VinebyLine	Postcard Mendoza by Paula Paradise

Sunday 6/22/08. I am boarding the first of four planes for a 24-hour journey that will take me deep into Argentina’s largest and most significant wine region, the Mendoza Valley. I am scheduled to convene with a dozen or so wine professionals from across the US in the city of Mendoza, where we will meet with wine producers, tour vineyards, and taste the wines represented by American importer Fran Kysela.

Arrival. June marks the start of the Argentine winter. Under the spectacular nebulae of the Southern Cross, five of us are gathered, the lone guests on the deserted front patio of the Park Hyatt Hotel, in the center of the city of Mendoza, directly facing the Plaza Independencia. Dried leaves rustle by the metal legs of our chairs. Periodically, I spy a stray dog trotting through the shadows of the plaza with its head hung low, giving the impression that it is conducting serious business. In the light of day, I will discover that there is no shortage of feral dogs in Mendoza.

Our hosting winery, Chakana, which also makes wine under the labels Maipe and Cueva de las Manos, has sent their marketing director, Julián Orti, to the hotel to greet us. Our road-weary group settles into a pleasant conversation with Julián about the history of Mendoza, its Italian-based culture, and the soaring price of oil. We order a round of Carlos I brandy (rich, Spanish brandy) from the hotel, which warms us as the thin mountain air penetrates our light jackets. I am listening to Julián’s description of life in Mendoza when the reality of our geographical location slowly sinks in and with a slight shiver I think about the snow-drenched Andes.

One enormous mountain range separates Santiago, Chile, from the Mendoza region. Earlier that day, at sunrise, I had watched from the airplane window as we flew over desolate, snowy peaks, including the highest mountain in the Americas, mount Aconcagua. Mendoza’s sprawling vineyards run north to south following the line of the Andes at altitudes ranging between 2,000-3,000 feet above sea level. In Mendoza, the mountains are the ever-present backdrop, dominating the skyline.

Though I am primarily here to learn about the wines of Argentina, in truth, it is the cuisine that dominates my impressions. In part, this is because of my naivety about the culture (this is my first visit to Argentina), but also because of the festive spirit that accompanies each of our meals, and I quickly become fascinated by the foods of this region. And the wines, though satisfying and often delicious, happily play a supporting role to the staged main attraction: meat.

I expect to eat meat, and lots of it. I’ve been forewarned, but it is not until we actually begin our dining experiences that I fully comprehend how important a staple meat is to the Argentine diet. In our honor, an asado or barbecue is prepared on three separate occasions on consecutive days. Typically, assorted meats are grilled outside on a rack or slow cooked by hanging a rack of ribs over an open pit. Separately, in a wood-fired adobe oven, appetizer-sized empanadas are baked. Traditionally, these triangle shaped, bite-sized appetizers are filled with ground meat, sautéed onion, garlic, green olive, and a bit of hard-boiled egg. My favorite, though, is one plump with creamed sweet corn.

The asado begins only after we have consumed a meal of empanadas, cold sliced sausages, olives and often a bit of arugula salad. For the main course, a parade of various beef products from the grill are stacked on platters and passed around family style. Chorizo and morcilla, or fresh blood sausage made with a dash of blood from a freshly slaughtered pig (grilled in casing, not cured), are offered separately with crusty dinner rolls. To eat the blood sausage—a sort of loose style paté that looks like rough chopped black olives in a chunky tapenade—one pushes the sausage out of the casing with a fork and heaps it on top of a bit of roll. I do not recommend morcilla for squeamish dinners. At various times our side dishes feature pureed squash, tomato wedges, eggplant slices, mashed potatoes, or fried sweet potatoes.

On one occasion, we are served roasted baby goat, a Mendoza specialty known simply as chivito. Although I have eaten both baby lamb and suckling pig while in Spain, I am unsure, as are many of my fellow travelers, if this culinary experience will bring enjoyment or repulsion.

This much anticipated feast, sponsored by one of our winery hosts, is held in a modern Mendoza restaurant, Don Mario, which is owned by the father of the wine producer. As the dinner hour in Mendoza (as is the case for most warm climate cultures) does not begin before 9:30pm, we arrive at the restaurant at 10pm. First, chilled platters of prosciutto, sliced, cured sausage, olives, and dried tomatoes are served along with baskets of crusty rolls. A crisp white wine made from the highly aromatic torrontes grape nicely compliments the saltiness and the following salad course—arugula with sweet onion and cabbage with red beets. I have by now not eaten fresh greens in days and, ravenous for vegetables, we all temporarily forget our ambivalence towards the impending entrée. After several rounds of the slightly tropical torrontes, our glasses are filled with a deep ruby-colored malbec. Just as I am enjoying swirling the wine and taking in its ripe blackberry and fresh woodsy aromas, my olfactory senses are suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of crispy hot fat.

Three silver platters arrive, each one holding the entire rib cage of the chivito. With the meat still crackling from the high temperatures of the oven, they are placed in front of us atop a lit sterno, which maintains the warmth of the meat while producing just the faintest sound of sizzling fat. Warily eyeing the trays, I am relieved that on this occasion our chivito is headless and hoofless.

After one or two tentative forkfuls, and a couple large swallows of malbec, I am surprised to find that myself and the other diners have quite suddenly developed a lusty appetite for this delicacy. The tastiness of the meat is incredible—somewhat akin to roast pork, but exceedingly richly marbled with a brown-butter fattiness. The taste is alluring, hypnotic and the texture is moist and tender. A retailer from Michigan comments that the meat is so delicious he felt as though he is eating sin. The malbec matches the food perfectly, unbending to the palate-coating grizzle. The wine’s rich blackberry fruit, fresh acidity and finely tuned tannins wipe away the build-up of meat flavors and cleanse the palate (but not the sin).

Sometimes we are fed beef twice a day and whereas, most Argentinians prefer their steak well-done, on every occasion our gracious hosts thoughtfully prepare the meat for the American palate—medium to rare. Although, I attempt to sample some of the many yummy desserts that are offered to our group, and confessedly I did develop a slight addiction to a light caramel product known as dulce de leche, our daily intake of meat left little room for dessert. On one of the last days of the trip while visiting a winery we are provided with a light luncheon featuring a 12-ounce beef filet. Someone in our group jokingly asides—finally some meat!