A guy at one of our dinners told me he doesn't like Argentine wine.
I asked what he'd tried. He said Malbec. I asked which one. He looked at me like I'd asked him which water.
That's the Malbec problem. We did such a good job selling one grape to the world that most people think it's the only one we have. Meanwhile, back home, half the bottles I'd actually want to drink on a Tuesday night aren't Malbec at all.
So let me open a few other bottles for you.
First, the Altitude Thing
Before the grapes, you need to understand one number: how high up the vineyard is.
Argentine wine happens on the eastern side of the Andes, in the desert. It barely rains. There's almost nothing to make the vines sick, which is why a lot of producers farm organically without making a religion out of it. The water comes from snowmelt, running down from the mountains through channels the Huarpe people were using long before anybody planted a vine.
Now go up. In Mendoza's Uco Valley you're at three, four, five thousand feet. In Cafayate, up in Salta, some vineyards sit above eight thousand. The sun up there is brutal, so the skins get thick and dark. But the nights are cold, and cold nights keep the acidity alive. That's the whole trick. Ripe fruit that still tastes fresh, in a place where by rights the wine should taste like jam.
Same grape, thousand feet up or down, completely different wine. Once you understand that, "Malbec" stops being an answer and starts being a question.
Recommended Malbecs you can find in Miami: “El Esteco blend de extremos Malbec, Salta - $18”, “A Lisa Malbec, Patagonia - $20”, “Altar Uco Edad Moderna Malbec - $29”
Bonarda, the One Nobody Mentions
Second most planted red grape in Argentina, and you've probably never had a glass.
It isn't even Italian, despite the name. Ampelographers eventually worked out it's Douce Noire, from Savoie in the French Alps, where it's nearly extinct. It came over with the immigrants, got planted everywhere in the east of Mendoza and San Juan, and for a century went straight into cheap blends and boxed wine. Nobody bothered to take it seriously.
Then a handful of producers noticed those old, ignored vineyards were sitting on vines eighty or a hundred years old. Now Bonarda done properly is dark, juicy, low in tannin, with this violet and blackberry thing and a sour cherry bite at the end. It drinks cold. It costs half what a Malbec of the same quality costs.
Recommended Bonarda: “Zuccardi Emma Bonarda, Mendoza - $46”, “El Enemigo Bonarda, Mendoza - $34”
Cabernet Franc Is Having a Moment
Ten years ago almost nobody in Argentina made a serious varietal Cabernet Franc. Now it's the grape every winemaker wants to talk about, and honestly I think it's our best shot at the next big thing.
In Gualtallary, in the high Uco Valley, the soil is full of chalk and rock, and the Cabernet Franc that comes out of there is nothing like the herbal, green stuff people are scared of. Red fruit, crushed stone, a little black pepper, this tension that makes you take another sip before you've finished thinking about the first one.
It's the bottle I open when somebody tells me they only drink Bordeaux.
Recommended Cabernet Franc: “Rutini Single Vineyard Gualtallary Cabernet Franc, Mendoza - $62”, “Zaha Cabernet Franc, Mendoza - $25”
Torrontés, Misunderstood
Torrontés smells like a perfume counter. Jasmine, roses, orange peel, lychee. Every instinct says it's going to be sweet.
Then it's bone dry, and people get confused and decide they don't like it.
The good ones, mostly from Cafayate, make sense with the right food. It's a killer with ceviche, with anything fried, with spicy Southeast Asian food, with a plate of hard cheese and green olives while the fire gets going. Serve it cold but not freezing. Too cold and you lose the nose, which is the entire reason to drink it.
Skip anything sitting on a shelf longer than two years. This is a wine you drink young.
Recommended Torrontes: “Yacochuya Torrontes, Salta - $26”, “Gran enemigo Torrontes, Mendoza - $100”, “Zuccardi Serie A Torrontes, Salta - $16”
Criolla, Which Was Here First
Criolla is the old colonial grape, the one the Spanish brought in the 1500s. Same family as the Mission grape in California and País in Chile. For generations they considered it junk, good for jug wine and nothing else. Thousands of acres got torn out to plant something more marketable.
What survived is old. Really old. Vines that have been in the ground longer than anyone's grandfather, dry-farmed, gnarled, half-forgotten.
The natural wine crowd got there first, and now there are pale, light, faintly wild Criollas coming out of Mendoza and La Rioja that taste like nothing else in the country. Chill them. Drink them with empanadas. Don't overthink it.
And if you want the honest version of Argentine wine history, remember what the old guys drank at the table: a rough red mixed with soda water and ice, in a tumbler, in the middle of the afternoon. That was never precious. It was just lunch.
Recommended Criolla: “Vallisto Extremo criolla, Salta - $35”
Patagonian Whites, the Ones I Hide
Down in Río Negro and Neuquén, the wind comes off the steppe hard enough to make it difficult to farm anything. There are Semillón vines down there from the 1930s, planted by immigrants who had no idea they were leaving us a gift.
Patagonian Semillón is textured, a little waxy, saline, and it ages better than it has any right to. There's Chardonnay and Pinot Noir down there too, leaner and more nervous than anything from Mendoza.
These are the bottles I don't always put on the list, because I want to drink them myself.
Recommended Patagonian Wines: “Barda Pinot Noir - $30”, “Chacra 55 Pinot Noir - $70”, “Otronia 45 White Blend - $35”, “Noemia Malbec - $143”
What to Buy
If you take one thing from this: stop shopping for grapes and start shopping for places. Ask where in Mendoza. Ask how high. A Malbec from Gualtallary and a Malbec from the flats east of the city are two different drinks wearing the same label.
And next time you're in a shop, buy the Bonarda. Worst case, you're out fifteen dollars and I owe you a glass of something better.
Best case, you finally get what we've been drinking all along.
Brian, your local sommelier
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