Today, we went to the only winery around Miami, called Schnebley Winery. It was in Homestead, out beyond miles of pasture, a big house beside a two lane road with a giant parking lot. We parked in a field, under a crystal blue sky.
The building was surrounded by a moat of a poi pond, snaking underneath the many tiki huts. We toured the facility. The highlight was picking fruit called wax apples, which were semi sweet, a little sour. The wine hardware I took photos of, stealing trade secrets for my own winery. In medieval times, such mass production equipment would not be necessary, nor would it for a garagiste.
There was a guitarist, who played top 40, Ed Sheeran. He was really good. It started to rain hard, once we had sat down at our table and had a few glasses. The flavors we tried were Sweet Avocado, CocoVin, Starfruit (espanol?), Sparkling Lychee, Mango, Cat5 (a red, a mix of pomegranate and other tropicals), and a malbec. The Mango was good. Some tasted bad, with weird gross flavors, like the Starfruit. A few had strange chemical smells, bad aftertastes. We got a charcuterie board. It was $22. We got glasses as free souvenirs.
I drunkenly asked her to move to wine country with me. I suggested Homestead and also, more seriously, California. Somewhere we would become vintners. She laughed and said she would think about it.
The rain blew in sheets as we walked to the bathrooms. A polite young guy held the door for me. The parking lot flooded. The whole town flooded, seemed like, driving home. The biggest puddle was in Little Haiti, which diverted us from a long traffic jam behind an accident on i-95N. My truck easily splashed through.
Shortly thereafter, I got a bottle of Catena and told her this was a Malbec that had impressed me. She agreed. We ate ham and bacon sandwiches, because our stomachs winced from the alcohol. We went into the bedroom to watch the rain from my window. I made love to her with the window open. We started to watch Stranger Things 4, but she had to go. I was glad to turn the scary TV off. I lay in bed, my mind a medley of strange thoughts. So, I wrote this little blog.