By Margo True, Sunset food editor

Recently our chicks had some visitors who were nearly as cute as they are (okay, maybe cuter). The guests arrived by buggy caravan from a nearby preschool, pushed by their smiling teachers and wearing matching blue T-shirts that came down to their knees. Immediately they toddled up to the coop and clutched the chicken wire, straining to see the flock inside.

Our test garden coordinator, Ryan Casey, knew just what to do. He hauled out the more obliging of the two Buff Orpingtons and knelt down with her so all the kids could see. “Glgdhh!” said one. Mainly, there was silence. Rapt staring. A few tentative touches. One excitable youngster grabbed the chick’s foot hard, but quickly let go. Our chick, bless her, tolerated it all.

Child-minutes are like dog years, and after 20 minutes or so, the teachers wound up the visit. “Say bye-bye to the chickens,” one said. The kids went back in the buggies and wheeled off down the street for a snack and a nap.

Chickens relaxing post-visit.

By Sara Schneider Sunset wine editor

When you pick grapes, it turns out, your day has just begun. You have to do something with them. When Team Wine came down off Fat Buck Ridge with our Syrah (and 20 gallons of Chardonnay juice we snagged from Michael Martella at Fogarty), we met our now-indispensable advisor, Dan Brenzel, and his old Italian, hand-crank crusher-destemmer, back at Sunset. Lug by lug we dumped our Syrah into the hopper, cranked the handle, worried stuck clusters through with a pole, caught the grapes dropping out the bottom in plastic bins, tried to keep the stems spraying out the end under control, and generally turned the back parking lot into a riotous, sticky mess. In the end—okay, after opening a few bottles of wine from my office (for inspiration)—we took off our shoes and stomped on the last couple of lots that we’d brought down from the vineyard in trash cans, because we didn’t have quite enough lugs. What all the stomping legends don’t tell you is that you have to somehow pull out all those stems after romping in the grapes. (We just ran the juicy mass through the crusher-destemmer—defeating the purpose of the stomping, of course, but it was worth it for entertainment value alone.)

The must (crushed grapes—skins, seeds, pulp, juice, and all) went into a 55-gallon food-grade plastic drum, plus a clean trash can for the overflow. We added some sulfur dioxide, to keep any lurking bacteria from growing, covered the drums with cheesecloth to keep the fruit flies at bay, and left our Syrah to cold soak to extract as much color and flavor from the skins as possible before getting our fermentation going. Michael soaks his a whopping five days, but he has controlled conditions … Decisions, decisions.

By Sara Schneider, Sunset wine editor

We had way too much fun picking our Syrah grapes up on Fat Buck Ridge on Thursday, the 4th! There’s a managing editor, a food editor, a garden editor, a copy editor, a style coordinator, a recipe retester—and a wine editor—around here who are ready to quit our day jobs to tend vines and vats.

We loaded up the old Sunset van with lugs, small pruning shears, and a cooler full of cheese and bread, and wound up to Thomas Fogarty Winery. But that wasn’t the end-run. Winemaker Michael Martella led our caravan way into the Santa Cruz Mountains, where we came out onto the aforementioned ridge—a sweet, sweet knoll with sweeping views to the west, planted with Syrah that Fogarty happens to get more than $50 a bottle for (no small challenge for the sister wine we intend to make).

Our first decision: to pick from the sunny, south-facing side of the slope or the shadier, cooler section? I tried to get an opinion out of Michael about whether the warmer side produced fruitier Syrah, à la France’s southern Rhône Valley, and the cooler side leaner, more herbal qualities—maybe even blueberry flavors—as in northern Rhône Syrahs. He just laughed at my wine-writerly stab at analysis. (I have to say, though, that we walked the length of a row, eating berries all the way, and they changed noticeably with the amount of sun they’d gotten.) We chose the shady side, and took two hours to pick our 500 pounds—not a pace to earn a place on the real picking crew, but hugely satisfying.

Then, because the sun was behaving in that slanting, golden way that it does in all great fall-vineyard stories—and because Fogarty team member Anne Krolczyk had very generously laid a table and left a cooler of wine for us—we pulled out our bread and cheese and had a picnic. One of the bottles, it turned out, was the Fogarty Syrah from that very same Fat Buck Ridge—the prototype, the goal … the competition.

By Elizabeth Jardina, Sunset researcher

Oh, dear Sunset readers, since we last blogged, our chicks have grown and grown. When I don't see them for a couple of days, they are visibly bigger.

And they're adjusting to their new digs with zeal and curiosity.

In addition to their gorgeous coop, they also have an outdoor area, a 10- by 10-foot corner of our test garden, enclosed by chicken wire and a clear plastic roof that lets in light but keeps out rain. We've laid straw on the ground to give them something to scratch around in.

The straw also helps absorb their droppings. Adding fresh straw every few days mitigates the ickiness, and a few times a year, we'll pitchfork the whole mess over to our composting area so the combination of straw (carbon-rich) and chicken manure (nitrogen-rich) can start doin' its compost-y thing. Free soil amendment is one of the other benefits of having chickens.

Anyway, the chickens have taken to their outdoor paradise like fish to water. Or chickens to a garden.

Ryan Casey, our test gardener, has planted some greens — arugula, comfrey, and sorrel — along one side of the coop, and it took the chickies about three seconds to realize that they could peck at the nutritious greens through the chicken wire.

Comfrey, with its big lightly fuzzy leaves, is a favorite. Although they like to peck through the fence and get a little salad break themselves, anything that a person picks and brings in to hand-feed them clearly tastes better. (I can relate: Why is it that a glass of water someone else fetches for you always tastes better than one you make yourself?)

But leafy greens, while a treat for our flock, are nothing (NOTHING!) compared with the glory that is a freshly shucked ear of corn. They are crazy for corn. Whenever Jim McCann — Sunset art director and General Cluck — goes into the coop, the little chicklets swarm his feet, because they know that he is the keeper of the corn. Bliss!

(I should mention now: Our chickens are, of course, still eating their dutiful diet of "chick starter," which comes from the feed store in hefty 50-pound bags. These other foods are treats.)

But there's another treat for the chickens — one that's almost better than corn. And it's been growing, as a volunteer, in their coop this whole time. A hearty specimen of fennel, which grows wild along highways here in Northern California, had popped up in that corner of the garden, and Ryan left it as he built the coop around it. 

Now, you may be picturing luscious apple green fronds, but this particular fennel is not at that point in the season. It's been growing under our clear plastic roof, and it's become infested. (Serious gardeners
should look away. It's grotesque.)

Aphids, powdery mildew — this thing is sad. And the chickens are positively mad for it. They adore it. They practically knock you down when you step into the coop to persuade you to give them some. Little Ruby loves pecking off the aphids, while the others gobble the fronds down — bugs and all. (We theorize that the the aphids and the fennel create sort of a sweet-savory combination.)

Honey, one of our Buff Orpingtons, will jump up on to your arm for a better position to munch on the fennel.

Readers with chickens, what are some of their favorite treats? What do your chickens go crazy for?

By Sara Schneider, Sunset wine editor

We just got the call—our grapes are ripe! They hit 25 degrees Brix yesterday, so we’re picking on Thursday.

Turns out the decision about what kind of wine to make wasn’t so easy. Winemaker Michael Martella offered us a laundry list of grapes from Thomas Fogarty’s sources, but everything had pros and cons. Pinot Noir would probably be the best red for our veggie-heavy one-block menu, but it’s notoriously hard to make … Sauvignon Blanc would be a great white match, but the Santa Cruz Mountains region—our local source—doesn’t grow it so well.

We went with Syrah for red, partly because it’s not a bad red choice for our earthy, herby menu and partly because I’m getting really interested in Syrahs from cool regions (which these mountains are), but truth be told, mainly because we might have half a chance of making a decent wine out of it. We decided to make some Chardonnay too, because we really want a white wine with our feast. But we may make it completely without oak (chips, in home winemaking terms, unless you want to spring for an $800 or $900 French barrel).

In the meantime, I descended on Dan Brenzel, husband of Sunset's legendary garden editor, Kathy Brenzel. He’s been making wine for years, and what a resource! Dan had pulled out all of his equipment—hand-cranked crusher/destemmer, press, food-grade plastic fermentors (i.e., garbage cans), glass carboys, thermometers, hydrometers … He’s getting ready to make wine too this year, but he’s working with different varietals, so we can probably juggle equipment. We thought we’d have to buy, beg, and steal, but he’s generously letting us borrow. Serious dollars saved there.

Here’s the plan: On Thursday morning, we take the old Sunset van up to Fogarty. With only two front seats and zero padding, it has plenty of cargo room and wouldn’t be bothered by a hosing down after the job. Michael will lead us to the vineyard, where we’ll pick 500 pounds of Syrah. (Note to self: Get some of those plastic binlike things that restaurant-supply stores sell, to pick into, and remind Team Wine to bring their garden clippers from home, because Mike’s staff will be using all of his official hooked grape-picking knives—must find out what they’re called.)

Then we’ll have a picnic. Team Wine is all about enjoying every part of this project—just not too much, because the real work will be looming: an afternoon of crushing at Sunset. Stay tuned to see if we go the mechanical route or foot it!