So work at the winery is done and dusted and I've had some time to reflect upon the highlights of the vintage. Let's call them, "KC's greatest hits"
-The Flea. When I first arrived at the winery and they were showing me the lab equipment and how I was going to be processing everything, the vineyard manager, Dave, showed me a pill shaped magnet, 2 cm or so long, called the flea. it's used to keep samples mixed while the tests are being run and it spins round and round and round. He said, "be careful when you're cleaning everything not to drop the flea down the sink, because that's a beer fine*." And how did I respond? About the second time I used it, there goes the flea, straight down the sink. Brilliant.
-The Word. So we have this lovely word puzzle that is in the local paper in the section with the crosswords and sudokus and such. It's a 3 by 3 box with nine letters in it. The point is to make as many words as you can out of the combination using the center letter. There is always one nine letter word and it's always a point of pride to get the word before everyone else and harass them all by continually asking, "have you got the word?". Which always means, of course, that you've got it and they probably don't and you are just rubbing it in.
One particular day I was having quite a bit of trouble with the word. I could absolutely not sort it out to save my life. It looked something like this: URNCIEHRA, but in a square. All day I looked at it and looked at it and all day everyone asked me, "have you got the word?" "KC, have you got the word yet?" grrrr. I get (surprise, surprise) a bit competitive so continued to get more and more frustrated that I couldn't get the word. Then they start asking me questions about that hurricane in the gulf coast. Oh yes! Katrina, Hurricane Katrina. Of course, I know it, I did a research paper on it at University! Mick is insisting it was called "Katherine" and Jeremy is laughing hysterically. "No" I say, "it was Hurricane Katrina. I promise you it was Hurricane Katrina". I cannot tell you how long this went on before I looked at my hand (with the scrambled letters written on it) went beat red and realized that they had been taking the piss out of me the whole time. Hurricane, of course. They immediately dubbed me 'hurricane' and give me shit about it for at least a week.
This nickname may have died down except that about a month or so later, the same word reappeared in the paper. The only word to be repeated in the paper and it had to be hurricane. But, of course, I could not, for the life of me, figure it out. Again, all day, everyone is asking me, "did you get the word?" "oh KC, you're going to just kick yourself". All day, i could not work it out. And then during evening plunges after I've sworn up and down that I will get the word before dinnertime, I hear the beautiful voice of Bob Dylan... "Here comes the story of the hurricane, the man authorities came to blame".
And at Highfield I will forever be known as 'Hurricane'.
-The Hydrometer. My primary job once fruit had started to come in was to check all of the ferments daily for temperature and brix (a measure of sugar content). To test the brix, i used three different hydrometers that covered a range of brix levels (-1 to 11; 9-19...you get it). Basically you pour the sample into a tall cylindrical container, put in the hydrometer and it will bob up and down, settling at the brix reading. Anyways, they're glass, about 10" tall and a bit fragile and why not, here's a picture.
Now, I am inserting a picture here to demonstrate that these do indeed look like fragile, expensive, carefully calibrated little instruments. Imagine my disdain to find, in the sink, that I had broken one of the hydrometers into two neat, completely unusable pieces.
Now, imagine the look on my face when sweet Jeremy (assistant winemaker) looks at me quite gravely, shakes his head, and says, "oh boy. I hope they have another one of those in stock. They have to be imported from France, you know." KC's already paled complexion goes a bit paler. Jeremy continues, "Yep. Takes a couple of weeks if they don't have them in. About $400 dollars a piece." KC now looks like she is going to throw up, pass out, cry or do all three simultaneously. How wonderful. And I have more samples to do! So I take a moment, take a deep breath (outside) and swear loudly. Then I go back upstairs to grab the rest of my samples. At this point the winemaker (Al) and Jeremy come back out of the lab. I am feeling a bit dark and exasperated with myself at this point and they both just look at me. Jeremy says, "well the good news is that Pac Rim (the lab supply place) has one in stock." Ok..... He continues, "and it's going to cost..$40."
I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to laugh, or cry or kill them both. They thought it was quite funny, although did admit that they felt a bit bad about how hard I'd taken it. Shit heads. I still haven't quite lived it down.
-The Tank. At this point it is towards the end of vintage and I am finally feeling like less of a putz around the winery. It's been a while since my last woops and I'm feeling quite good about myself. Insert catastrophe here. I have my job sheet up at the tanks and am excited because I'm doing something new and feeling good and confident about the whole situation. I have 4 tanks to do and finish the first, no problem. sweet! Onward and upward: next tank. Oh god, there is foam, oh god, there is a lot of foam, oh my god the foam won't stop coming. The scene looks something like this: 2500 litre tank full of sauvignon blanc with KC standing at the top of it on the catwalk. Jeremy has left, Al has just run outside and I have no idea where Brian (other intern) is so I am in the winery, for the moment, completely by myself. Not normally a problem, but I have exceptionally bad timing. Foam is shooting and spraying upwards and sideways out of the 1 1/2 foot opening in the top of the tank, covering, no I'm sorry, drenching me, the catwalk and every tank around me. I have NO idea what to do and being as clear headed as I am I frantically try to close the lid (not going to happen, way too much pressure built up) and then proceed to wave my hands in the air and try to yell but I am now breathing so quickly that I cannot speak or really make any noises at all besides a meager, quiet, 'help'. Meanwhile, all I can think is, 'oh my God, I am losing half of this tank of wine and they are going to send me back to America. I am going to get deported.' Luckily, Al comes in at this point, realizes what is happening, releases some pressure by opening the racking valve (covering himself in wine as well) and then calls out to see if I'm ok and if it's stopped foaming. It is subsiding so i run downstairs, dripping and hyperventilating to find, at the bottom of the tank, a winemaker covered in sauvignon blanc. At this point I'm not sure if he was more concerned about the tank (it's not as much wine as it looks like he says), himself, or the hyperventilating American. He said he was going to swing home for a change of clothes and said I would probably want one as well. All I wanted was bourbon.
-The Dinner (or lack thereof). After a month or so of working pretty much every day, for a good 10 to 12 hours a day, a relaxing night as a beautiful cabin in the Marlborough Sounds was sure to be a fantastic choice for the end of vintage party. We had a large quantity of beer, loads of wine and a menu that would make anyone jealous. There were 3 dozen oysters for our bubbles tasting (woo-hoo!), deep fried risotto balls stuffed with gorgonzola cheese, a rack of lamb, pork belly, venison, you name it. And 8 of us. We drove up to the small coastal town of Picton, got in a couple of boats and took an absolutely beautiful boat ride through the Sounds out to the cabin, which was right on the water. We set up shop, had some beer, did some tubing, tried to ski, came back and set up for the bubbles tasting. The bubbles were fantastic, the white wines were fantastic, the oysters were fantastic and so was the four hour nap I had, straight through dinner. So you'll have to ask someone else how dinner was.
NOTES:
*Beer fine: Beer fines come in quantities of 6 and 12 and are pretty self explanatory. They serve two purposes: deter people from breaking things/doing stupid things and keep the fridge stocked with beer. For example, a flea down the sink is a 6-er, jack-knifing a trailer is 24.
I love that you make me laugh! Happy mothers day!
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