From My Grandfather to a Glass of Wine

Several weeks ago, a local restaurant owner asked me about my history with wine when she was told I was opening a wine bar here in Petersburg. My response was terrible and didn't even answer her question. I said, I have my WSET level 1 certification, I'm hoping the wine bar will afford me opportunities to travel to Europe more often for research purposes (i.e.; visiting vineyards and meeting winemakers), and maybe one day give me a route to having a place to live in France.

For days I dwelled on my response, wishing I could roll back time and say something better because while the words I said were true, they hardly got to the heart of my love for wine. So, if you'll indulge me, I'm going to attempt to redeem myself now.

My love of wine begins with my love of coffee and has nothing at all to do with the effects I feel from the alcohol or caffeine. My love of wine has to do with history, science, culture, and love.

My grandfather drank Sanka in the morning. His morning routine was largely informed by his time in the Army but I can't account for some of his quirks. He woke up early, around 4 AM, and went downstairs before my grandmother. A number of times, when I spent the night as a little girl, I'd sneak down and sit on the bottom step in the hallway watching him through the open kitchen door. Sometimes he closed its swinging door to avoid waking us up, so then I'd have to come closer to peek through just above the door's hinges. I loved to watch him shave his face, too, but that happened after breakfast and reading the entirety of The Columbus Dispatch - sometimes out loud which caused my grandmother to say, "Stanton! I'm trying to read!"

We called my grandfather The Whistler because, well, he whistled - really well and often. You could hear him coming before you saw him. I assume it was because of his time playing a trumpet for the Ohio State Marching Band (the best damned band in the land) or in the Army's band. If he was in a mood, he'd whistle while getting the table ready for coffee and breakfast in the morning. Even as a kid, I could tell he loved my grandmother by the way he delicately ripped off a piece of paper towel and put it down as a placemat on her side of the table. Then he placed the saucer, coffee cup, and spoon on top of another folded paper towel that served as a napkin. Then he'd set up his side of the table. Grandma would come down around 5:30 or 6, well after my grandfather had his first cup or two of Sanka. He'd get up and pour her a cup of coffee, put some toast on a plate for her and sit back down. His quirk, though, was that he'd pour his coffee into the saucer to cool, and then drink it out of the saucer.

How and why people do things says so much about who they are. What interests me is the rituals and routines people have around certain things, which is why I studied Anthropology at OSU, I suppose.

Fast forward 20 years, and my first idea for a business was a coffee shop called Cafe Groove because I wanted to bring in hip-hop DJs (with real vinyl) and have artwork on the walls by an artist of the month. To build my business plan, I researched coffee and that's when I really gained an appreciation for where and how the fruit was grown. How it's roasted and served was interesting to me, but not like the science behind how volcanic soil from Hawaii impacts the growth and flavor, or the difference in flavor between beans grown in the heat and soil of Brazil versus Sumatra versus Vietnam. The climate and location on the planet and the health of those areas all impacts the flavor and quality of the fruit. (The coffee bean comes from inside the coffee cherry, i.e.; a coffee tree is a fruit tree).

Of course then I became interested in the people growing the coffee; how they were treated, how they were paid, and how they lived. I'm just as concerned about the life of the the Honduran farmer harvesting the beans as I am the cow that makes my milk or becomes my steak. What I want on my plate or in my glass doesn't just appear in the grocery store. There are living beings involved and the whole chain of desires and commerce has an impact on our planet. 

I have a very similar relationship with wine. In the wine industry you hear the word terroir which doesn't have an easy translation because it's French, by which I mean it's "universally understood and therefore impossible to explain with words". There's je ne sais quoi invovled. Generally speaking, the terroir is the land where something is grown, but it's not just the dirt and soil and worms. It's the way the land is taken care of, what else is grown there, the history of the place, the weather and climate, the levels of acidity, the kinds of rocks in the soil, the geography of the land, the happiness of the farmers, and so on. 

To me, grapes are just like people. How and where they were raised, the love they were given, the way they were fed and the quality of the air and plants around them informs how vibrant and productive they'll be. Was there a big machine that harvested the grapes and then a steel machine that macerated and sorted them? Were they ever touched by human hands? Or maybe sheep grazed among their rows, a rowdy dog that barked at her human as they checked on each vine and bunches of grapes. Were the grapes given space to breathe and the ability to get what they needed from the land without being force fed chemicals intended to keep them identical to the grapes from last year which could have been unique too had they been allowed to flourish in their own way?

I don't believe in perfection and I certainly don't seek it out. Differences are what make life interesting. As amazing as I think I am, if I were surrounded by people who were just like me, I'd go crazy. And so, I love wine from vines that have been gently guided but largely left to do what they does best: grow grapes.

Grapes are interesting beings. They like a bit of a challenge and rocky, kinda dry, rugged land. They like it wild and raggedy. They flourish in an environment with a diversity of plants like fruit trees and herbs, weeds and flowers. They like to have sheep and goats and dogs and humans and kids brush up against them sometimes because they want touch but also, a little bit of a jostle makes their roots grow stronger.

Then, when the grapes are harvested and either macerated and filtered or left to soak in their own skins, you can quite literally leave it alone. To make a good wine, it doesn't need all the other crap. All the additives are for those that feel like wine should taste exactly the same one season to the next regardless of what kind of the weather we had that year. But then what's the point of vintage which used to be something to pay attention to when wines were expected to be different depending on the year. 

Not only are we eliminating the quirks of wines when we add extra sulfites and sugar and whatever else gets added (never mind the terrible fertilizers and fungicides and herbicides etc etc etc that kill what nature could have handled if we hadn't sterilized her with chemicals to begin with), but all of that ruins the natural yeasts and life that should be in a glass of wine. I'm not allowed to tell you there are health benefits to wine, but I can tell you there are definite differences between a glass of natural or low-intervention wine and one that's been altered for mass production. You can feel the difference in your body, and when you learn the difference, you can taste it. 

I'm an unapologetic tree hugger and nature lover. Literally, if there's no poison ivy on it, I'll hug a tree. Treadmills suck my soul. I prefer running outside, especially on an especially tricky trail. Digging in the dirt to build brick paths and walls in our backyard is a satisfying way to spend my day (even with the damned mosquitoes). If I can be on my paddleboard at some beach or on some body of water, this grounds me and washes away unnecessary stress. I adore interacting with our planet. 

And so, I prefer natural, low-intervention wines made with grapes that were organically grown on biodiverse vineyards and harvested by human hands. Grapes should have just as much of a story as the humans who made them into wine. One glass of natural wine connects me with other people and our planet. It's not about getting drunk, it's about tasting, enjoying, and celebrating history and science, community and culture, love and nature.

I didn't grow up drinking wine at dinner and my Sicilian grandmother rarely drank, but when she did, my grandfather used to say he could tell when she'd had her second glass because she'd be smiling so big you could see her teeth.

My grandparents celebrating an anniversary in St. Pete Beach, Florida at The Hurricane. Grandma's only on her first glass of wine.