I have a French friend who loves to point out English words that are actually French. Giraffe, par exemple. Garage. Restaurant. Weekend. Oh, wait! That’s an English phrase, but it means the same thing in French. Mon erreur.
And of course, veraison. In English, it rhymes with raisin. In French it rhymes with something else, but I’m not sure how to pronounce it. Segolene has been trying to teach me French for about six years now, but it doesn’t seem to be sticking. C’est la vie.
Sorry. I’m kind of beating this to death, aren’t I?
But back to veraison. It’s the point in a grape vine’s growing season when the little green berries stop growing bigger and the vine throws all its energy into ripening the grapes instead.
Acids transform into sugars.
Color deepens.
Flavor abounds.
It also marks the time when vintners thin their grapes. This is one of the fascinating things about growing wine grapes. Unlike any other crop in the known world, quantity is not necessarily a good thing. At veraison, grape growers walk up and down the rows of their vineyards plucking off clusters of grapes and throwing them on the ground. Seriously. Can you imagine an Iowa corn farmer tossing half the crop in the dirt? Or an orchardist inviting birds in for an early snack on the cherries, just so we won’t have quite so many on the tree?
Wine growers do it all the time. Growing the perfect wine grape is a careful dance between the sun, the water and the soil’s nutrients. Too much of one can throw the balance way out of proportion. A grape vine can only produce so much nutrition. The idea is to find the sweet spot where the grapes deepen their flavors and sugars to an exquisite intensity. Too many grapes on the vine results in thin and boring flavors, so growers thin the crop just when the vine transitions from growing the grapes to ripening them. It’s been going on for centuries. In fact, they still celebrate veraison at Chateneuf du Pape with a wild and crazy medieval festival. Check it out:
Did you watch until the end? Did you see the crazy jester? Are you glad you did?
But back to veraison. Despite the practice of thinning the vines, growers make their living on how many grapes they sell. Throwing tons of them on the ground just has to hurt. Fortunately, there’s a remedy – verjus!
(Bless me. Thank you.)
But verjus (pronounced vair-zhoo) is nothing to sneeze at. (Sorry. Sometimes the puns just spill out all by themselves.) It’s the juice of those unripened grapes, and it makes a wonderful alternative to anything acidic you might use in sauces or dressings – vinegar, lemon juice, even wine.
Verjus has been produced in the Old World for centuries. Here in the New World, it’s not quite so well established. David and Patricia Gelles, owners of the famed Klipsun Vineyard on Red Mountain here in Washington, discovered it years ago while on a tour of Australia when they met chef and cookbook author Maggie Beer, who made prolific use of verjus. They have seen many seasons of varaison-thinned grapes rotting on the ground, and David was intrigued by the possibility of making something worthwhile of them.
Today Klipsun Verjus is marketed at select retailers and wineries across the Northwest, but you can order it directly from Alexander the Grape, a venture between David Gelles and his son Alexander, with the stated goal of “conquering the world of grapes.” (Puns abound, and it’s not all my fault.) It sells for $20 a bottle, which makes it a somewhat pricey alternative to specialty vinegars, but it is definitely worth adding to your kitchen arsenal. Because it originates as a wine grape, the acids complement rather than clash with wines served with food. Alexander’s web site abounds with recipes (stewed fruits, cheese cake, risotto) where verjus fills in as an alternative to lemon juice or vinegar.
Enjoy your verjus.
Bless you.
