berries away from the clutches of circling crows and prevent fallen clusters from droping to the ground. As we tore open the nets, the berries pit-pattering into the luggs, I turned and saw a few tears in J.J.'s eyes; his long hard work being undone tare by tare. Then I panned to Jonathan, master of the vineyard and cellar, who also had a tear welling up in his eyes for every rogue berry that landed outside the yellow boxes, to be preserved like a frozen caveman until the spring thaw.
No one likes spilled milk, so I began to open the nets a bit more carefully, rescue fallen berries and treat the grapes as they deserved: a potential mass of liquid gold.
With a cup of insta-Folgers in my belly we were off and walking amongst four rows of Vidal vines, carefu
lly examing how to move the remaining hanging and fallen clusters sitting at the bottom of the nets into the picking luggs. Walking up a row and giving the vines a good shake, the Grapelord decided we would knock the remaining hangin clusters into the closed nets and drop them into lugs. The remaining brown clusters, frozen and oxidized, held tightly but their fragile stems, let loose with a jarring shake to the fruiting wires. Our crew of six, walked the rows carefully ensuring every last cluster fell to the bottom, hand cutting stubborn clusters that ardently refused to let go of the mother ship. From time to time I would hand select a frozen berry, place it between my upper and lower minuscus and release its juices with an offbalanced chomp. Ummm....raisons, figs and a splash of sourness.Of note, is the grape variety Vidal Blanc, a hybrid of Labrusca and Vinifera parentage, that is known for its ability to flourish in cold climates, achieving high sugar levels while maintaining balanced acid levels. These characteristics have qualified Vidal Blanc as a suitable and often times go to candidate for enduring the long hanging period neccessary for making icewine in the Notheast. Other varieties used to produce icewine inlude the traditional Riesling and Cabernet Franc (Canada) as well as the newly popular Seyval Blanc. Ice wine, however, is not limited to these varieties as creative vinters in the New World have taken advantage of lax regulation to craft the dessert wine from others including Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Chardonnay.
After dropping the Vidal to the bottom of the nets, where it sat heavy and bulging, we got down on our knees to do the dirty work. Up to this point, it was hard for me to quantify the number of people hours that it took to nurture the grapes from gestation to harvest, but as we stooped low the effort became more and
more clear. Shortly following the harvest period in early November, the farm crew had meticulously placed mesh nets around the four remaing Vidal Blanc rows, rolling and sealing the nets at the bottom. The purpose was twofold: keep the remaining berries away from the clutches of circling crows and prevent fallen clusters from droping to the ground. As we tore open the nets, the berries pit-pattering into the luggs, I turned and saw a few tears in J.J.'s eyes; his long hard work being undone tare by tare. Then I panned to Jonathan, master of the vineyard and cellar, who also had a tear welling up in his eyes for every rogue berry that landed outside the yellow boxes, to be preserved like a frozen caveman until the spring thaw.No one likes spilled milk, so I began to open the nets a bit more carefully, rescue fallen berries and treat the grapes as they deserved: a potential mass of liquid gold.
In roughly eight hours we had collected the four rows of grapes, a hair shy of an acre and transferred, stacked and seran wrapped them in a storage barn; frozen and ready to be brutally wrenched of must in the following three days. Since I was in the country I did as the natives do and celebrated with a Bud Light. Watery and hydrating. Followed ofcourse by a 2007 Leonard Oakes Estate Chambourcin. Now that my friends tasted a bit more indigenous.
Thursday, the day of judgement. How would the berries press out? How high w
ere the sugar levels? Would the family winery's antiquated (by industry standards), yet pragmatic screw press adequately squeeze enough must from the ice wine grapes to make the effort worth their while? All of these questions were answered well before I could arrive on the scene of the frozen crush. In fact I was having a bit of trouble peeling myself out of bed. My hamstrings ached, my lower back throbbed and a heavy sleep hung over me leaving me to doze off time and again. Why was I so tired? Well, quite frankly I haven't done an honest days work since November and picking had thoroughly kicked my ass. Another humbling reason to respect the production of ice wine.
ere the sugar levels? Would the family winery's antiquated (by industry standards), yet pragmatic screw press adequately squeeze enough must from the ice wine grapes to make the effort worth their while? All of these questions were answered well before I could arrive on the scene of the frozen crush. In fact I was having a bit of trouble peeling myself out of bed. My hamstrings ached, my lower back throbbed and a heavy sleep hung over me leaving me to doze off time and again. Why was I so tired? Well, quite frankly I haven't done an honest days work since November and picking had thoroughly kicked my ass. Another humbling reason to respect the production of ice wine.As afternoon arrived, the sun bore down hopelessly at a sharp angle, doing no more than casting glaring waves to be reflected off the blanket of snow back at the cosmos. Temperatures remained low and we busied oursleves moving hardened grapes inside to be pitched inside the press's rectangular mouth. The entire ice wine process is slow and arduous and it soon becomes apparent why most winemakers in the Old World stick to basic dry table wines. Much like the growing season, the pressing process is long and drawn out. A typical ice wine press cycle lasted nearly three hours, the extraction at times was painfully slow. For a spectator, the process allowed me to taste from maturing tanks in the cellar and hear a tale of Ukranian immigration, but for the winemaker the waiting period appeared nailbittingly stressful. Pressing the grapes before the water warms to dillute the sugary must is always there, lingering and taunting you in the back of your mind.
Pressing is but another step in the labor intensive process. 
Next its fining, tartrate removal, yeast starters into bigger yeast starters, pitching, fermenting, racking, more fining and filtration before it goes to bottle. Then the consumer has to wait for the annual release date while the winery hopes the ice wine will move or they have enough to sate their customers demand. Let's hope there's heavy demand. Icewine could become the crown jewel of WNY.
Next its fining, tartrate removal, yeast starters into bigger yeast starters, pitching, fermenting, racking, more fining and filtration before it goes to bottle. Then the consumer has to wait for the annual release date while the winery hopes the ice wine will move or they have enough to sate their customers demand. Let's hope there's heavy demand. Icewine could become the crown jewel of WNY.Look for the Leonard Oakes Estate Icewine to be released sometime in late 2009.
For more info visit:Leonard Oakes Estate Winery http://www.lynoakenfarms.com/loew/
Canada's Icewines http://www.winesofcanada.com/icewine.html
Icewine: the Complete Story by John Schreiner, Warwick Publishing, Toronto
"Icewine - worth the money and hassle?" Jancis Robinson, http://www.jancisrobinson.com/
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