When I was a child, we lived on a farm that had a grape arbor loaded with Concord grapes. Each September, my mom would can jars upon jars of grape juice, and I have fond memories of evenings around the kitchen table as our family ate popcorn and drank that delicious stuff (which doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever purchased from a store).
Well, apparently, nostalgia set in this year, and I ordered 1.5 bushels of Concord grapes. (And if you’re wondering how much that is, it felt like a whole vineyard.) The grapes came earlier than I expected, so I texted my husband that morning: “The grapes are here and they’re RIPE. We need to can the juice tonight.”
He texted back: “Sounds grape.” Yes, he really did.