For years we’ve had a few different varieties of grape vines
growing in the back yard. It seems that every year they put all of their energy
into rambling all over the place, climbing over the fence, flopping into the
paths, and invading the garden spaces. We ended up removing two vines that got
too big for the area where they were growing, but have left two others that
were planted in a more forgiving space. As I recall, one was a Concord grape
and the other a Champagne grape, although I could be wrong. The Concord has
languished, never producing so much as a single grape, and not much in the way
of a vine. The Champagne grape, on the other hand, goes berserk with vegetative
growth every year, producing a few stray grapes along the way, most of which
have always been consumed by the quail before we could even taste them.
This year I decided to adopt a kill-or-cure strategy. After
the vine bloomed this spring, I kept cutting the canes back to the point where
bunches of baby grapes were growing. Maybe not regularly, but enough so that
some of the plant’s energy actually went into the fruit instead of over-the-top
vines. A few weeks ago I went out and harvested the first four bunches of
grapes, and what a treat they were! We ate them, picked right off the vine,
still chilled by the cold, wet, outdoor air.
The small grapes are a beautiful, translucent, frosted lavender-pink,
with no hint of the sliminess that many home-grown grapes have. They’re just
sweet enough, but not too sweet, with subtle flowery and fruity flavors. Although
they’re not extremely sweet, they have no hint of sourness, which makes for
really good eating. As far as I could tell, they are seedless. In the
subsequent weeks we’ve harvested quite a few more bunches, just as good as the first
ones. There are still a few stragglers left on the vine, so we’ll be having at
least a taste of grapes through the middle of November.
I can imagine that these grapes could be used to make
champagne. It would be a light, dry variety. Their fragrance, picked up by the
nose while eating them, isn’t the heavy, methyl anthranilate smell of concord
grapes or grape artificial flavor. There’s a slight hint of that, just enough
to identify them as grapes, but most of the fragrance is a juicy, sweet-astringent,
complex accord of flowers and unidentified fruit notes. If they were a perfume,
it would be a light, one with a paradoxical wet-dry feel.
Now out to pick the last of the grapes!
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We have been considering planting grapes on the long bank near the road. Our resident grape expert is willing to do the planting and build the supports. I will see what he thinks of champagne grapes instead of one the varietals he had in mind. Up until now the only kind of grapes I've ever grown were a kind of wild, foxy tasting version of a concord. Also, thanks to one of your previous posts we are considering planting a row of tea plants (and maybe even tapping our maple trees). According to the charts Camellia sinensis should do OK in this region near the Cascades. What do you think? Gail
ReplyDeleteGail, If Himalayan blackberries can grow so well here, anything else from that part of the world should grow, too. Actually, our climate is similar to Darjeeling, but a little more seasonal and drier in summer. The tea bushes at UW seem to be thriving, as are all other species of Camellia, so they should grow well at your place, too.
ReplyDeleteI don't think we're that different from the Champagne region of France, either, although I think we have drier summers. The thing about grapes is that it seems to take a few years for them to get well-established and productive, although proper pruning would obviously help. We watered the grapes some this summer, too, which may have helped.
You reminded me that I need to order taps for the maple trees. Apparently January is the time to do it here.
Update: I was just reading about "champagne grapes", and am pretty certain that the grapes we have are that variety. However, "Champagne Grapes" are not the ones used to make champagne. Instead, they're a Greek variety originally called "Corinth" or "Black Corinth". Oh well, they grow well here and probably love the dry summers.
ReplyDelete