08/28/2026
Oh how this brings back memories. True story for sure the wine really wasn’t that good. The “Dago Red” as they would call it… but my palate was young and was slowly easing into the driest wine ever tasted. But wish I still had a few bottles of that vintage “Dago Red”🍷🍷
Every October the basement stopped being a basement and became a winery. 🍷
The grapes came in by the crate, delivered to the curb on a truck from the produce market, and the whole operation moved downstairs. The crusher clamped to the bench. The demijohns lined up. The floor stained a color that never came out for the rest of the year. One bare bulb, one man in an undershirt, and a smell in the house that lasted until Christmas.
He would hand you the funnel and tell you to hold it steady, which was your entire job and which you took extremely seriously. Then he would pour a splash into a jelly glass, hold it toward the bulb, taste it, and say nothing at all for a while. That silence was the review.
It was never good wine. Everybody in the family knew it was never good wine. It went on the table at every holiday for thirty years anyway, and no bottle anyone has bought since has tasted like anything at all by comparison. 🇮🇹
Did someone in your family make wine at home, and where did the grapes come from?
