A Little Miracle

"A grape harvest is a little miracle" ~Robert Mondavi

I concur, Mr. Mondavi. A grape harvest is a miracle; it's also a whole lot of hard work. I know this because I have had the pleasure of participating in a local winery's harvest this past month. I, a long-time lover of the vino, was luckily able to convince the editor of the gardening publication that I am a sometimes contributor to, that the wine harvest would be a great story for me to write. The editor, being a lover of the vino himself, agreed... and I found myself returning to the winery again and again to shall we say, drink in the experience.

Day 3:

My mission: Stomp some grapes with my bare feet. The winery is having its annual Harvest Festival and I figure I better not miss the opportunity to put my bare feet in a barrel of grapes
ala Lucille Ball. It's freezing cold today with highs in the 40's... I'm not looking forward to the bare feet in the cold bit, but adventure is my mission. My photographer is late. He's apologetic on the phone, while I'm just...well...impatient. I'm hoping he shows up before the snowstorm does. I love the vino, but certainly don't want to die of frostbite with my bare feet in it.

He arrives, and wearing my old khaki gardening pants, already stained with a few seasons worth of mud and grass, I eventually venture into a half barrel full of pinot grapes. Someone yells "go" and I lose all trace of the fact that I am really there for a photo opp. I literally forgot to look up and smile...I was too busy trying to win. Yes, that's right, the grape stomping was actually a competition. Whoever could fill up a glass with the juice that was pouring...okay, dripping out of the hole near the base of the barrel would win a prize. Every bit of my competitive nature kicked in along with some adrenaline and a little bit of the wine I'd already sampled, and the next thing you know I was IN IT.... The competitive spirit, I mean.

In the end, I didn't win. Some guy who outweighed me by 75 lbs. did. And we didn't get a good photo for the magazine article...just me with head bent, stomping furiously until I couldn't feel my frozen toes anymore...Photo taken by Kenneth James Photography

A Bibliophile's Delight

I learned to read when I was four, and have had my nose in a book ever since. I rarely read these days for simple enjoyment. I usually read to learn something new or reinforce something I thought I already knew. But, I enjoy research immensely, so technically I am reading for enjoyment. As a child if I asked my parents a question about...well, anything...I was told to "go look it up." Our house was a bit like a library in that there were a lot of encyclopedias and other reference books available. We read them for fun because we didn't have a television. I still cite the Merriam-Webster Dictionary and the World Book Encyclopedia as two of my favorite books. I also enjoy gardening reference books where I can look up the Latin names of plants. For some reason this gives me a special thrill, as does reading cookbooks...

When I read a book I attempt to absorb every word. For a long time I didn't realize that everyone else doesn't read the entire book. I'm talking the inside of the book jacket, the copyright page, the address of the publisher...everything.

I made my weekly trip to the library yesterday and wanted to share my reading list with you. I'm not necessarily recommending these books, because I haven't read them yet, but this is what I picked up.

A Short History of the Honey Bee
Humans, Flowers, and Bees in the Eternal Chase for Honey
by E. Readicker-Henderson
Also on my reading list:
An Omelette and a Glass of Wine by Elizabeth David
In Search of Bacchus-Wanderings in the Wonderful World of Wine Tourism by George M. Taber
South Wind Through the Kitchen by Elizabeth David

Let Them Eat Soup!

Yesterday had all the classic makings of a "pot of soup day." First of all it was Sunday. Also, it was downright chilly outside.... My friends, whom I fondly refer to as the Baron and Baroness had agreed to eat my proposed pot of soup if I made it. So I did, and it was a joyful thing. Making a pot of soup is like therapy, not that I need any therapy...

The rhythmic chopping of the vegetables becomes a relaxing thing, and is somehow soothing. I stand over the pot in order to peer at it just one more time. It's like watching a baby sleeping in its crib. It's that satisfying. It's also a great diversion from researching the article I was supposed to be working on. Sometimes we need diversions.

So I made this soup. It turned out good considering I didn't have a recipe. There used to be a recipe and a name to this soup. Somewhere it is scribbled on a brown paper lunch sack, given to me by a friend who somehow wrangled it out of the deli/lunch counter where it was originally made. I have no idea where the recipe has landed so I did what I do most days when I am in the kitchen...I winged it, or if you prefer, I adapted it. Soup is perhaps the easiest possible food to adapt a recipe for. It's not like adapting a cake recipe. That's just asking for trouble...

So, it was a lovely soup made with Italian sausage, potatoes, carrots, and red beans, white beans in a beautiful broth flavored with some fresh sage and thyme from the garden. It would fall into the category of hearty Tuscan-style soup.

It turned out pretty good. The Baroness made a loaf of homemade bread to go with it. That turned out quite well too. We all liked it. I believe the Baron even went back for seconds...

How I Got This Way

I blame my parents. They love food. I often tease them by telling them that the most exercise either of them gets is planning their next meal. What I forgot was that eventually some of us...turn into our parents. I come from a family full of foodies. My dad, sister and daughter are all particularly obsessed with food. We are all slightly obsessive/compulsive...especially about food... oh, and gardening. I'm choosing to put a positive spin on it and call it...exuberance.

This is how it works in my family. I call my sister and ask her what she's doing. "Baking a pie" she says. "What kind" I ask. You get the picture. The next thing you know I'm driving to the market for pie ingredients and my daughter calls. "What are up to?" she asks. Pretty soon she's rolling out a pie crust at her house. About that time my dad calls her... You get the idea...

Thanks for reading this...
I am,
Exuberantly Yours,

Jana