Whine, Whine, Whine

So you recall that yummy bottle of whine that I thought was mine? It wasn't mine. It was a gift someone brought me. It turns out that my oenological efforts produced 24 bottles of vinegar. Thin, sour, barely any alcohol--vinegar.

Nothing to do but start over.

The fatal flaw was that I didn't add any sugar. I know, I know, the yeast need sugar to do their thing. But I thought there would have been enough sugar in the grape juice itself. Turns out that was incorrect.

After more thought, I decided that my fermenting setup may have let too much oxygen in, yet another fairly fatal weakness in the process (fermenting in the presence of oxygen is how you make vinegar on purpose). So I constructed a new fermenting container out of a 20-liter Coleman cooler, some rubber tubing, and of course duct tape.

High tech. The only reason it is on the bucket is so I don't have to bend down so far to pick it up.

This time I added 6 cups of white sugar and 2 cups of brown sugar to 12 liters of red grape juice. And I used a different brand of grape juice, one that was recommended to me by several successful vintners here on camp.

Why brown sugar? I have no idea what prompted me to do that. It was a whim. The brown sugar was sitting next to the white sugar in the cabinet. I like brown sugar--I thought, why not? It's all sugar, right?

After letting the yeast run to the end (about 10-14 days depending on which threshold is reached first, lack of sugar or too much alcohol; you aim for the latter, not the former), I decanted the whine off into another container. Before I capped it off, I added a pint of fresh, crushed blackberries.

And what prompted me to do that? Yet another whim. I've talked to vintners who say they add herbs, fruit, and sometimes even preserves and jam to the whine at this stage. Since we don't ferment directly from the grapes themselves, we don't get the complex flavors that come from the mold on the grapes, the skins of the grapes, etc. All of our contortions are attempts to add fruity complexity to our whine. (You should be laughing now.) So I decided those fresh, juicy blackberries might be just the thing.

I let the whine and the blackberries sit for about 3 weeks. Then I decanted off into bottles.

Some folks on camp say you can't drink whine until it sits for months and months. But when I asked a vintner that I know who makes awesome red whines when he first drinks his whines after bottling, he told me "immediately."

So after filling the bottles and cleaning up all of my equipment, I took a deep breath and poured out a glass of my latest effort.

The result? I made port. That's right, port. Deep, hearty, fortified whine with a hint of fruit. The stuff has so much alcohol in it that your nose hairs will singe if you sniff too deep. But the flavor is fantastic. Well, fantastic for whine. It's all relative, of course.

In light of my apparent success, I've decided that I should create a label for my bottles. And the choice of a name for my whinery was obvious: Bonjour, Gendarmerie!

This guy will make a lovely label.

I mixed up a new batch last night (using 2 liters of sour cherry juice along with the grape juice) so I have a few weeks to get my labels printed and ready.