By Brigit Binns
ARRIVING ON MY DOORSTEP
over the past month or so have been
samples of a grape variety that
seems eminently suited to our valley.
In Europe, Cabernet Franc doesn't often
stand alone, but here in the Hudson Valley the
climate seems to coax far more fruit and depth
from this grape. An Italian friend tells me that
in the cool, northeast Italian wine region of
Trentino/Alto Adige, Cab Franc also shines.
Since my weekend efforts over the past few
months have focused almost entirely on the
recession-busting Four-Family Garden - an
exceedingly ambitious undertaking - I have
tended to serve my Cab Francs at a sort of
laborers lunch table, to reinvigorate we
New Millennium farm workers and prime us
for several more hours of fence-building,
digging, and soil amendment before the
traditional late-afternoon nap.
At these al fresco lunches, hands are dirty,
faces are a bit red, and muscles are sometimes
sore. Sitting at a desk does not prepare today's
new agrarians for the kind of work necessary
to transform a very large but long-defunct
kitchen garden into fertile and productive
condition. So as we chew and sip, the talk
ranges from couture to manure, Plato to potatoes,
actors to tractors, hay to Broadway. To
fuel their increased energy requirements, I've
tended to focus on pastas and grains at these
lunches, and in true Mediterranean tradition,
a glass of good, honest red helps the starches
go down.
Suddenly, coming home to pasta after years
of carb-conscious avoidance feels right, good,
secure. In uncertain times there is really
nothing quite so comforting. Perhaps it's
because I've truly earned it this time around.
Returning to the soil brings us all closer to
the food we eat, the wine we drink, and the
incredibly fortunate luxury of living near the
slowly healing river that Henry Hudson
traveled 400 years ago, with a dream.
