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.

TABULA.RASA

Now the step of clearing the wine lay before me. Last week had let the remnant CO2 bubble away. Windows had been cracked and the sun blocked, freezing my wife, but keeping the wine from jumping into a bacterial outbreak of disaster movie proportions.
Inches of grape must and dead yeast now lay at the bottom of the carboy. Tasty. They needed a proper burial, so I re-racked the wine, halting just before I sucked up the purple elmer's glue (melted mcdonald's grimace?) at the bottom.
Annoyingly, yeast corpses and bubbles still persisted. Another racking and stirring was in order. So I reenacted the bathroom scene in Pyscho...
cleansed everything with sulfur, let dry and double checked the specific gravity: 0.997ish...good enough.Once clean and dry, I return the wine to the carboy and begin the stirring. My instructions warn this could take "1 hour to 3 days depending on how much CO2 is present". Seriously?Luckily the bubbles whisk away after a few hours of intermittent stirring. I immediately switch to my chemical packets before too much oxygen sours the wine.
First up, Sodium Metabisulphite: the gods' gift to food preservation (n.b. if you get headaches from wine, don't blame a sulphite allergy, which is as rare as a peanut allergy (a serving of broccoli has more sulphites than a bottle wine anyway). Instead, you either react to the dehydrating effects of alcohol and tannin or the antihistamine inducing cogeners. So eat something, drink less or slower for crying out loud).

With my wine preserved for all time, I switched gears to the fining process. Within mystery packet #5 (what happened to #3 and #4 by the by?) was Kieselsol: a negatively charged silica gel. With the Kieselsol mixed in, I waited a half hour for it to go about negatively charging the yeast cells.
Finally, I squeezed in the Chitosan. This petrollium jelly-like substance comes from crustacean shells (sorry vegetarians). Its positive charge bonds to the negative mess of yeasts and Kieselsol dropping them in clumps to the bottom.

To make sure all this pseudo-chemistry had time to work, I called it a night. A worry lingered however. The instructions advise me to top off the carboy to avoid oxygen turning the wine to vinegar (you might recall that our recently-departed yeasts made CO2, which had kept oxidation at bay). However, watering down the wine or adding another wine sounded like horrible ideas.

"EUREKA"! Instead of squeezing Archimedes down my carboy's two-inch neck, I went in search of glass marbles to increase my wine's volume! Hah! Classics does pay! An hour and a few pet and craft stores later, I returned home empty-handed.

Then I realized: "replace the CO2 with...well...CO2"! I took my handy Private Preserve gas-in-a-can (that I used to keep half-drunken bottles fresh) and gassed my carboy and capped the top with the airlock. The next morning, the ladybug of prophecy signaled my success.

SPLASH SPLASH DEGASS

In the evening, after the yeasts had quieted, I set about setting about my secondary fermentation. I emerged from the sulfuric hot spring (i.e.: cleaning my equipment in the bathroom). Once the reek of rotten eggs lifted and my various tubes dried, I arranged the plastic rubber octopus into action.
My yeasts had done a brilliant job but they needed one last chance to ferment off any remaining sugars. So after a few forced pumps of the tubes and my wife's help, the wine frothed into the clear carboy. The book: "Archaeologies of Memory", edited by Ruth M. Van Dyke & Susan E. Alcock, Malden: 2003, once central to my master's thesis, now served as a better leverage to keep the settled sediment at the back of the fermentation tank and out of my tubes.
The yeasts had dissolved quite a bit of CO2 into the wine during fermentation. Near the end of pouring, a pink but very manly foam developed from this remaining gas. Another week would let it breath off.For the sake of science, we tasted the "wine". The yeasts had left the liquid quite hazy. The nose had gained more red current and apple pie qualities with a harsh metallic ring from the CO2. I took a sip, trying to not dwell on the dead, zombie-like yeast carcasses passing my lips.

The palate was gleefully dry and warmingly alcoholic with not a trace of sweetness (I love you goodly, honest hydrometer). A new but balanced acidity and structure of tannins had become apparent as well. The floral, cherry and red berry notes equally persisted from the last tasting: this all seemed like Barbaresco. Annoyingly, however, the finish closed with a light fizzy and bread-like, sourdough quality.

No bottling yet. Patience, patience. Next week would give the CO2 time to evaporate and the suspended yeast cells time to separate from the wine.

FERMENTATION PERSUASION

Yeast added. Lid shut. Airlock, well, locked. I wait. Austen's Anne Elliot knows how I feel: suffering quietly alone, waiting upon your sugars to become alcohol takes the patience of a truly goodwilled and kind nature. Yeasts, like most gentlemen, are at best conversely inattentive and then later overambitious in character. They must be treated with the ever lightest of attentions, even if one's bloom has vanished early with a rapid increase of the crow's foot about the eye, one might still indulge in the hope of exciting their esteem, thus someday garnering a place amidst their large fortune and...DAY 2: I wake and find the temperature up two degrees. Cracking the lid unveils a foam of Carbon Dioxide from the yeast on the surface. The hydrometer shows the sugars are down 0.004. So I begin the daily stir, giving the yeasts air to breathe. The foam separates and swirls like Jupiter's surface.

Two more days find the yeast cruising through the grape sugars, with the hydrometer bobbing its approval at 1.032 Brix. The apartment smells brilliantly.

The wife takes a turn letting the yeasts breathe.

Once lidded, the airlock pops and bubbles the CO2 safely out of the tank, not letting anything else in. Too much oxygen contact and the wine turns to vinegar or worse breeds invading bacteria.Day 4: A churning thick cap of burping yeasts has formed and Mr. Hydrometer tells me the end is near: 1.020 S.G. I give the wine a heavy last stir and take time to upload more photos.

The fifth day wakes me to a quiet airlock. A layer of lazy froth gets stirred away and the hydrometer dips to 0.999. Secondary Fermentation show time!

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.