Wine Not?

September is the month for 2 important Italian traditions: Tomato Day and wine-making. Ever since I have known him, Peter has celebrated both. Recetly tomatoes have given way to Rau tomato sauce, available at specialty stores and a whole lot easier than home-canning. But wine-making is in a special category – one connected to social gatherings. ” Vieni alla mia casa, e beviamo un bottiglia di vino!”

When we lived in the country, Peter visited a local vineyard to buy his grapes, and made the wine in our 2-car garage. But how would we manage this important tradition in the middle of a big city? There certainly weren’t any vineyards at Bloor and Jane, and only a few of the homes for sale had garages, (tiny ones only big enough for a tiny car). As we packed up our country house, Peter tearfully sold his heritage grape press.

Then we moved – to a house with a 2-car garage and extra space in the front. Peter began dreaming of buying back his press. Then he started looking for grapes. He explored the neighbourhood where Italians settled when they immigrated to Canada in the 1950’s: St Clair and Caledonia. And there he discovered Macedo Winery. He came home beaming, and loaded with grape juice. No need for a press now! He washed out some demijohns and set up his wine business in the garage. Soon the juice was bubbling away.

This year Peter’s day for grape shopping was a Lucy cleaning day. So I decided to go shopping with him. Granted it was not as exciting as Winners or Home Sense, but I was curious. The Macedo parking lot was overflowing with cars. I was astonished by the number of cases of grapes and the variety of choices. Whites were available in: Chardonnay, Reisling, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscato. The reds came in: Merlot, Pinot Noir, and my favourite; Cabernet Sauvignon.

At this stage of the process, “wine tasting” amounted to customers wandering around, sneaking hands into the cases, and sampling the grapes. I happily joined in. We selected our grapes – 5 cases this year instead of 10 – the new alcohol guidelines had us being a little more careful. The cases were delivered by forklift to a huge crusher where the stems were removed. Then the juice and skins were transferred to buckets with very tight lids, so we could drive them home in our car withouth drowning.

When the clerk took our money I asked her if ours was an average-sized order. She said yes, But in the 1950’s and 60’s the average order was 50 cases, not 5. Those early immigrants sure did a lot of partying! She also told me that, during those 70 years, the business had grown and changed names several times. There were now 2 grape distribution centers and one fancy wine bar which hosted wine tastings, food pairings, and weddings. The entire family was involved.

We drove home carefully with our juice and Peter dumped it into the large barrel where it would bubble away, fermenting. During this time, it was dangerous to go into the garage without a mask – you could get a little muddled from inhaling the fumes, and we were already muddled enough from age.

One more trip to the winery with the juice was in order – so the juice could be pressed and the skins removed. Now we are waiting a little longer for the juice to finish fermenting. In a few weeks, I mean months, the wine will be drinkable. And finally – bottling time!

Meanwhile, every once in a while, Peter disappears. I find him in the garage, stirring, sniffing, and secretly tasting. “Quality Control” he calls it.

Sue