Brennan, his girlfriend Nadia, I, and Carucha the puppy piled into Brennan’s VW Gol, and headed to Vista Flores.  As we drove south, I was entertained by the distant snow capped peaks, shrouded in cotton candy clouds.  At times it was actually quite difficult to tell if I was looking at a cloud, or a mountain poking its glaciated head through, floating like an Andean Olympus.  It became exceedingly obvious where inspiration for the Argentine flag came from; the pale blue sky, fluffy white clouds, and bright sun out the car window were the flag come to life—minus the smiley face on the sun.

                   We visited a large vineyard where Brennan sources Syrah, Petite Verdot and Cab Sav.  The Syrah was on point; however we were a little concerned about the Petite Verdot.  The vines had way too much fruit, and way too little canopy.  We were doubtful if there’d be enough photosynthetic power to push all the clusters through to full ripeness.  Some berries were still green, which should not be the case at this juncture in time.  Brennan may cut his Petite Verdot order and up his Syrah order, as Syrah grapes are kinder on the pocketbook anyways. 

After scouting the vineyard, we attempted to squeeze in a tasting at a local Bodega.  Typically a previously scheduled appointment is required, but we decided to try our luck anyways.  We pulled up to Bodega Castro, or a house with a small sign on the fence that said Bodega Castro.  A greeting party of dogs from the neighbor’s house alerted the Bodega Castro staff to our presence.  An elderly gentleman in a wife beater with food on his face, poked his head out of the front door and told us he’d be with us in a moment. 

               A couple minutes later the man, Rueben, emerged in a button down shirt, and warmly greeted us.  He showed us his winery, which was essentially a detached garage, with three small outdoor concrete fermentors.  Following the tour, he led us into the tasting room, or kitchen of his house.  He pulled two bottles of white and a bottle of red from the fridge.  The first white he pulled for us was his Secco Muscadelle Rosada, which had two things I couldn’t figure out.  For being secco, it was quite sweet, also how is a white wine rosada?   Then we tasted his Dulce Muscadelle Rosada, which was hands down his best.  It had some floral notes, with crisp acidity, in short it was drinkable.  Then we tried his Merlot.  From the first whiff I knew we were in for something on the side of horse piss.  He poured two huge glasses for the three of us to share.  Nadia and Brennan each took polite tastes, and placed their glass down.  Unfortunately I was the member of our party who was not pregnant or driving, so it fell on me to finish the wretched glasses with a smile, through watering eyes, so as not to offend Ruben’s generosity.  Ruben congratulated Nadia and Brennan on their upcoming bundle of joy, then added, somewhat off topic, “Yeah, and it’ll be great if he stays faithful.”  Nadia reacted with an appropriate amount of shock.  Apparently Ruben has had a problem in the past with women throwing themselves at him, no doubt out of lust for his rotund, paunchy belly and absent two lower front teeth.  He then poured us a Cabernet, which was better than the Merlot, but not by much.  He opened up and shared that he’d been making wine for years, but was not an actual enologist, having never completed the schooling , a fact which shocked none of us.  We felt obliged to purchase some wine, which was selling for around $4 a bottle.  There were only two bottles of the dulce left, so we picked those up, but felt we should take a bit more off Ruben’s hands.  Ruben’s scam was that he would only sell the wine in six packs.  We knew we definitely didn’t want the Cab or Merlot, and in this case the devil we didn’t know had to be better than the devil we did.  We reluctantly bought a six pack of Tempranillo, keeping our fingers crossed that it would be good enough to cook with, which upon later sensory analysis it was, barely.  Ruben told me I should move to Argentina and buy his winery from him, as he’s getting up there in years.  I told him I would think about it.  On the drive home, Brennan told me that Bodega Castro’s wine was on the palatable side of much “artisanal” wine here, which gave me great confidence in my own abilities as a vintner.