Park Avenue AOC 
In these dark times of hurricanes, fires, floods and other natural disasters or less, I found this article in The New Yorker, Ben McGrath of
refreshing and friendly. I'm a little translation:
A very good vintage
One day in 1977, while his wife Vera was out, Latif Jiji, a professor of mechanical engineering at City College, sowed a plant vine in the yard of his home on 92nd between Park and Lex. Since this garden was the sacred territory of his wife, Latif had the opportunity to plant that foot on the sly. But it did not take long before the vines from growing at a quite staggering. Fertility Land explained by the different nutrient-rich Upper East Side (rain smog flavor, poodles poop, smell of mothballs, etc.)..
"This way of working that inspires me more Freudian conclusions," said Vera, Professor of English at retirement. "Give a man a little stick, and he used to end domination of everything."
The vine is a good thirty feet today, ranging from the short front to the rear of the house on four floors, and this through the roof. Give him a few years and will continue to extend to the entrance porch. Each year, can be drawn from this vineyard some 200 kg of green grapes in Niagara. Sufficient quantity for the Jiji start producing their own white wine, of course they called Chateau Latif. A hundred bottles per vintage. Of the Jiji enorgueuillir may be the only producers of wine in Manhattan. "The Greeks, Romans, Arabs, they used small vines, feet horizontal, little more than 2 meters tall. But not me, "said Latif. "I have the highest vineyards in the world."
Latif, 77, grew up in Basra, Iraq, where his father was an amateur wine producer. And nothing could prevent Latif perpetuate the family tradition. Even the fact of living on the island's most densely populated North America. Even the fact of living above a subway line. His wine is a product of the terroir of Park Avenue.
"This wine grows on a single soil carbon monoxide, water, cooking hot dogs, and smoke from line 6," said Jeff Ourvan, son-Latif, when he swallows a grapes miraculous. Ourvan whole family participates in the traditional family harvest in September, which stands on the roof. It collects the sticky clusters in a plastic bag, trying not to drop into the neighbor's chimney. (The previous resident was not a fan of this vineyard, and carefully made sure that no sheet does not pass the boundaries of his property.)
A dozen gleaners, covering three generations have worked this year, for 12 hours, passing roof racks of the house by a pulley system, leaning out the windows to hang. Downstairs, other trophies weighed, using a bathroom scale, bags in hand, striking the balance the tare weight. They clean the grapes covered with this layer of pollution to the living water, then collect them in the hamper. they then pass through a metal stalk in the fund's garden, and in a press wood. The constant flux of the grape juice is collected in a bucket of cleaning and plastic trash, and then ends in a glass fermenter of 15 liters.
Before two hours, the wine was from crude. It was the smallest harvest in 15 years. Latif explained this by the lack of rain, and renovations to its new neighbor, which could damage the roots. The consensus was that the thought this year was sweeter, more lemony than the previous vintage. A team of "chemists" was then formed around the patio table with a hydrometer, a calculator, and a bag of sugar came from the supermarket.
By early evening, one guest wondered if he could thirsty try this wine. A chilled bottle of vintage 2000 was uncorked and was found to be very refreshing. It tasted sweet and somewhat of metal or Retsina Riesling.
"Is it possible that it is dry?" Asked one of the daughters of Latif.
"No, no, it's the opposite of dry is sweet," said one of his sisters.
Night fell, and the family gathered around a casserolée tomato and eggplant in the house. Another toast was raised, Chateau Latif 97. Nobody remembers more if it was a really good year or not.
