ROTA.FORTUNAE

Like fate's turning wheel, my burgeoning Barbaresco cycles to and fro between the glass carboy and fermenting tank, uncertain of its future. For the last week, the Chitosan bonded with the Kieselsol pulling the proteins, dead yeasts and excess junk to the carboy's bottom. Inches of debris now colored the base purple. So I racked the wine, hoping to not need filter pads.
Many winemakers take pride in avoiding filtration. They believe that it thins wine and removes complex flavors that could develop if left to age in bottle. That, and my wine already seemed thinner than any Barbarescos that had ever passed my palate.Racking the wine too many times, however, does risk ruining the end product. If you splash it too much or let oxygen froth into the tube, you get vinegar. So I did my best to be gentle. The grime left at the bottom = success.
The next day, I racked it again.
Although Barbaresco has pedigree, it bears little relation to the wines it claims from antiquity. Not only has the process modernized into a chemist's wet dream, the end products could not be further apart. The wine of antiquity saw massive extraction and addition of spices, honey, fruit and other inebriates like opium. Much was boiled down in lead tanks to increase the sweetness and weight. This sugary, alcoholic monster (akin to Madeira, PX Sherry or Port), was often diluted with water (unless you were a barbarian).No more digressing. Me knocking Barbaresco or antiquity won't make my Canadian Welches taste any better. All I know is that this racking makes me sleepy. Kneeling nearly prostrate before my bucket-o-wine altar I realized, at the heart of crafting wine lies patience, attention and mostly luck.Luckily, the only slough left this time fit into one glass.
I had to taste it. What if the nightly gassing with CO2, Argon and Nitrogen didn't keep oxidation away? What if all the shellfish glue, preservatives, dead yeasts and kitty litter killed the fruity, grape-y decentness that came maybe from Italy, maybe Canada? What if the apartment was too cold or too hot? The bouquet told me that I hadn't screwed up. No mustiness or yeast, just red fruit and floral notes. The appearance lacked haze. Going down everything seemed fine, if a bit bland. Light notes of dried red cherry, cranberry and pepper dust came and went. Alcohol and acidity presented themselves but only to flank the slim-bodied fruit.

Who knows? Maybe re-racking and bottling won't kill it.

FOMENTING FERMENTATION

After a week of work and wait, I prepared for the first fermentation. Step 1: clean like crazy. After a heavy wash of all the equipment, I mixed water and sulphite powder. After fearfully reading and rereading the packet, I stuffed my nose and covered my eyes. Gloves would have been nice, but lacking a biohazard suit I cleaned carefully.
After a fervent rinsing/not bursting into flames, I left the equipment out to dry. Impatient, I poured over the instructions. The translation from Quebecios French was shaky but I had bigger worries.
The linger of sulfur sent me back to the bathtub.With equipment drying again, I lined up the usual chemical suspects.
First to go in, Bentonite, the clay of kitty litter fame.The single page of instructions wouldn't assure me why I wanted cat-tasting wine, so wikipedia came in handy. Supposedly, Bentonite has cleaning and bonding qualities perfect for drawing out unwanted proteins and haziness. However, my instructions asked for "2 litres of warm water". That's a lot of water for 23 litres of wine. So I checked the French, and behold, "500 ml (2 tasses) d'eau tiède".
Once the litter was stirred to near-lumplessness, I grabbed my bag o must and dumped it in. Welches and berry scents wafted into the air but luckily not onto the carpet.
Next came the hydrometer to test the specific gravity/sugar content/brix of the must. Packlab did their job, balancing mother nature to a near perfect 1.080. This is a big deal because the sugar in grapes will become alcohol. Not enough sugar means hungry yeast. Hungry yeast means no alcohol. Which means no wine, just yeasty, kitty-litter-y grape juice.
Next up: bread-making.
Adding yeast is cheating and sacrosanct to some winemakers, who believe in letting the naturally occurring yeasts in the grape skins to turn the sugars into alcohol. Yet most add Mr. Pasteur's genius stroke without blinking (and occasionally forget to filter them later).
So I added yeast to warm water (from, well, my coffee maker). While waiting for them to wake, Alton Brown will catch you up on these guys. My dehydrated yeast fungi zombies from Champagne should thus be resurrected with a little wet warmth. They may not absolve my sins, but once reborn will turn sweet into heat.So I set the timer and went back to staring at the yeast. Nothing. Maybe now? No. Ten minutes later? Nope. But then...thanks entirely to my mind meld...

IT'S ALIVE!!! The air became heady and bready. After stirring it vigorously into the grape must, I clamped the airtight lid onto the food safe trash can, accidentally jammed the grommet into the juice with the airlock and then proceeded to ignore the problem by tasting the leftover juice:

Appearance: clear, ruby, medium intense color
Nose: clean condition, medium intense aroma, grape juice and red apple notes
Palate: high sweetness, low acidity, light body, light tannin, forward blueberry preserves, blackberries, medium length, quality...um juice?

Now the five day wait begins!

MYTHMAKING

Of wine and a maker I sing.

Equipment and a bucket of Barbaresco arrived two weeks ago, brought in by my wife and her student slaves. I knew nothing of wine-making. Yet since my life swung into wine sales in April of 2009, I felt implored to follow the Fates beyond their intent.
I plan to make horrible wine. If this experience will teach me anything (i.e. don't make wine ever ever again) then I succeed. Also rebellion. Alcohol is not only banned in campus housing (where we live) but I bet production is unspeakably frowned upon. Thus, like my vaguely related (appropriated) bootlegging forefathers, I fight the powers that be in the name of hobby. Also Amazon's shipping is free.
First, did my must survive? Cracking the lid wafts up tones of grape and red berries. No rot. The 30 free labels, corks and caps are cute but superfluous. I dig. Nothing lists the grapes, vintage, provenance or chemical breakdown (although unusable nutrition facts include: 79 grams of carbs and sugars (convenient), 22% of Vitamin C, and traces of Sodium, Calcium and Iron). Sure Barbaresco is a region, but words like Nebbiolo or Italia are far from found. Worryingly, the juice is most likely sugared/tinted-up Canadian red perfectly balanced for fermentation in Paklab's factories. The label claims this is "Reserve du Chateau",'s "Quality Sterile Must" with "100% Satisfaction", while the only certain ingredient is "Varietal grape juice". The rest "may contain" anything from oak to shellfish derivative. Since Barbaresco sees not as much oak as its Barolo bretherin, I pleasantly found only packs of cleansers, fining agents and yeast.
My pride set aside, I unveil the equipment that shall turn my 100% satisfaction into 110%. Like a Russian doll, each inner box reveals a surprise. Far from any regular set, this box proclaims itself a "Fine Wine Equipment Kit" expectantly disregarding whatever swill goes in it. So it will make magic of my Italicanadian Barbarescowelches. Smaller and smaller boxes reveal plastic tubes, tools, tubs and a gleaming glass carboy. This set also provides an additional 30 corks, you know, to make 60 bottles with.

Near oenological climax I decide to stop, clean up and sleep. My wine can wait.

DISCLAIMER: Kit wines do not make wine. Just as a kit Maserati Granturismo looks great but will never drive or handle like a proper car. Yet very few can afford the land and labor for grapes, let alone oak barrels or custom bottles. I make wine to test my vague theories learned in selling wine and taking WSET certifications. If I become a martyr for future bootleggers, all the better.