An Argentinian lunch takes a turn

Birds. Lots and lots of birds. That was the first thing I heard waking up. Harvest was a little late this year, so I did not need to work my first weekend in my new home, Tupungato. With a free weekend stretching out in front of me, I messaged Emi – the winemaker who had connected me with the winery I ended up working – to finally meet in person. “I’ll come and pick you up, we are going to a tasting tonight.”

In the pouring rain, we, an Argentinian winemaker and Belgian sommelier who had just met in real life, drove up to a beautiful garden to meet a group of a dozen sommeliers from Buenos Aires and Mar del Plata. A fire was burning in the back, a grill readied to carry heaps of meat and bottles were passed around a large table. Everyone seemed to know Emi. No one seemed surprised he brought a guest. I was met with the warm curiosity that marked so many of my encounters in Argentina. With each bottle opened, my regret of not having downloaded Duolingo before that morning lessened. My first Saturday night proved to be a crash course in Argentinian wines (forget all the Malbecs you ever bought in a European supermarket), the art of winemaking (a calling as much as a profession) and the culture of wine drinking in Argentina (wine is nothing short of poetry of the senses). I realized I knew nothing of the place I found myself in.

To thank Emi for his charitable work of taking a stray Belgian sommelier under his wings, I invited him to lunch a week later. Coming from opposite worlds, we bonded over humita (an amazing Andean corn dish) and great wines, marveled over their power to connect people to one another, to history and to places. Many hours and glasses later, we realized that our shared passion for honest wines transcended our differences.

“What if we made wine together?”, Emi asked. My legal mind immediately spotted a million risks and reasons to say: “no gracias”. “Is that even possible?” I retorted. “Anything is possible here”, Emi said, summarizing the Argentinian spirit. “You said you liked natural wines. But during the day you make conventional wines. So let’s make some natural wine at night. Get in the car”.  Curiosity trumped my inclination to disobey orders from men. Ten minutes later, I was walking among thick, juicy, symmetrical bunches of grapes hanging high from the parral trellises, like giant lampoons under a green canopy of leaves against a backdrop of snow-capped mountain peaks. “These are Criollas. Our native grapes.” Emi explained, lovingly  petting the grapes. “You want?”

I did want. And I did buy. Grapes. Lots and lots of grapes. 900 kgs of white and red Criollas that were still ripening on the vine but that were destined to shrivel if it were not for an enterprising Argentinian winemaker and his new Belgian friend.

Stay tuned for Chapter 3 – Harvesting more than grapes