This is a table in the corner of our basement where my husband makes his own wine. It is a step-by-step process that I will, someday, outline here for all of the people who have asked. Probably right around the time that I take that trip to Tahiti. Which is to say, don’t go holding your breath.
Winemaking isn’t difficult, but it is time consuming. It involves letting very gross stuff happen to your fruit, then straining and wringing that gross stuff through a basketball jersey (WAY classier than cheesecloth and less likely to fall apart), mixing in sugar water, capping it and, as my father-in-law says, “letting it work” for a while. Months, actually.
See that sludgy looking stuff at the top of some of the jugs? That’s “working”. I promise that you don’t drink chunks of fuzzy fruit. Have you ever seen someone syphon gas? There’s some of that involved to separate the liquid. I don’t do that part, just in case those puffs of sludge travel through the tube. *shudder*
If you’re going to make wine, you have to be patient and not vomit at the sight, smell or feel of fermented fruit. This is why I will drink the peach wine, but I will not help make it.
My husband learned how to make wine because his parents taught him and every day they have a glass in the late afternoon. I love knowing that when my husband and I are their age, we can toast them with an old family recipe.
Of course, that one glass they have is equal to about three glasses of “regular” alcoholic wine. The homemade stuff is quite strong and I’ve had more than one batch that tasted like nail polish remover. But, boy do you sleep! Plus, you can just breathe on your nails and the polish comes off. Bonus!
We once had to walk a friend home after she had a few glasses. She will always be quick to say, “I walked TO your house!” but she forgets that she didn’t need help getting here. Every time my mom has half a glass of our wine, she starts to cry. So, we have that going for us.
I wonder if she has noticed that we keep “forgetting” to bring it to dinner.