Making low intervention wine out of principle (but also out of necessity)

After we sent our Tupungatino cuadrilla home, Emi and I were walking the vineyard. Everything around us was alive: there were birds flying over the parrales, insects feeding off the many flowers growing between the vines, little worms crawling through the soil, and streams of melt water straight from the Andes running through the ancient channels dug between the vines. The vineyard was organic – not in the sense that an inspector came to check on it yearly to sign a certificate. But in the sense that it was left alone and no fungicides or pesticides were used (or “wasted”) on Criollas. True no/low intervention viticulture. As a result, the old vineyard had become an ecosystem, self-regulating and thriving with life, big or small.

Criollas typically grow on parrales, and they cannot be tended to by machines. The bunches hang too high and are not organized in neat rows – all things robots and big money hate. That means that the soil is not compacted by the weight of heavy machinery passing several times a year. The soil can breathe and allow life in all its layers vital to nurture the roots of the vines. Parrales also leave room for other plants to grow at their feet and in their shadow, and that in turn creates a beautiful symbiosis between vines and flowers and herbs. Sometimes, you will inexplicably find aromas in wine that bear resemblance to the aromas of the herbs that grow around the vines. Coincidence, science or witchcraft? I can only say our Criollas too have a herbal touch that tastes like the jarilla growing among the vines.

So our harvest was hundred percent manual labor and every bunch passed through our hands. When we were done loading all our cases in the truck, Emi sent Juli and me off to drop the grapes in Juli’s garage and begin making wine. It was only when hurtling down the road connecting the vineyard with Tunuyan, where we would make our wine, that it dawned on me that we did not have anything to make wine with. “We don’t need anything – just a neutral vessel and our feet”, was Emi’s response. I realized the little I had learned so far about automatic de-stemmers, pneumatic presses and temperature controlled tanks, would not be of any use in our after-hours venture.

“Wash and get in”. We had no time to lose. We had 450 kilos of white Criollas that needed to be crushed to release the juice before nightfall. So I washed and disinfected my feet and legs, got into a 200 liter tank and started foot threading, while Juli dunked case after case in my tank. The benefit of crushing grapes with your feet is that a human is unlikely to crush the seeds, which would release a lot of bitterness in the juice. It also so happens that the human body at 36°C is the perfect temperature to warm the juice just enough for native yeasts to start the fermentation. Our crushing was again one hundred percent manual labor.

To fight the fatigue and to keep up the morale, Juli brought out a speaker and put on his techno playlist. And that is how for the second time that Sunday, I stomped away the hours to the beat of a bass.