We didn't notice it when we first moved in. The front of our building was really leafy that September, but I thought the foliage was ivy of some sort. That winter, our neighbors told us to cut down the big, ugly, dilapidated brown stalk they said was a dead grapevine. We didn't listen, and last summer were rewarded when it came back to life and produced dozens of bunches of grapes. Same thing this year.

We abandoned our delusions of becoming Manhattan's first vineyard when a flavor-chemist identified the unmistakable scent of methyl anthranilate: they're Concord grapes. So, we stick to jelly, and hopefully this year, my pal Johnny Iuzzini will come over and make some granita.

The Lane Grape Jelly