My sister, when I informed her that I had purchased and eaten two quarts of muscadines the other morning, described the vitis rotundifolia, the speckled golden-green and stout claret globes after which I lust obscenely in the darkest and most private moments of my life, thus: “It's like someone took an old shoe and went, here, have a grape."
My Dad used to make wine out of wild grapes that grew in Texas. He passed away at 90 late last year, so this piece has special meaning to me. His wine was mostly not drinkable, as he fermented back in the days before YouTube tutorials. But the memories are good. I'm now fermenting hard apple cider in his honor (much easier than wine, and it's hard to mess it up given all the YouTube tutorials).
I've never had muscadine wine but I love hard apple cider. I had a bottle of muscadine cider (non-alcoholic) only just last week. First time I'd ever had that. It was ok — not quite as good as muscadines themselves.
Oh my God, Adam. I'm so sorry for your loss. This is like living next door to John Lee Hooker and thinking he's just this mumbly old man and you'll never get your frisbee off his roof.
My Dad used to make wine out of wild grapes that grew in Texas. He passed away at 90 late last year, so this piece has special meaning to me. His wine was mostly not drinkable, as he fermented back in the days before YouTube tutorials. But the memories are good. I'm now fermenting hard apple cider in his honor (much easier than wine, and it's hard to mess it up given all the YouTube tutorials).
I've never had muscadine wine but I love hard apple cider. I had a bottle of muscadine cider (non-alcoholic) only just last week. First time I'd ever had that. It was ok — not quite as good as muscadines themselves.
I’m looking forward to this.
We used to have a grape arbor in the backyard. Upon it grew a community of muscadines. I thought they were fake grapes and I didn't eat them.
Oh my God, Adam. I'm so sorry for your loss. This is like living next door to John Lee Hooker and thinking he's just this mumbly old man and you'll never get your frisbee off his roof.
You mean I never told you the John Lee Hooker story? I'm still kicking myself.