Off-Dry, Fruit-Forward

Shaw Vineyards

1 October, 2015

No cows today, just grapes and lakes.

We started off at Hermann J. Wiemer Vineyards on the western bank of Seneca Lake.  I suppose it's OK to drink wine before noon if one is at a tasting.  By the end of the fifth sample, though, Jack was spitting out the wine.  One is expected to do that at a tasting. Who knew?  I've been spitting out wine for years.

I can now swallow wine made from Riesling or Gewurztraminer grapes. In the Finger Lakes, those two are everywhere. I'm unable, however, even with concerted effort, to finish a glass of wine, even over the course of a full meal. Tasting pours are much smaller than that, but I never asked for my own glass.  When I'd had my sip or two and Jack moved on to yuckier things, I'd wander off for pictures.

We were one of a handful of people at the winery.  Everyone who came in was a middle-aged, heterosexual couple.  Save for one Princeton-thin (you know what I mean) woman, all the rest were of a certain roundness that I am, as of yet, not.  Keep climbing those hills, OLPH, or you'll be one of them.  The Princeton-skinny woman was with a round little man who was loudly, pretentiously, effusive in his superlatives.  This is upstate New York wine; I knew he had to be wrong.

I asked if we could walk the gravel driveway through the vineyards.  Our server said we could, but that we should look out for wildlife, and for Rufus, the winery cat: "Scratch him behind his ears and he's your friend for life."

The clouds were thinning.  The light was metallic.  My pictures were overexposed.

Rufus!

When we got within ten feet of him, he stopped, dropped, and rolled.  After that it was a good five minutes of tummy rubs, head-slams, cuddles, and full-on purring.  Then we put him down so that he could return to his appointed rounds.

Next we went down the road to Shaw Vineyards.  It was here that I realized I'd heard the descriptor "fruit-forward" everywhere we'd been.  I took it to mean that the wine tastes like fruit at first, and that the Finger Lakes wineries have figured out which of their grapes will make wine that doesn't taste like it's from New Jersey.  I tried some more Riesling and Gwrrrrrrrrrrrrtz and trundled off again.

Now we were hungry. We found lunch at the (I'm not making this up) Himrod Eagle, where the waitress described the Eye-Talian dressing. The accent up here is North Midlands.  Think Ohio and Michigan.  Also, Jack and I have seen, outside of the Corning Museum of Glass, not a single non-white person since we arrived here Tuesday evening.

Next up, Ravines, on Keuka Lake.  I hopped out of the car once on the way:

The roads here, by the way, are crying out for a cycling road trip.  The terrain is open and rolling, with wide shoulders.  There are hills aplenty.  None is killer steep, but we drove on many that go on for miles.  One near our B&B goes on for 5 miles with about 1000 feet of elevation gain.  A ride around Keuka Lake, though, is under 50 miles and under 2000 feet of elevation gain.  We've done most of this by car by now.   The hills are on the opposite side of the lake from the road.

Anyway, after hearing "fruit-forward" a dozen more times, I took some more pictures:

We'd been around most of Keuka (pronounced Q-Kah), so we decided to finish the loop.  I did more hopping out of the car:

Our final vineyard was Dr. Konstantin Frank Vinifera Wine Cellar.  Fruit-forward, dry, blah, blah, blah.  I had heartburn, and I doubt I had more than half a glass over the course of the entire day.

Keuka Lake State Park was on the way home. We detoured into it to get close to the lake.  I'm not used to being near water with my hearing aids in.  "It sounds a lot more wet," I told Jack.

Keuka Lake and Seneca Lake are connected by a tiny outflow.  Next to it is a path that starts in Penn Yan and goes for seven miles. We started near the beginning of it, but sunset was closing in, so we didn't get far.

This pussycat didn't show us his tummy.

Now this is a fun boat!

"What do you suppose that is?"

Jack answered, "Pumpkin spice something."

Win!

Oh, geez. We'd better turn around!  We might see a squirrel!

I've been checking email periodically.  Tonight my boss informed me that I'll be going to Paris for a week or two, "soonish,"  to learn a technique that, until 8:00 p.m., he'd sworn over and over again for years that I'm not the person for.  Then, while putting something in the car in the dark, the top of the door grazed my left eye.  Fortunately, my eye was closed when it happened, but it's swollen, sore, and kinda stinging. I don't think I scratched it this time. Fortunately, I never travel without my cornea meds, so I'm gooped up.

My gears are stripped at the moment.

Tomorrow we'll take a look at the waterfalls at Watkins Glen and maybe taste more off-forward, fruit-dry Gweezlings.