More or less. The grapevines that grow with abandon in my Brooklyn backyard, climbing up the entire height of the three-story brownstone, have yielded their harvest for the year. It’s a rather pitiful crop in comparison to past seasons, given the extreme weather we’ve been having. But it’s still fascinating how the vines, a remnant of the neighborhood’s Italian heritage, can grow wild and produce fruit, totally untended. Who knew? I always thought grapes were like roses, needing constant pampering and tender-loving care. Turns out both are more resilient than their reputations let on.
So, not enough grapes this year to test their variety and experiment with wine, but the grape leaves are still plentiful and tender. Ideas for stuffing them?