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Tomato Wine: Transplanted some more last night

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I transplanted more Gold Nugget tomatoes last night, six more to what I’m calling the “east block.” That’s to distinguish them from the four in the “north block” that I transplanted on the 29th. I did it the same way: deep planting hole, pinched out the lower leaves, added a ground up antacid tablet and some homebrew organic fertilizer. So far so good. The north block tomatoes showed no signs of transplant shock at all.

Gold Nugget tomatoes transplanted to the east block

In the photo, it’s hard to see all six Gold Nugget tomatoes, but the stem of the sixth one is just visible on the left side. The row of plants in the front of the tomatoes, the ones that look like onions, are onions (a man’s gotta eat too). So my tomato vineyard is a reality, with 10 vines in the ground! I’ve still got two in pots that I’m not sure what to do with.



Tomato Wine: Transplanted yesterday

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I’ve been reading up on blossom end rot, and it turns out that there may be something to the old (I would have called it a “wive’s tale”) practice of putting some powdered antacid in the planting hole of each tomato. The rot is caused by a calcium deficiency in the fruit, and the calcium chloride in antacid tablets might be just the thing my tomatoes need.

Antacid tablet in a bowl ready to be ground up and added to the tomato's planting hole

So each tomato got one ground up antacid tablet. I mixed it, and a handful of my homebrew organic fertilizer, into the soil in the bottom of the planting hole.

Antacid tablet ground, homebrew organic fertilizer scooped, planting hole dug, we're go for transplant!

I ground up the antacid tablet, scooped out a bit of fertilizer, and dug the planting hole. I made the hole deeper than you’d expect just by looking at the plant or the pot it was in. That’s because I planted each tomato deeper in the soil than it was in the pot. I’m taking advantage of the tomato’s ability to easily grow new roots from the stem. Doing this puts the existing roots deep into the soil and stimulates new root growth from the just-buried stem.

Pulling the bottom leaves off the tomato to bury part of the stem

In the above photo, I’m pinching out some of the bottom leaves because that part of the stem will be underground. When all was said and done, I had four tomato plants tucked into their new bed.

Four just transplanted tomato plants and two foreground pepper plants

The two small plants, in the foreground of the photo that don’t look like tomato plants, aren’t tomato plants. They’re peppers, and I know that has nothing to do with tomato wine, or any other kind of wine. I do grow some things to eat, though, and they’ve got to go somewhere. So four pepper plants, I cropped the other two out of the photo, will be sharing some real estate with the “North Block” of my tomato vineyard.



A Simple Mead Recipe: Rack to secondary

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Today’s the day. I waited until the yeast had fermented all the available sugar (here’s why), I prepared a bentonite slurry, and I set aside all morning so I’d have the time. Once I sanitized my equipment, added sulfite and the bentonite slurry to the 5-gallon carboy, I started my siphon.

Starting the siphon by sucking on the end of the siphon tube

It took me quite a while to get used to the idea of starting a siphon by sucking on the end of the siphon tube. People debated the topic in online forums, and discussed various gadgets and clever siphon-starting methods aimed at ever more antiseptic siphoning. Invariably some old timer would tell us that he’d been making wine, and starting his siphons by mouth, for decades and hadn’t had a problem. “Yeah, old timer,” I thought, “but in the meantime we’ve invented antibiotics, fluoridated our water, and learned the importance of washing our hands.” I think I’ve still got plenty of years ahead of me, but on this issue, I’ve become an old timer.

What changed my mind? Whatever I was afraid of getting into my mead (or wine or beer) would be adapted to conditions in my mouth: about 100 Fahrenheit (about 38 Celsius), non-alcoholic (most of the time), and pH neutral. Without warning, I would plunge these critters into an acidic, alcoholic liquid that was about 40F (22C) colder. Any that survived would be under severe and permanent stress. They wouldn’t be able to reproduce and spoil my mead. So I could relax and watch my mead meander into its new home.

Siphoning the mead from the primary fermenter, a 10-gallon Rubbermaid Brute container, into a 5-gallon glass carboy

The siphon went off without a hitch. Because I waited for the mead to ferment to dryness, I didn’t have CO2 coming out of solution and interrupting the siphon. Once I filled the 5-gallon carboy, I moved the end of the siphon hose into the 1-gallon jug (using a measuring cup to catch the still-flowing liquid while I transfered between the two). I came pretty close to filling both containers to the top. You never have the precise amount of mead (or wine or beer) to fill your containers, though, so it’s important to plan ahead.

A 5-gallon carboy filled to the top with mead, a 1-gallon jug that's not quite full, and two wine bottles filled with older mead that I'll use to top up

As you can see in the above photo, I was able to fill the 5-gallon carboy to the top. Not so the 1-gallon jug. The two wine bottles are filled with mead from older batches, and I’ll use them to top up the 1-gallon jug. Since I started with six gallons of liquid (one gallon of honey and five gallons of water), I knew that I’d need at most six gallons of capacity. I also knew that one container would not be completely full, so I needed to be ready for that. Since I make mead regularly, I had some bottles I could use to top up the 1-gallon jug. Another way to do it would be to have many different sized bottles handy, a 0.5-gallon jug, two wine bottles, and a beer bottle, for example. That would have left me with several full small containers. I’ve done it both ways, and either way works. You just don’t want to find yourself with too little capacity (like I would have if I only prepared the 5-gallon carboy) or no way to handle odd sizes (either with a collection of various sized containers or something to top up with).

You’ll still have a little bit left over. A cup or so. Usually just enough to fill a wine glass, and here again, proper planning is vital. I transfered the excess to a waiting wine glass. Raised it in salute to all those old timers I had silently ridiculed and … disposed of it 🙂

A Simple Mead Recipe: Fining with bentonite

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When I rack the mead from it’s primary fermenter to a 5-gallon carboy, it will throw off a deposit of mostly dormant yeast. To separate the mead from this sediment, or lees as it’s called, I’ll have to rack again in a month or so. Since I’m going to have to rack again anyway, I’ve decided to fine the mead at this step. Fining clarifies the mead by adding something that combines with suspended or dissolved solids then quickly falls to the bottom of the container. The “something” I’m going to add is called bentonite, a type of clay that’s very good at removing protein from mead. I’ve waited as long as three years for some mead to clear on its own, and still not been satisfied. Bentonite has worked for me every time.

Ready to measure bentonite with 150 ml water in a measuring cup, bentonite powder in a jar, and measuring spoons.

Bentonite is usually sold in powdered form, and you need to sort-of-dissolve (hydrate) it in water first. It doesn’t dissolve, but if you mix it into hot water and let it sit overnight, it will form a usable slurry. The way to do this is to measure the right amount, in grams, and use 10-20X that amount of water, in milliliters, to hydrate it. What’s the right amount? I’ve found that advice varies a lot. I use 0.5 g/L. Since I’m racking to a 5-gallon carboy and 1 gallon is about 3.785 liters, I need enough for about 19 liters – just under 10 grams. My problem is that I haven’t got a scale that’s accurate for such small quantities, so I use rules of thumb that say 1 tablespoon of bentonite weighs 11-12 grams. A tablespoon in 5-gallons works out to about 0.6 g/L, which is what I’ll use. I could try to get closer to my target of 0.5 g/L using a combination of teaspoons, quarter teaspoons, and so on, but the measuring errors would add up quickly.

So I boiled about 150 ml water in the microwave (about 2.5 minutes), added 1 tablespoon of the bentonite powder, and stirred.

It takes a good 20 minutes of stirring and scraping to turn clumpy wet bentonite clay into a smooth slurry.

And stirred, and stirred, and stirred. It got gooey and clumped. I scraped (with a knife- don’t use your fingers!) and stirred some more. It was thick. I added more water. When you do this, you will start to think that it will never work. But after 20 minutes of constant stirring (don’t stop). You will get a reasonably smooth slurry.

Pouring the thick but smooth bentonite slurry from a measuring cup into a jar.

After pouring it into a jar, I’ll let it sit overnight. I’ll give the jar a forceful twist, whenever I pass, just for good measure. Tomorrow, I’ll pour it into my sanitized carboy, along with a dose of sulfite, and rack the mead into it.

A Simple Mead Recipe: Time to rack!

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It took three weeks instead of two, but the mead has fermented out.

Hydrometer reads 1.003, indicating the mead has fermented out

In the photo above, a hydrometer floating in a sample of mead indicates a specific gravity of about 1.003, and that’s close enough to 1.000 for me to call it done. It looks closer to 1.004 because the camera was a little high and is looking slightly down. When I looked at it, placing my eye exactly at the surface level, it was 1.003.

Temperature reads almost 70 Fahrenheit, indicating that the specific gravity of the mead sample should be adjusted upward by 0.001 It turns out the the specific gravity needs to be adjusted upward by 0.001 because the temperature of the sample is almost 70 Fahrenheit (21 Celsius), and my hydrometer is calibrated for 60F. Coincidentally, the SG really is 1.004, as it appears in the photo.

I’ve been pretty impatient to rack, and now that I can … it turns out that I ran into an old friend the other day. I haven’t seen her or her husband in years, but there I was out on my morning walk and well, there she was! Marsha and I had arranged to have dinner with them tonight, so the mead is going to have to wait just a little bit longer.

Tomato Wine: Transplanting delayed

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I used to write software for a living, and one thorny issue never far form anyone’s mind was the release date. This was the result of changes, unexpected problems, negotiation, compromise, tests of will, overtime, threats of violence, and – ok maybe not threats of violence. Not explicit ones anyway. The point is that the actual date on which software gets delivered is often different from the date on which it was promised. So it is with my tomatoes (I never imagined those two sentences going together!).

Gold Nugget tomatoes are still in their pots on 5/24/07, and getting crowded

I had planned on transplanting them on the 22nd, but more recent forecasts tell of cold nights ahead. I want nice warm 50+ Fahrenheit (10+ Celsius) nights before I transplant them, and it looks like the 27th will see lows of 44F (a bit less than 7C). So I’ve slipped the release date, um delayed transplanting I mean, to the 29th. Once a software guy, always a software guy …

In the meantime, my tomatoes and other transplants (I do actually eat some of my vegetables) will commute to the patio every morning. And it’s getting to be quite a traffic jam in those pots.

A pH of 3.6ish: Why I’d like a pH meter

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When I checked on my mead two days ago, I measured the pH as well as the specific gravity. I use pH papers, little test strips treated with indicators that change color at a known pH. After dipping it into the mead, I compare the strip’s color to a chart.

A pH paper dipped in the mead has changed color. A comparison with the chart next to it in the photo indicates a pH of 3.6 - 5/20/07

It’s rare that the test strip’s precise color appears on the chart. Here it looks to me like there is some purple and some yellow, indicating that the pH is within the test strip’s range. I think 3.6 is the best fit. These test strips are cheap and easy to use, but they have a considerable margin of error.

So it’s important to use them correctly and not make them any less accurate than they already are. Since they depend on seeing a color change and accurately matching it to a chart, it’s important to read them in good light. Indoors, during the day, with lots of light from a window is best. I once tried to use pH papers under florescent lighting, and the test strip turned green – not even close to anything on the chart. Moving to a well lit room cleared it right up. Trying to measure something with an intense color, a red wine for example, won’t work very well because the color of the sample will affect the color of the test strip.

I did mention that they’re cheap and easy, didn’t I? After a while a high maintenance pH meter with expensive tastes starts to look pretty alluring 🙂

Homebrew Organic Fertilizer

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An important part in rejuvenating the rhubarb patch and preparing the tomato vineyard, is to fertilize them. Steve Solomon is my favorite gardening author, and this organic fertilizer recipe is from his Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades: The Complete Guide to Natural Gardening:

4 parts (by volume) seed meal (I use cottonseed meal)
1 part kelp meal
1 part lime
1 part rock phosphate or 1/2 part bone meal

I used to buy the ingredients in cute little boxes at a local nursery, but it makes much more sense to buy in quantity.

50 lb sack of cottonseed meal, 50 lb sack kelp meal, 40 lb sack dolomite lime, and a bucket of bone meal - my fertilizer ingredients

I get cottonseed meal and kelp meal by the 50 lb sack at a nearby feed store. The lime is readily available almost anywhere gardening supplies are sold. I follow Mr Solomon’s advice again and use a mix of agricultural lime and dolomite lime for a good balance of calcium and magnesium.

Fertilizer ingredients measured out into the wheelbarrow for mixing

Once I’ve measured the ingredients in the correct proportions, I mix them together until the color and texture is uniform.


Rhubarb Wine: Rhubarb needs love too

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The short thin stalks on this rhubarb plant are from neglect


It’s easy to grow. It’s hardy. You don’t have to do much for it. Well, that’s all true of rhubarb, unless you want to harvest a good crop. My first harvest of the year was pretty good, and better than last year. That made me feel pretty good about how the rhubarb patch was doing, and I neglected it for other things. I didn’t weed, fertilize, or water (it’s easy to grow, after all), and it looks like I won’t be harvesting this month. I didn’t take a “before” picture, because I was too embarrassed. Here’s what it looks like now.