Carpe Vinum (Part II)

 Carpe Vinum (Part II)

Our Vintner Host, 
Giuseppe

Helios’ hair riffled in the breeze of the early morning air. Even before he’d arrived in Cumae (today’s Naples) from Athens aboard a trireme galley years earlier, he’d carefully looked after his vines.  He’d taken special care to watch over the sprigs he’d taken with him on the voyage.  Thankfully, the grapes that now stretched out before him, plump with juice, had flourished in this new land.  Clearly, the gods favored him, especially the sun god Helios, for whom he’d been named.  It was Helios, who, each day, in his horse-drawn chariot, pulled the sun across the sky to flood their leaves with light and heat the skins of their fruit.  He had arrived early, for the temple priests had designated the day auspicious for harvesting this bounty.  He’d sampled the grapes himself over the past few days and did not doubt its favorability.  It was time.  Today, he would carry his first full basket of ripe grapes to the temple as an offering of thanks.  Later, along with family and friends who would soon join him in the harvest, they would celebrate.  May the gods be praised and pleased.

Previously, in Part I of Carpe Vinum (Seize the Wine), I described the exquisite quality of our local wines in a tour of the D’Angelo Winery.  Here in Part II, it is time to get our hands dirty in the fields; this

time, seizing grapes instead of bottles.  As my fictional Greek character, Helios did centuries earlier, we again had an opportunity to participate in the collective Vendemmia harvest ritual.  Along with relatives and friends of Giuseppe and Vincenzina, we arrived early at their vineyard on an October morning to join in the harvest. 

There is winemaking in Giuseppe’s blood.  The wines that define Italy define him as well for his is a busy lifestyle in the fields.  While the vineyard remains dormant for months, well before sunshine and heat do their magic, he is busy pruning, mending the trellises, and tying back young shoots.  The fickleness of the weather, like moisture and too much rain in the spring that can result in mildew, are but some of the threats he faces to a successful season.  Beyond their aesthetic value, he will take time to plant rose bushes at the end of each row to serve as an early warning system to protect the vines.  Like a canary in a mine provides a warning of the presence of poisonous gases, roses, being easy targets of fungus as well as insect magnets, stand guard.  A parameter of electric fences to guard against foraging animals like wild boar is also a necessity.  Even with a pause in physical activity, there remains the continuous annoyance of worry and uneasiness.  Taken together, along with other concerns, there is much unseen that goes into each bottle of wine.

I’m not exactly sure how Giuseppe decides on the exact date to harvest.  What I do know is that for as long as we have participated, it has always been in October, with November reserved for gathering olives.  Certainly, the weather forecast plays an important role.  That might narrow it somewhat, at least down to the best week, which, due to logistics, will be on a weekend when volunteers are more plentiful.  While it is likely ancient

Romans sought an auger to determine if the gods saw it as a propitious time to harvest; nowadays, there is a science to it, although I’m confident there is also a prayer or two involved in seeking divine guidance. 

Months of sunshine and adequate rain, since the vines were pruned in the spring, are critical.  The results are evident in the vineyard's appearance and when sampling the mature grapes.  A ripe grape is plump, juicy, and pulls easily from a cluster.  The onset of ripening is captured in the French word veraison (verr-ray-zohn).  Up to this point, the grapes are small, hard, highly acidic, and very green in color.  The onset of veraison is evident when the grapes begin to change from green to red (white grapes become almost translucent).  This is the first sign that they're on their way to ripeness.^.[1]  This is the point when the vine begins to use its energy to dramatically increase the size of its grapes as they sweeten from their accumulated sugars.  This ripening process takes anywhere from 30–70 days for the grapes to become fully mature, ready to harvest.  That is a wide window of uncertainty and is when close monitoring and sampling take over.  I grew up far removed from Italian grape fields, but as a kid, I could easily sample the Concord grapes growing a few doors away in our Italian neighbor, Mr. Calamarine’s, backyard.  I didn’t know the French word for it then but from frequent sampling as I’d rode by on my bike, I knew when bitter had turned sweet.  When I would accidentally chew a grape seed and discovered it was soft, it was another signal that the grapes were ripe and unknown to Mr. Calamarine, I’d be sure to return for more.

Today, primitive techniques like mine are bolstered by the utilization of scientific tools to determine if grapes have reached their perfect ripeness.  Vintners like Giuseppe can test to make sure

the sugar-acid balance is optimum by measuring the pH level which increases with ripeness.  Too much acid (a low pH level) can cause the resulting wine to be tart and astringent, but if the acid level is too low the wine can be flat and unstructured.  Grapes can also be assessed for pH and acidity in labs.  The red wine pH target is around 3.5.  A good acid target is generally around 7 grams per liter.  Measuring pH levels may be less enjoyable than tasting the grapes, but it is definitely much more accurate. 

With the aid of a prism, a portable refractometer can visually measure sugar levels.  Grape sugar is measured in Brix degrees, which is the measure of sugar in solution.  Every winemaker has a Brix number they look for, somewhere between 20 and 26.  Together, both levels give the winemaker an idea of the wine’s acidity.  It’s time to harvest when the acid comes closest to its optimum and sugar approaches the sought-after Brix level.  All this goes on behind the scenes.  When the chemistry looks right, the tractor, trailer, and barrels are prepared, the weather is acceptable, intuition and experience mark the time as right, and the birds and wild boar suddenly show interest in your grapes, the call for volunteers goes out.  In the meantime, on alert, we wait.

Our call came from Giuseppe’s daughter, Concetta, a few

Maria Elena Dons Her
Harvester Wardrobe

days prior to the harvest.  She’d arrived from the Spumante sparkling wine city of Asti in northern Italy to help her mother and father.  Giuseppe had determined it was time.  This time-honored tradition was underway elsewhere as well, in the fields, hillside grottos, garages, and basements throughout the area.  The appointed day dawned clear and bright along with Maria Elena and me at sunrise that October morning. 

We arrived in the fields at 7 AM.  Accompanying us was a new arrival to Calitri, Samantha.  We’d met her in the street market in town weeks earlier.  Hailing from Argentina, she was hoping to make a new home in Italy.  Young, motivated, and eager to meet new people and make new friends, Samantha was excited to participate.  We welcomed her help.  Over the years, our basketfuls of output have gradually decreased and while we wouldn’t miss the experience, any helping hand is appreciated.  No one is paid outright for their labor.  It is on more of a friendship basis with any payment taking the form of a celebration after the grapes have been harvested.  As in California, tourists would pay and flock to Italy to experience this facet of Italian culture.  I’m sure there are instances where they do.  To a small wine producer like Giuseppe, however, my guess is that to satisfy this romantic idea, would only add taxes, paperwork, and the complications of insurance to his workload. 

After years of harvesting experience, we’ve accumulated an interesting wardrobe that accommodates clear sunny days to muddy rubber boot days.  We dress in layers of old clothes refined

and reserved for moments like these; their thickness adjusted with the heating of the sun.  A few T-shirts, old pairs of jeans, sweatshirts, a ratty pair of sneakers, and worn jackets, make up our assorted wardrobes.  Whatever the mix, when topped with wide-brimmed hats, we are ready for a memorable day in the fields of Calitri. 

We thought we’d be early arrivals, but the hillside was already alive with activity and few parking spots remained along the gravel road bordering the fields.  The familiar faces of various Angelos, Lucias, and Lorenzos greeted us.  Our first order of business was to find some grape clippers.  I prefer the needle nose variety with a spring-loaded return action to automatically open the blades following each snip.  I find it makes the work easier and speeds up my production.  Luckily for us, there were still a few available. 

Giuseppe’s hectares of vines lie in the shadow of

Mount Vulture, scant miles away to the east.  This extinct volcano, the remains of its seven-humped caldera visible on the skyline, is the basis of the region's terroir, that combination of climate, soil, and topography that imparts a characteristic taste and flavor to the region’s wines.  His fields slope toward the west, bathed in shadow until some hours after dawn when the sun crests the ridgeline, warming his fields.  His vines have the time-honored layout of long, straight, parallel rows with consistent spacing between rows.  Some rows run north-south, others east-west, which breaks the vineyard into units.  Each unit might represent a different variety, an accommodation for sloping terrain,

The "Before" Maria Elena

irrigation needs, soil type, access, or property lines.  Whatever the case, this serves to enhance the distribution of sunlight on the plants and simplifies the harvest.  While these blocks of vines don’t have names or numbers, they allow different teams to be assigned to collect their fruit, making the task less formidable and adding a sense of accomplishment as each is completed. 

Collecting the grapes is efficiently performed.  We harvest from either side of a row simultaneously which sees our tubs gradually fill as we drag them along beside us.  If I could have my wish, my clusters of grapes, when clipped, would defy gravity and flop into my tub unaided, and the trellis latticework supporting the climbing plants would be a bit taller.  They are likely optimized for Italians who, in general, are typically shorter than me.  The continuous bending, with the need to kneel at times, accounts for the handful of Advil tablets I bring along.  Thankfully, young helpers with strong backs collect them and supply an empty replacement.  They carry them to the loading area where other workers transfer them to larger tubs and load them onto the trailer.  For easy access, there is a central avenue for the tractor which transports

The "After" Maria Elena

tubs of grapes to Giuseppe’s cantina near town.  This smooth process is interrupted only by an occasional finger cut.  While intended for a cluster of grapes, clipping a finger can occur when you’re tired or happen to snip in the blind.  The rhythm of the harvest also shifts at the toll of a bell.

It is mid-morning when the bell rings.  You can’t miss its clear clang in the crisp, airy fields.  It is Vincenzina’s way of announcing that breakfast is ready.  While we have been in the fields, she’s been home preparing a morning meal for the team and then transporting it to the vineyard.  With no coaxing needed, everyone heads for a small hut carved into the vineyard.  It serves as the headquarters of the operation.  Inside are some basic stores along with a single bed.  Outside, in an area shaded on two sides by sloping roofs, are simple tables arrayed with plastic plates and cups, enough for everyone.  This breakfast is different, not your just out-of-bed variety, and absent any American notion of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast.  After all, by this time we have been outside, active for hours.  Something to eat about then would be appreciated, and it is.  Italians are not big on breakfast. 

Call It The Breakfast Hut

The “fast” part of the word “breakfast” is fitting for theirs is typically a hurried experience, usually a cornetto and fleeting shot of espresso.  However, this break in the fields is a smorgasbord of egg frittatas, loaves of bread, baccala, fortifying bottles of last year’s vintage, potatoes, fried peppers, and, of course, espresso.  Watching Giuseppe cut a slice of bread borders on artistry.  Standing there with a round loaf held on edge vertically against his chest, he nonchalantly manages to somehow carve slices as he pulls the knife blade toward his chest.  

After breakfast, this time absent the clang of the bell to begin round two, we return to the fields.  Although there were still grapes to gather, Giuseppe called a stop early in the afternoon.  The cantina was filled with tubs of grapes by then.  Besides, Maria Elena

and I, along with others I’m sure, were tired and harboring dreams of retirement for at least another year.  It was time for the ‘crush’ when the berries were mashed and turned into grape juice.  First off, we go home to change our clothes and freshen up before heading to Giuseppe’s cantina, where the team has gathered.  One of Italy’s oldest traditions., this is the more pleasurable part of the operation, where we get to put our beaks to the enjoyable task of partaking in another hearty meal.  The crushing could wait.

We gather in the basement area of Giuseppe’s and Vicenzina’s home, behind the doors that conceal the presses, banks of vats, and bottles of the cantina.  We were in Vincenzina’s domain.  A table, the length of the room, had been prepared on one side.  On the opposite wall rested a long built-in stove (forna), in this region known as a fornacella.  This historic device, traditionally

covered with tiles, serves both as a furnace and a stove.  Its function as a stove is exemplified by three holes along its top into which progressively larger copper pots are partially inserted.  Along the face of the stove beneath each pot, a small metal door provides access to the fire, fueled by wood.  Vincenzina and her helpers have been busy here since returning from serving breakfast in the vineyard.  As the team took their seats, Vincenzina was putting the finishing touches on her menu. 

The featured dish is likewise historical and a fitting accompaniment to a historic event like the vendemmia.  The local pasta, called cannazza, a dish typical of rural Irpinia, dates to the 700s, when the fresh pasta was dried on canes, hence its name.  This pasta, centered on the table, is a daily mainstay in homes throughout the area.  It has the familiar shape of ziti, but instead of being pointed or cut perfectly straight, its ends are jagged.  You will not find cannazza boxed on a market shelf either.  They are made from insanely long hollow tubes of candele pasta snapped into five pieces.  It is served coated in a rich,

flavorful ragu and then sprinkled with a layer of pecorino cheese.  The more adventurous among us add a condiment of garlic-fried oil or ground red chili peppers called peperoncini.  This main course is occasionally accompanied by some protein like chicken along with servings of vegetables.  Vincenzina knows she has captivated her guests from the deafening silence throughout the room when the cannazza is served.  As you might anticipate, the pasta is accompanied by more wine, followed by bowls of unshelled walnuts or peanuts and cheese.  Every time a bottle of wine is emptied, it is rested on its side with the announcement soldato morto (dead soldier) as encouragement for a quick replacement.

Celebrations like this serve in striking contrast to centuries of hunger that pervaded the lives of the people of southern Italy.  While vines may grow

Vincenzina Before Her 
Fornacella

best when made to suffer, people do not.  Never bountiful, food in a stratum of poverty shaped life here.  But on this day, we feasted and enjoyed.  Sitting alongside these salt-of-the-earth people highlights the difference between a world of elegance and a humbler way of life and simpler cuisine.  The chatter of their stories, boastful camaraderie, friendly teases, and laughter filled the cantina.  For me, this is the other, more authentic Italy, a reflection of the true Italian way of life distant from the familiar tourist haunts.  It remains an earthy world inhabited by wonderful people united in the fields and, afterward, united around the table. 

Following our repast, we moved next door to the cantina for the crush.  Creating the juice has moved beyond the foot-stomping technique prevalent in Italy for centuries.  Some of us may recall the episode of I Love Lucy where Lucy, in Italy (click to see her antics), gets into a barrel and shows how it was done, or in her case how it was not done.  Concern over hygiene and the advent of efficient machinery, 

however, saw crushing grapes by foot go the way of buggy whips.  Although we are useful in the fields, we are but observers of the crush and don’t get to ‘immerse’ ourselves like Lucy in this activity.  Giuseppe has plenty of helpers and a total of four can easily handle what needs to be done.  Most of the labor involves pouring the grapes into an electric grape crusher.  To one side, the juice flows through a hose into a fermentation vat.  On the other side, the force of a rotating impeller ejects leaves and stems.  That’s about it: two to feed the crusher, someone to hold the hose in the vat, and an operator to run a rather formidable-looking screw-feed crusher. 

Operating the crusher requires a rather alert worker and demands someone who certainly hadn’t earlier laid down too many “dead soldiers” like me. 

The vendemmia is a labor of love; for some, it borders on passion.  To all, it is a reflection of a historic ritual and way of life that continues in the fields of Calitri. Giuseppe and Vincenzina serve as tethers to this ancient tradition.  For a few weeks in October, through the vendemmia, they bring people together into a micro-community to embrace the simple pleasures of harvesting grapes and brewing a supply of wine for the coming year.  Participating in the grape harvest is like walking back into the authenticity of past times.  We’ve been changed by the experience.  With each bottle of wine we open, we are reminded that there is far more to wine than simply sipping this liquid sunshine from a goblet.  Embedded in each bottle, beginning with the label, are hints of Italian culture that can’t be measured with a pH strip, a refractometer, or lab tests.  In Book One of the poem “Odes”

Our Lady of the Vines

the Roman poet Horace, who lived near Calitri, advised carpe diem (pluck the day while we can as it is ripe).  Carpe is a Latin viticulture term evoking the picking and gathering of grapes.  As we try to make the most of each day, why not also take a carpe vinum moment and seize the wine?  Whether a result of Dionysus or Bacchus, or the urging by Horace, wine is a vacation from the ordinary meant to enjoy, bring people together, celebrate, share, and foster lasting bonds.  Carpe Vinum encourages us to truly enjoy the moment.  Why not, after all, it is tradition.  Salute!

From That Rogue Tourist,

Paolo

 

[1] How We Know When Our Grapes Are Ripe, https://www.mcellars.com/2021/08/19/how-we-know-when-our-grapes-are-ripe/