Page 8 - Italian American Herald - June 2022

8 ITALIANAMERICANHERALD.COM | JUNE2022 ITALIAN-AMERICANHERALD
IT’S ALL GOOD
Whether they come alone or in tidal waves, our memories are a gift from above
we hope can resume after this crazy COVID situation is finally behind us. But today, the old memories took over and I really can’t explain why. Perhaps that little worm made a wrong turn at the rose bush or that Sirius ’70s radio station just happened to play that song at the right time. Or maybe, just maybe, this
kind of stuff is supposed to happen when you’re rounding third and heading for home! IAH
Charlie Sacchetti is the author of three books, “It’s All Good: Times and Events I’d Never Want to Change;” “Knowing He’s There: True Stories of God’s Subtle Yet Unmistakable Touch,” and his newest, “Savoring the Moments: True Stories of Happiness, Sadness and Everything in Between.” Contact him at worthwhilewords21@gmail.com.
By Charlie Sacchetti
As I approach my “diamond jubilee” a proud, thankful and happy American, I find myself dealing with many
memories that pop up out of the blue. It may be something in my Italian DNA but a great deal of these past episodes have to do with a particular family member and our interactions over these many years. April 9, 2022, was no different and the subject was my daughter and first-born child, Rosanne.
We spent a few hours together, that morning, and my memory banks were pretty much on overdrive. As she entered our home, I received her loving greeting, “Dad, quick, there’s a worm in the foyer.” My wife, LuAnn, soon chimed in and it was left to me to remove this monster before he attacked and ate all of us. After several days of heavy rain, this poor creature apparently realized that he couldn’t breathe very well in waterlogged soil. So, he somehow wiggled his way out of the ground and into our home to enjoy a breath of fresh air, so to speak. I picked him up and deposited him onto our lawn. I hoped his Red Robin early warning system was working well. Then memory number one hit me: I asked Rosie if she remembered going fishing with me at a local creek. I reminded her that at the age of 4 she had no fear of these dread- ed beasts and actually dug them up and played with them as I baited my hook in an effort to catch a sunny or a bluegill. She didn’t remem- ber and gave me a very strange look. But, I remembered and I gave her a confident wink.
Next, we were off to deliver some goods to the Blackwood, N.J., pantry, "The Unforgotten Haven” that Rosie’s service ministry is starting to support. With the Sirius radio tuned to the ’70s channel, we were greeted with Sister Sledge and their hit, “We Are Family.” These sisters were from Philadelphia and the album of the same name, as this hit single, reached number 3 on the Billboard 200. It’s a song that makes you want to sing along and we happily obliged. And then, memory two
popped up. This song was released in 1979, when Rosie was only a few months old. I remembered how I used to hold her and dance around singing this song with my own lyrics...We are family, Mommy, little Rosie and Me. Of course, she wouldn’t remember that but that didn’t stop me from singing those lyrics in the car today. She gave me a look but it wasn’t like the earlier one. She had heard this story before and perhaps the old man wasn’t as nuts as perhaps earlier believed!
I am a big Billy Joel fan and have been so even before he became well known. When Rosie was 3 years old, she would sit in her car seat, kick her feet to the rhythm and sing Billy’s 1982 hit, “Allentown,” even if it wasn’t playing on the radio. She just loved the song and to this day loves his work. I frequently have reminded her that her appreciation of this artist is due to the fact that I had her young brain saturated with frequent renditions of ”Piano Man,” “Innocent Man,” “Just the Way You Are” and “Moving Out”... just to name a few. Some young parents today may think that indoctrinating a small child, while confined in a car seat, may be a bit over the top. She and I don’t think so since that appreciation of Billy’s music is still a major joy for her. Today’s memory number 3 was a sweet one.
Of course, in recent years, Rosie and I have had many more memories to share, among them our yearly baseball trips that
VINI D’ITALIA
Tuscany’s holy wine: It’s hard to put a price on greatness
By Frank Cipparone
Wine is an integral part of a Catholic mass, a physical representation of the blood of Christ present at the Last Supper.
It’s not clear if that connection is the origin of Vin Santo, Tuscany’s “holy” wine. What is known is that the good friars of Europe planted vineyards to have a ready supply
of highly alcoholic, mildly sweet wine for liturgical services and to dole out to the sick for its “miraculous” healing power.
The process to make it pre-dates the Roman era, a time when grapes were often left on the vine to dry before fermentation,
a practice common in the eastern Mediterranean and the Greek islands. In
the Middle Ages air-dried wines were called “straw wine” because they were left to dry on straw mats for months. That’s still the basic idea behind Amarone, the Sicilian dessert wines I wrote about recently, and passito wines made in Italy and elsewhere.
Making Vin Santo is considered a special challenge. Some describe their work as
a magical experience. Vin Santo requires patience and an almost mystical, reverential faith in nature to turn grapes into liquid gold. That may be why, relatively speaking, there are few wineries that produce it, and many who do make less than two or three thousand 375 ml half-bottles a year.
Another reason for what seem minimal gains is that 22 pounds of freshly harvested grapes yield a liter of Vin Santo, the equal of three half-bottles. As the grapes dry for about five months, the humidity in the drying room needs to be checked three times daily and adjustments made. When ready, they will
undergo a one-to-three-month fermentation. To jump start the action, a mother culture
of dense, sludgy old yeast and leftover Vin Santo from the previous year is introduced. This potent cocktail can continue to ferment naturally for years after the juice has been put in wood.
Traditionally, the wine ages for at least five years in caratelli, small 50-liter barrels made from oak, chestnut, acacia or cherry. The barrels are kept in vinsantaie, well ventilated lofts that don’t have temperature control like a typical cellar. The stored wine reacts accordingly to seasonal variations. The caratelli are sealed in wax, so along the way there will be some oxidation, especially in summer. Roughly a third to a half of the original wine will evaporate, the “angel’s share” that is the price paid for perfection. If the aging extends to seven or more years up to 90% will be lost, with little or no guarantee that what remains is worthy.
In that sense, Vin Santo is a contradiction. Oxidation is usually the kiss of death for living organisms,
yet that slow
evolution in the barrel extends the amount of time it can age in the bottle. Maybe magical and mystical are the right words.
Rosanne “Rosie” Sacchetti at age 7.
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