Old-Fashioned Grape Juice

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I don't remember how long I waited to sample the juice . . . but what I do know is that the whole jarful disappeared before I got a second glass. Of all the containers I put up just one is left, safely hidden at the bottom of the ironing basket, to be enjoyed at the next birthday breakfast.

In retrospect, I can see that I made two giant mistakes. Number One: I put up about a tenth as much juice as I should have. The method described here lets me deal with grapes so fast that I can now plan on canning—in a single afternoon or two—all my family will use in one year . . . which could prove to be quite a lot! True, there are only four of us, but we don't believe in buying commercially prepared beverages. Healthwise and dollarwise, I'll be far ahead if I purchase an extra bushel of grapes and a small jar of honey and go into production on a larger scale.

In that case, I'll also need to buy a few more gallon jars . . . because Mistake Number Two was not canning the juice in large enough containers. A quart disappeared so quickly that I don't intend to work with any units smaller than a gallon this season. ("Larger", of course, means "fewer", with a consequent saving of lids . . . another cost that keeps rising.)

I've been told, incidentally, that gallon jugs with rubber-lined caps can be recycled for this purpose. If the tops are heated and screwed onto containers of hot liquid, they'll usually reseal . . . and if they don't, I'll add the juice to the wine barrel and salvage it anyhow.

After my experience with old-fashioned grape juice, I'm more convinced than ever that Grandma's simple methods are sometimes far superior to our modern ways. That's hardly surprising. Gran's family, after all, was self-sufficient out of necessity . . . and with nine children to care for, the homemaker had to work fast.

The technique Mom dug out of her memory saves not only time but two kinds of energy: the planet's (because the preservation method calls for little cooking and there are no straining rags to wash in hot water) . . . and mine. And, at harvest time—when my most serious energy crisis is a personal one I—really appreciate that last point.

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