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Stop Wining |
| Written by Philip Neale | |
| Wednesday, 20 August 2008 | |
 Author Note: Just couldn't resist posting this one and damn the extra cost. It's a symptom of my anarchic sense of humour and the state of my mind when something grabs my fancy. Hobbies were a hobby of mine and looking back there was a host of slapstick just waiting to be exposed. This was just the tip of the iceberg.
The thing with hobbies is that if you aren't very careful they can become expensive, compulsive and downright inconvenient. I remember when I was about ten, my dad bought me my first Airfix kit - a Spitfire which came with all the transfers needed to make a realistic scaled down model of the famous fighter. What it omitted were the various coloured paints vital for the completion of the plane, without these it was just a standard grey piece of plastic. All the pieces needed filing down to remove traces of the sprue which formed a part of the moulding process, and all joints needed to be smooth so that the overall effect was as close to the original as possible.
When the paint and transfers had been applied you were two or three weeks down the line and looking towards your next project - something larger and more time-consuming, a Lancaster or a Wellington perhaps. Thus you are caught in the web of hobbying, and in my case each plane had to be suspended from the bedroom ceiling in mock fights. It drove mum up the wall because they attracted dust like magnets. My sister developed a penchant for plastic models of beefeaters, guardsmen and other military figures and these had a similar parental effect.
The fad didn't last long and for me, the whole ethos of hobbies went into long-term hibernation until about fifteen years ago when I strayed into the world of home brewing - more specifically home made wine. You start quite innocently with one of any number of self contained kits available at a variety of high street shops. This is where the trap snaps shut on you, for you will also ‘need' at least one demijohn, six bottles, a bung and air trap, some corks and a corker and finally the essential labels so that your vintage can be correctly identified. Hear the cash register ringing yet?
You are now hooked and cannot wait for your first batch to reach that level of perfection that the instructions lead you to expect. Not so fast buddy. Firstly, did you sterilise all your kit? Oh, did I forget to mention that you need to buy only the recommended brand at a vastly inflated cost? Well you do, although I found that any old sterilising agent will do, and if the stuff we used for our kids baby things is good enough for them, its good enough for home brewing - and it costs less!
Now we're cooking with gas. Keep the demijohn at a warm and even temperature and three weeks later, bingo - you have yourself a perfectly clear white/rose/red with a remarkable bouquet and a taste like you'd never have believed. Now for a reality check. The brew is cloudy and won't clear, it smells awful and the taste is dreadful. This is because you haven't filtered it. Oh, did I forget to mention that you would need to buy a filtering kit? Silly me - well you do. Now your wine should be clear, beautiful etc etc etc..............
Well it's certainly clear and the funny smell has gone but the taste is unremarkable, and you're left with a feeling of disappointment tempered only by the fact that the beverage certainly bears all the other traits of being alcoholic. However there's something missing isn't there? It's called satisfaction, and this can only be cured by going right back to basics and collecting the raw material for yourself. No, don't run off, it's really easy and the fruits are lying around all over the place just waiting for you to harvest them.
Start with something simple - buy a book on home brewing for beginners and forget all about wine kits, they're just clouding your judgement (no, that's not a pun). I started with rhubarb and blackberries (separately, although they could have been interesting together). They were in abundance in my Aunty Doris' garden and she didn't know what to do with them. Watch out for the blackberries, they fight back and they're not particular about which parts of you they grab. Wear long trousers, a jumper with sleeves and some gloves - a tad uncomfortable in late August I know, but you will be grateful later when you don't have to apply copious quantities of Savlon to your delicate little places.
Follow the recipe in your book to the letter because these aren't like the kit instructions which must have been written by Serbian monks on drugs. The books know what they're talking about. You need (here it comes, more expense) a bucket, some old cotton cloth, knicker elastic (steady now) and a warm place to ferment the mixture. Now comes the tricky bit. Put the washed fruit into the bucket and pour six pints of boiling water over it. It's very important that you pour the boiling water over the fruit and not yourself otherwise you'll end up in casualty (hospital, not the TV series). Now add the entire contents of a two pound (or one kilo) bag of sugar. Yes I know that there are more than two pounds in one kilo - actually its 2.20462262lbs to the kg, happy now? Just chuck it in the bucket (hey that rhymed, way to go!). Now for the brewers yeast. Oh, did I forget to mention ............well you do.
Once this is all in the bucket give it a good stir with a wooden spoon (not metal if you wish to remain alive when your wife finds out) which you have ‘borrowed' from the kitchen drawer. There are always too many wooden spoons in the drawer, so one won't be missed. Now cover the bucket with the cotton cloth (old pieces of clean distressed cotton work shirts will do) and seal the whole things with a length of knicker elastic (told you not to get excited!). Put this somewhere warm and I found the airing cupboard was ideal. Just tell the hot water cylinder to hutch over a bit and surround it with as many buckets as the quantity of fruit will allow. This will persuade a now paranoid tank that it had better perform or else.
Fermentation begins within 48 hours and fizzes away like a sparkler on bonfire night for about a week. Give it ten days for this burst of energy to subside and then strain the mixture into a demijohn through a muslin or nylon bag. Oh, did I forget to mention.................? Well you do. Make sure that you don't spill any of this - it won't cause any damage, but it would be a shame to have come this far and not maximise the potential. You'll thank me for that later. Leave it for another week-ish but keep shaking the mixture (don't spill any) to remove any excess gas (from the mix, not you). This is what speeds up the clearing process. At the end of about three weeks, filter the wine using the equipment you bought for the now redundant wine kits, and you should have a perfectly clear liquid of about 10 per cent strength, which actually smells and tastes like the original fruit.
This procedure is standard for all kinds of fruit, and once mastered is virtually fool proof. I know this because I am a fool and can prove it. If you are still unsure you have permission to contact my wife for a list of examples/dates/times etc. The obsession bit starts here, because once you have sampled your first batch, you will wonder why you ever bothered to buy supermarket wine. You will inevitably expand your operation, collecting demijohns and bottles from anywhere you can. Six plastic buckets should suffice for the initial stage in manufacture, but I had two dozen demijohns on the go at any one time, so you need to keep things moving to avoid bottlenecks (that was a serious comment and not some cheap attempt at a pun). People will give you bottles, sadly they will already be empty but you can't have everything can you?
Obsession goes into its terminal phase when a stock check reveals at least six buckets surrounding a now suicidal hot water tank, at least two dozen demijohns in the work-in-progress area, and four wine racks full of bottles (my calculations revealed that I had just under 300 bottles of wine in various stages of production). At this point my wife politely intimated that although she could make some impact by using wine in her cooking, she felt that it was more than likely that I had gone a little over the top. One giant step backwards, a look at the big picture and I was sure she was right.
You now go into denial for a period of two weeks when you try to reassess the situation, but come to the inevitable conclusion that you cannot possibly drink all that stock and remain alive. Friends will offer themselves up as sacrificial lambs in the disposal process, but don't be fooled - they have other agendas on the go, to which you will not be a party. You have become a hobby maniac and either need to get out more, or seek professional help of some kind. In either case the stock needs to go, especially as the airing cupboard needs to return to its normal habit of airing clothes without the distinctive whiff of yeast.
Do this and you are safe in the knowledge that you are cured, having come through the hobbyists worst nightmare. Alternatively you could ignore the advice and become the most popular person in the neighbourhood as you disperse you surplus stocks amongst new found buddies. It really is up to you, but don't say that I didn't warn you.
Copyright 2008 Philip Neale |
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