A Wine Region That's Aging BeautifullySteve Hamm
My father-in-law, Tony Mancuso, tells this marvelous story about winemaking in New York. It's 1934. He's 8 years old. He descends into the dimly lit cellar of an apartment building on Southern Avenue in the Bronx with his grandfather, Sal Cassiano, who makes wine there. They discover that one of the barrels has sprung a leak, and a few gallons of wine have spilled onto the concrete floor. A masonry dike has contained the juice, and Cassiano is loath to waste it, so he sops up most of the wine with a towel and squeezes it into 2-gallon bottles. When he's done, he leans down to his grandson and puts a finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone," he whispers, in Italian. "Nobody will notice."
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