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For just one dollar, how could one pass up a used book with such a catchy title? For a financially challenged graduate student, How to make wine it was a road map to a continuous flow of the low cost nectar of the gods.
How hard could it be? After all, Neolithic man made wine, without the help of a recipe from another book. With a little study and preparation, I can probably produce the same results as the ancient cave dwellers.
I read the book twice. “C” in high school chemistry emphasized the need for a careful understanding of the process. By the end of the second reading, I had convinced myself that this wine stuff was getting worse compared to understanding Avogadro’s number, a way of measuring the number of molecules in gases. Why would this Avogadro guy care to know that anyway? He lived in Turin, Italy, one of the largest wine regions in the world. His time would be better spent drinking Barolo or Asti instead of joking with the heads of high school chemistry students. As they say, there is no accounting for taste.
The first part of my plan focused on estimating the cost of the project. Although I suffered from eternal hope, I was not naive. The book listed a variety of fruits and vegetables from which one could make wine. Grapes were one of many choices. That was a red flag. Better research the price of grapes.
A trip to Grand Central Market in downtown Los Angeles was a real experience. Book in hand, I reviewed the recipe for grape wine and researched the price of grapes. The number I needed raised the cost above what my meager budget could spare.
I made my way through the market, scrolling through the recipes and making notes on the cost of a variety of fruits. The low lemon, a final choice that was far from what I expected, was excellent, winning quality – a price tag of a nickel a pound.
Water, sugar, and yeast came from my kitchen cupboard. I invested in a new plastic bucket and a piece of cheesecloth. I was ready to launch.
At the first stage it was necessary to squeeze the lemons, mixing the juice with water and sugar and rubbing it on top of the field. When the liquid reached the optimum temperature for yeast growth, I added the granules, stirring them, and poured the mixture into the plastic bucket, covering it with the cheesecloth.
The bitter, frozen brew required several weeks to settle. The smell of yeast and alcohol permeated the apartment.
The next step, secondary fermentation, called for a one-gallon glass container with a narrow neck, like an empty water jug. No problem. I had one.
A picture in the book showed a device called a fermentation lock. It looked like it could have been plucked from Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory. An accompanying explanation described how the complex plastic tube allowed carbon dioxide to escape from the box while preventing the entry of unwanted microbes that would destroy the wine. One end of the tube fits through a rubber stopper inserted into the top of the socket. There was a small reservoir for water at the other end. Gas bubbles pushed their way through a water barrier on the way out, but microbes couldn’t get in.
I poured the yellow liquid into the jug, leaving a sediment behind, and then attached the fermentation lock.
Now, the hardest part began – the six month wait. Although he had been tempted to sample the wine by then, it was a delayed thanks to impatience.
When the day came for the tasting, I called my brother-in-law, Bob, who lived a few blocks away. A fun-loving guy who was up for almost anything, he volunteered to judge the product.
I set two shot glasses on the living room coffee table. When it arrived, I removed the fermentation lock from the gallon jug. The strong smell of alcohol assaulted our noses. This wine could be high octane. Since the size of the container made it inconvenient, I poured some paint into a smaller bottle before filling the glasses.
Bob already had his hand around the glass, raising it to his lips. “Wow! It tastes like lemon.”
“Do you think it’s too strong?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have another taste.” He finished off the glass.
I drank half a glass. My body felt the effects of alcohol immediately.
“I think we should stop, Bob. I’ll put the rest back in the jug and let it develop for another six months.”
“I’ll take another shot.”
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
He held up the empty glass.
“Okay. I’m glad you’re walking home.”
He finished his second round and left.
Fifteen minutes later, my sister called. “What did you do to my husband?”
“He only had two shot glasses of my new lemon wine.”
The explanation did not dispel her anxiety.
I replaced the fermentation lock and let the kick sit for another six months. The wine clarified and took on a cordial character with a lively lemon flavor. At the end of one year, the spirits were fit for polite society.
The result of the great lemon wine experiment did not dampen my enthusiasm for home production. I found joy in using nothing but grapes.
In my second attempt, I used a grapefruit which, when squeezed, produced a lot of juice. However, I found that the unusual taste was not well received when offered to guests. “You have to develop a taste for it,” I said. “It appeals to the sophisticated palate.”
For my third batch, I used carrots. You have to juice a lot of carrots to make some wine. What surprised me about the recipe was that wheat was added halfway through fermentation. The grain strengthened the wine, creating a wonderful drink.
When I put the wine out for guests, I asked them to taste it and tell me what they thought it was. They said it was sherry, very good sherry.
Luckily, I said, “It’s a carrot!”
“You’re kidding,” was the universal response.
“I’m not. It’s a carrot fortified with wheat.”
Oh, what a feeling. I had made a wine that was equal in taste to a fine sherry that came from the fields of Jerez, Spain, a wine with a three thousand year old tradition. I was at the height of my winemaking glory, fit to be mentioned in the same breath as Ernest and Julio Gallo.
The lesson was clear: even a graduate student who could only afford cheap produce, a plastic bag, and a jug of water, someone who got a “C” in high school chemistry, can rise above his station to compare with the giants of the wine world Hallelujah! Life can be so amazing.
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