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Che Sara, Syrah.
It started out as one of those perfect days. The alarm on my cell phone stirred me, but it was accompanied by a text message from the night before. I'll pick you up at 9:30. Three hours later than usual. Five fingers slammed the snooze sixteen times. Almost three hours later, I was showered without shaving and waiting for my ride to the vineyard. I sat in the passenger seat, head back and tilted toward the window. Some mornings we have an agreement, no speaking until we have a coffee. And this was one of those mornings. This agreement has nothing to do with my need for caffeine. Actually the stuff has no effect on me. It's past two in the morning as I write this and I just had a double shot of espresso. If I wanted to say fuck off, I am going to bed, the coffee would not prevent it. The silent treatment is solely based on the duration of the drive. It is 1.5 hours to the vineyard in the valley of Acate. If we hit every corner of every winding road on the inside track, some days sharper than others, the Tamoil gas station with the coffee bar, is one hour into the drive. At the awful hour of 6:30, my driver, my boss needs his coffee and his stop and go, engine stuttering style is accented with the grunts, groans and hand gestures that are learned early on in Italy's version of Driver's Education. Although this morning it was 9:30, the extra three hours of sleep didn't prevent us from adhering to the rule. Good morning. I am well. Let's go. Door's shut, we escaped the city of Catania. The sun was high overhead and I stared out the window. September 22nd. Three months into my stay in Sicily and 13 days into harvest. This year, the weather has cooperated. A blistering summer during June and July, with 30-odd days of straight 90 degree heat; the vines ate up the sun and are now reveling in the southern breezes originating in Africa and sailing quickly across the sea. Harvest will last the entire month of September and trickle into the early days of October. A different philosophy from years past, because the grapes told us so. The old method of harvesting consisted of hiring a team of twenty-five workers who would shear the vines covering 75 acres in ten days or so. Under this method, some grapes would be ripe and ready while others would need a few more days to hit their maturity. This year, we decided to give the grapes their time and cut them when the sugar inside caused them to jitter like a herd of school kids sucking on packs of M&M's in the schoolyard. The sky was heavenly blue. And an icy cloud or two floated on a cool breeze. When my eyes descended on the ground, orange trees, olive farms, and grape vines sped on by. The drive is a virtual market for fresh fruits and vegetables, and when confronted by a Sheppard and his sheep that stop us on the narrow roads, and the grazing underbellies of cows, clothing and meat are the only other necessities in this life. The Sicilians say, that Sicily is a great place to live but a terrible place to work. The have the sun, the sea, the wine and the women, but they don't have the money and therefore, work is not priority. What can be done today should most definitely be done tomorrow. But on the vineyard, it may rain tomorrow. And that would devastate the sanctity of the season. We arrived at the coffee bar and my boss drained his espresso while I lingered over a powdered sugar covered brioche. My boss paced in the corner of the store, I finished my breakfast with two sips of the cooled coffee. In the remaining half hour of the drive, we would talk about what was running through his mind. The Syrah should be finished this week. The Syrah clones were planted a few years earlier and are showing their potential, but the cantina is reluctant to bottle it as a single varietal. But the world wants Syrah, it is the grape of the moment; the Australians recognized this and built their industry on it. Americans are drinking Syrah by the bottle full. We need to introduce them to Sicilian Syrah. The conversation came to a halt as the car bounced over the rocky road leading up to the vineyard. Syrah produces an aromatic and powerful wine, but not overly aggressive. It smells erotic, but it tastes sensual, which makes for a recipe of success. Sicilians say that the indigenous Nero d'Avola grape was the grandfather of Syrah; the varietal and the name evolved from the city of Siracusa that sits on the eastern sea, first farmed for grapes by the Greeks over two thousand years ago. The team working the harvest was on break, eating their lunch. They have been at it since 6 this morning, when we were still sleeping. They sit huddled under the vines, shaded from the sun. A two-gallon, glass jug of chilled red wine was waiting for me. I am cut a piece of peppery sausage and handed a Dixie cup of wine. We talk about the morning's activity and the good news, yes; the Syrah will be finished before the weekend. I finish my wine and we let the men finish their lunch. It is a short drive to the cantina to oversee the last caravan of grapes that was being trucked for de-stemming and stabilization inside the stainless steel tanks. Fermentation will begin when all the Syrah is harvested and inside those reflective, towering tanks. Last week, the Merlot harvest was finished. Inside the cantina, the winemaking process was underway. During stabilization, the liquid settles to the bottom of the tank. The grape skins and seeds rise to the top. In order to keep constant contact with the skins and seeds, the wine is turned over and over. In the good old days, you would find men standing high above the wooden barrels with long wooden poles with a wheel attached to the end pressing the skins down into the liquid. Today, some modern tanks turn the mixture themselves; others are drained and the liquid is poured back on top to allow the skins and seeds to rise again - a two day process that guarantees the skins will fully steep into the liquid. When satisfied with the steeping progress, along a pipeline the dense, jammy liquid is transported to be pressed. In the presser, the skins and seeds will release the remaining juices that provide the natural preservatives (tannins) and color to the wine. Fermentation begins and we wait. Back at the vineyard the men have resumed their work and are visibly tired, but with smiles on their faces, they see that one more day's worth of work will finish the Syrah. They will finish on Friday and descend upon the weekend with sleep and knowing that they are over the hump. Fifty percent of the vineyard has been sheared. Nero d'Avola and Frappato, the bread and butter grapes, will begin harvest on Monday.
Wine Post - September'05 Back to home...
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