broad-brimmed hat, tenderly touching the grapes and vines as she talked.
‘The pinot noir grapes are starting to change from green to purple. If you look closely enough, each grape displays a different intensity of colour. Aren’t they gorgeous?’ She told us the process was called verasion. This was also the time in the growing season for stripping away some of the leaves in order to control the canopy. ‘The more sun these lovelies get, the drier and more flavourful they’ll be. By fall they’ll be perfectly plump and ready for crush.’ She mentioned terroir, the big buzzword among vintners and winemakers that was constantly debated.
‘Terroir is that sense of place that you experience when you drink a glass of wine. This hillside has a history.’ Lucy held her hands out as if she were giving a blessing. ‘There is the climate, even the certain way the sunlight slants against this hill. And the geology – the layers upon layers of rock and volcanic ash from millions of years ago. The parent materials break down to make the soil what it is today, its mineralogy, the chemical balance.’
‘I have one of those,’ David said. ‘Oh, wait, mine is a chemical im balance. My mistake, go on.’
Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘As I was saying . . . terroir is the expression of the land the grapes come from. Others say terroir is about viticulture, the influence on the grape. It’s the way the vines are hand pruned, the type of barrels, the whole winemaking process as well. And some say it’s everything – from what occurred here throughout the ages to the moment the bottle is uncorked.’
‘I’ve always thought,’ I said, ‘this might sound strange – but Annie and Zach, this place, Elbow, permeates them. I always want to breathe them in. It must be their terroir.’
Lucy said, ‘The terroir of people? I can hear all the debating they’ll get out of this one. Do go on.’
‘It’s . . . I can smell the land, this place, in their hair, in the creases of their necks, and on their fingertips. This wonderful loamy scent mixed with wood smoke, the tanoak and redwoods, the rosemary, the lavender. And okay, a little garlic from being at Marcella’s . . . I don’t know. It sounds funny when I try to explain it.’
David patted my back. ‘Nothing a little bathing wouldn’t fix.’
‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I actually get what you’re saying. And I could even take it a step further. I’ve been thinking about your idea for the store.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Grandpa Sergio died years ago, but that grocery store still smells like him when I walk in the door – it’s faint, but it’s always there. Especially up in the office. His cherry tobacco pipe smoke. And it’s mixed with Pop’s Old Spice.’
‘Nothing opening a window wouldn’t fix,’ Lucy said.
‘Touché.’ He shook his head. ‘But no, that wouldn’t get rid of it. Nothing will. Even changing the store, even remodelling it and turning it into a slightly different kind of store – it will still be Capozzi’s Market. You’ll still be able to feel the family history when you walk in. Maybe even more so with the big nod to the mother country, as Grandpa used to call it. That’s what’s important. If we don’t try Ella’s idea, we’re probably going to have to let the place go and lose everything my grandfather, my dad, and my brother worked for all these years.’
I was afraid to say anything. Some kind of spell seemed to be on us there on that symmetrically furrowed hillside, surrounded by old gnarled vines and young grapes.
‘Change can be good. You know, I always told Joe to quit fighting the tourist thing. To celebrate it. But I was just the baby of the family, not anyone who’d ever run the store. Grandpa made that clear,’ David finally said. ‘I still want to talk numbers. But I think you might be onto something, Ella. Let’s talk about what you would need from me. I think I want a place at this
‘The pinot noir grapes are starting to change from green to purple. If you look closely enough, each grape displays a different intensity of colour. Aren’t they gorgeous?’ She told us the process was called verasion. This was also the time in the growing season for stripping away some of the leaves in order to control the canopy. ‘The more sun these lovelies get, the drier and more flavourful they’ll be. By fall they’ll be perfectly plump and ready for crush.’ She mentioned terroir, the big buzzword among vintners and winemakers that was constantly debated.
‘Terroir is that sense of place that you experience when you drink a glass of wine. This hillside has a history.’ Lucy held her hands out as if she were giving a blessing. ‘There is the climate, even the certain way the sunlight slants against this hill. And the geology – the layers upon layers of rock and volcanic ash from millions of years ago. The parent materials break down to make the soil what it is today, its mineralogy, the chemical balance.’
‘I have one of those,’ David said. ‘Oh, wait, mine is a chemical im balance. My mistake, go on.’
Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘As I was saying . . . terroir is the expression of the land the grapes come from. Others say terroir is about viticulture, the influence on the grape. It’s the way the vines are hand pruned, the type of barrels, the whole winemaking process as well. And some say it’s everything – from what occurred here throughout the ages to the moment the bottle is uncorked.’
‘I’ve always thought,’ I said, ‘this might sound strange – but Annie and Zach, this place, Elbow, permeates them. I always want to breathe them in. It must be their terroir.’
Lucy said, ‘The terroir of people? I can hear all the debating they’ll get out of this one. Do go on.’
‘It’s . . . I can smell the land, this place, in their hair, in the creases of their necks, and on their fingertips. This wonderful loamy scent mixed with wood smoke, the tanoak and redwoods, the rosemary, the lavender. And okay, a little garlic from being at Marcella’s . . . I don’t know. It sounds funny when I try to explain it.’
David patted my back. ‘Nothing a little bathing wouldn’t fix.’
‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I actually get what you’re saying. And I could even take it a step further. I’ve been thinking about your idea for the store.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Grandpa Sergio died years ago, but that grocery store still smells like him when I walk in the door – it’s faint, but it’s always there. Especially up in the office. His cherry tobacco pipe smoke. And it’s mixed with Pop’s Old Spice.’
‘Nothing opening a window wouldn’t fix,’ Lucy said.
‘Touché.’ He shook his head. ‘But no, that wouldn’t get rid of it. Nothing will. Even changing the store, even remodelling it and turning it into a slightly different kind of store – it will still be Capozzi’s Market. You’ll still be able to feel the family history when you walk in. Maybe even more so with the big nod to the mother country, as Grandpa used to call it. That’s what’s important. If we don’t try Ella’s idea, we’re probably going to have to let the place go and lose everything my grandfather, my dad, and my brother worked for all these years.’
I was afraid to say anything. Some kind of spell seemed to be on us there on that symmetrically furrowed hillside, surrounded by old gnarled vines and young grapes.
‘Change can be good. You know, I always told Joe to quit fighting the tourist thing. To celebrate it. But I was just the baby of the family, not anyone who’d ever run the store. Grandpa made that clear,’ David finally said. ‘I still want to talk numbers. But I think you might be onto something, Ella. Let’s talk about what you would need from me. I think I want a place at this
Similar Books
