Shiraz?
Big Papi gave me a ride to the winery today, a blessing in that I had no money for gas or toll. Also, we hadn't actually gotten a chance to talk. When he asked me why I chose my major, I think I said something about politics, completely forgetting that I have always wanted to write something about anything and that perhaps that was why I came down here. Next time, right?
He walked me through brix and punch-downs, then back to the barrels. I heart me some barrels. In some ways I am sad to see the task almost completed. I like re-fitting a barrel from top to bottom now that I have an idea of what I am doing. There is a certain satisfaction in everything holding together, with the rivets now perfectly aligned, on a barrel that looked like zombies could have emerged from it any moment just half an hour before.
Johnny D. showed up with some Syrah from Paso Robles, looking like he had driven a good distance with someone else's livelihood strapped to his back. If you consider the truck an extension of man, he did. The 30 tons of estate syrah that were coming in from the time we got there had priority over Papi's measly pickings, but getting a chance to try the fruit side by side was illuminating.
All day long the forklift was hoisting bins to the crusher, leaves, raisined bunches, god knows what else getting pitch forked in with more eyes towards efficiency than quality. It was a production line as Papi slowly worked the cap into the juice of his Gamay by hand, me wrestling miniaturized sumos and dreaming of a day when I could build a tower 100 storeys high made only of barrels. Though I was initially skeptical, I am grateful that I get to see the contrast between what Big P. is about and what a larger winery does with their fruit.
I get home in time to hear the Red Sox win. Today it was a good day.
He walked me through brix and punch-downs, then back to the barrels. I heart me some barrels. In some ways I am sad to see the task almost completed. I like re-fitting a barrel from top to bottom now that I have an idea of what I am doing. There is a certain satisfaction in everything holding together, with the rivets now perfectly aligned, on a barrel that looked like zombies could have emerged from it any moment just half an hour before.
Johnny D. showed up with some Syrah from Paso Robles, looking like he had driven a good distance with someone else's livelihood strapped to his back. If you consider the truck an extension of man, he did. The 30 tons of estate syrah that were coming in from the time we got there had priority over Papi's measly pickings, but getting a chance to try the fruit side by side was illuminating.
All day long the forklift was hoisting bins to the crusher, leaves, raisined bunches, god knows what else getting pitch forked in with more eyes towards efficiency than quality. It was a production line as Papi slowly worked the cap into the juice of his Gamay by hand, me wrestling miniaturized sumos and dreaming of a day when I could build a tower 100 storeys high made only of barrels. Though I was initially skeptical, I am grateful that I get to see the contrast between what Big P. is about and what a larger winery does with their fruit.
I get home in time to hear the Red Sox win. Today it was a good day.
posted by Jassmond at 10:28 PM
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