Maipú 2: Memory as Fiction?

(Weather’s turned with a vengeance-- variable & cloudy for nearly two weeks, with dramatic bouts of rain & thunder. I only managed my first run in a week yesterday...)

When the voice of Maria Callas came through the
speakers in Dr. Pedro Rosell’s 4x4 compact, my tipsy
dehydration spun into dizzy culture shock. To my
embarrassment on being corrected & immediately
recognizing the muted brass tone in the voice’s lower
register, the name I’d unreflectively blurted out
was, ‘Montserrat Caballé?!’

I made an attempt to recover some cultural
credibility by asking if it was the mad scene from
‘Lucia di Lammermoor’— but I was wrong, again.
It was another mad scene, the kind on which Callas
built her name & reputation, attacking them as she
did at truly frightening emotional pitch; but this
was Verdi’s ‘Macbeth’.

I could lay some responsibility for my slightly
delirious state at the feet of Dr. Rosell’s
charm & generosity—
At ‘Campo Negro’, the intimately scaled facility
he's gradually built & shares with some of his
winemaking students, I finally had a taste of the
elusive St. Jeannet.
Only a hint of subtler, more complex character was
left in the wine after nearly a month sitting around
the winery in a hand-stoppered bottle— all tart
Granny Smith apple by then, but surprisingly
crisp & bright.
(The winery has no onsite storage & the lone bottle
was the result of some serendipitous forgetfulness.)

I was then treated to a course in local terroir,
sampling five Malbecs-- one each from the lower
bench & the 900 meter ridge planting blocks
of ‘El Reposo’ vineyard, where we were
located; & three from a property in ‘La Consulta’,
which is near San Carlos towards the southern end
of Valle de Uco— one of them a different clone-- also
planted at varying, if much higher, elevations…
Then he served three Cabernet samples from the
same high altitude vineyard, then a Merlot…

Now, after introducing me to his wife, heiress of
the Navarro Correas family, & freshening my palate
with a glass of his new baby bubbly, he wanted to show
me this baby’s birthplace-- his new partnership’s
winery home, 'Bodega Cruzat', still being built in
Perdriel, & dedicated exclusively to producing
sparkling wines…

What particularly fueled my sense of culture shock—
or more like social dislocation—is that I’d managed to
find Campo Negro winery after having lunch at a truck
stop depot, the storage & rest area for a shipping
company that carries corn feed & oil from Córdoba
to Chile.
The woman running the depot kitchen had worked
at what once was a sweet little place called
‘La Casa de Ofelia’, now locked behind a cyclone-fence
gate sporting a ‘For Sale’ sign. I learned this from
her sister, who owns a little kiosk or ‘despensa’
further down Franklin Villanueva road, where I
stopped, after the morning’s first vigorous sixty-odd
minute hike, to rehydrate & ask about alternatives
for a bite to eat. After hearing some of my story, she
dissuaded me from taking what admittedly looked
like a particularly desolate stretch of dirt road to loop
my way back home to Bodega Cecchin & actually drove
me to the lunch room at the depot.
On top of everything else, the sisters (-apologies,
must ask to be reminded of their names!) turned
out to be cousins to my host at the time, Oscar
Alberto Cecchin!

To backtrack further: I had arrived fifteen minutes
after Midday to find the gates to Domaine Saint Diego
closed, & I’d been told Sr. Mendoza & his family
were actually just back from vacation & the winery
would reopen the following day.
I would end up hiking about 28 kilometres (17.5 miles)
the next day, twice to the winery & back, with similarly
disappointing results…

(--to be continued...)

Fibra de Rosa o Apoyo Incierto

para Varda y Phyllis Rae
--la ocasión y las claves del deseo

entrañable imperfección
de cada cuerpo calado
que teme ser amable—
fibra de rosa o apoyo incierto

el tiempo aprieta su paso
-- ¿nos pisará los talones?
y marca con honda huella
su sellado anonimato

sólo la planta desnuda
rinde el saber de su callo
por reflejar la cabeza
y la palma emular, de la mano

Meetings in Maipú: Part One

(Struggling to structure a narrative out of my week
in Maipú, I'll do my best to correct my tendency to
write episodes for unfinished serials...)

My planned three-day visit to Bodega Cecchin stretched
out into a five-night stay, & I confess I wasn’t
looking forward to coming back into town last Thursday.
It merely meant returning to my laptop, which takes me
irregularly, haphazardly online by latching onto stray
(government?) office Wi-Fi network signals in my
sweltering room, & to buzzing mosquitoes that feed on
my insomnia & remind me I carry the dark & bittersweet
Puerto Rico of my soul with me wherever I may go-- as
formative, enduring experience.

The excuse for my delayed return was Oscar Alberto
Cecchin’s fairly insistent recommendation that I meet
Ángel ‘el Petiso’ Mendoza, a supremely knowledgeable
winemaker who, more or less in Alberto’s words,
(my translation) knows,
‘how to make wine, how to manufacture wine &
how to let wine make itself’.
This felt like a setup for a test of my palate in figuring
out how interventionist or not he might be with the
product of his ‘boutique’ winery, ‘Domaine San Diego’:
Señor Mendoza made his name & career working for
historically important producer Peñaflor, which was
bought in 1997-- along with the slightly more upscale,
if still mass-market, Trapiche label-- by
Donaldson, Lufkin, & Jenrette from the 2^nd
Italo-Argentino generation of the Pulenta family,
originally from Ancona in Le Marche.

Tuesday morning around eleven-thirty, a little later
than I’d intended, I set out on foot to cover the six or
so kilometers to Sr. Mendoza’s winery in the
Lunlunta district of Maipú. However, I had another,
adjunct mission—somewhat more complicated but
closer to my grape-geek’s vinous heart…
On one of my online rambles, sometime back home in
Puerto Rico, I’d found a write-up on an Argentinian
bottling of a rare white varietal— the French-sounding
St. Jeannet, which the marketing cheat-sheet I’d come
across identified as having an Italian origin, however—
here’s the (just retrieved) core of what I found:

• 2005 Finca Reposo Old Vine Saint Jeannet

specification:
alc./ vol: 13.6%
Total Acid: 4.80 g/l
VA: 0.22
Res. Sug: 1.18 g/l
pH: 3.3

Appellation: Estate grown, Cruz de Piedra,
Mendoza, Argentina.

Finca El Reposo or basically “Resting Vineyard” is
a 90 + year old vineyard in the premium growing
area of Cruz de Piedra, Mendoza.
It contains some of the most interesting Cab/Sauv
in Argentina as well as very rare Saint Jeannet,
an ancient, Italian white variety, long lost
from the world.

The character of the wines are impacted by a
stoney, very poor soil, located just east of
Lujan de Cuyo and at an altitude of 3214 feet
above sea level.
This wine was fermented in stainless steel and
has 100% malolactic fermentation.
Being old-vine, the vineyards yield very little fruit.
This year, tonnage was only 2.7 per acre.

Winemakers:

Pedro Rosell & Cristian Allamand.

SouthernWineGroup.com

I had forgotten the ‘El Reposo’ name & except for some
recollection of rehearsing, 'Je suis passionné de cépages
rares!' ('I'm fascinated by rare varietals!) I can't for the
life of me remember how Brigitte Subra, co-owner with
her husband Philippe of 'Carinae, Viñedos y Bodega',
came to make some markings on a photocopied map
indicating the vague whereabouts & phone of a small
winery with the somewhat ominous name of
'Campo Negro' ('Black Field')...
It was located somewhere on a dirt road branching East
off Maza towards Cruz de Piedra, on the way to Lunlunta,
at the level of Amézcuaga-- which led West to Luján de
Cuyo, 5 km away.
Confused? Not half as much as I was...

(...continuará...)

Andropause Mendoza: Mo' Better Confessional Mission Disclosure Statements

My blogging mentor, Terry H., has touchingly expressed some concern in his blog:

'I'm worried about David J

Dude, you sound like you're off your meds. Know the problem well. Be careful. I don't want another Motorcycle Diaries to deal with. Anyway, the only person you could go to work for today would be Chavez. Don't be like Matilda and run way VenzuelAH.'

Hmmm... a worrying expression of worry-- written in code, it would seem...
I guess I've been sounding like some sort of contentious revolutionist-- but what pushes my buttons in the statement is the mood-control-by-prescription angle.
...well, Dr. Terry, if you're the one to write me some script, I'll consider taking the Big Pharma vehicle for a ride...I'm just not sure how much of a Gonzo-journalist joyride it might actually be.
To follow through on the bit of my late brother's story begun here:
Zoloft, Xanax & some updated version of Antabuse supposed to help curb Alberto's Gargantuan appetite for drink were the official chemical cocktail my late brother ran on.
Myself, I've been on Lithium & Merital on occasion, with not the most positive results...

Certainly seems like my libido will not 'go gently into that good night'-- I'll guess just have to get used to the shameful complexities of... browsing porn through bifocals.

--my fave Police song: Bring On The Night!
--'I couldn't stand another minute of daylight'--
Daylight Savings Time in Mendoza is like, to quote another little pop jewel from that late 70's/early 80's liminal shadowland,
'putting out the fire/with gasoline'...

feel down, fuel up
sink in thought & fill it out

release the lesser vehicle
to dive under ground & ride in style

out of the past
in fossil-fueled wingless flight

no landing strip
in sight or sound...

'Forget it, Jake- it's Mendoza'

I wander from city to village, among figures in a changing landscape...

I'm champing at the bit in the relentless, soul-sapping heat, looking forward to taking a 'vacation' from my frustrating, thus far fruitless struggle to network among winemakers, & riding a train as far South as I can-- in Chile, where rumor has it there is still some working passenger service: to Temuco, with its Pablo Neruda Railroad Museum; to Puerto Montt...?
--maybe take the ferry to the island of Chiloé...

I've been e-mailing the occasional random comment to friends concerning the-- strange, obvious, fanciful?-- analogies between Mendoza & the city of Los Angeles:
as a widely spread conurbation in a semi-arid, earthquake-prone valley bowl where water rights are a crucial (survival & political) issue, Mendoza would seem to conflate-- or tangle up?-- the Northern & Southern economic & environmental paradigms of the Golden State--
where the wine business is largely, to this day, an aristocratic, old money club; with exponential growth only lately fueled by a major influx of European capital & supported by its marketing channels; & with all of the exclusive, rigidly segmented social hierarchies reminiscent of the (Spanish colonial) Old West (--& Old Hollywood) still in place...

I mean, imagine Hollywood with a more prominent, clearly evident Spanish character--
as late as the end of the 1930's there were exclusive bridle paths for film industry moguls to ride to their studios-- Spanish riding culture being another peculiarly aristocratic link between these sprawling towns...
...as far as the look & decentered 'feel' of the place, the historical heart of Mendoza was flattened by a major earthquake in 1861 & there is very little remnant of its colonial origins-- major but 'only mid-strength' temblors have ocurred as recently as 1985 & 2006...

As if to more securely ground this speculative train of thought, a documentary on the local Public TV station yesterday alerted me to the efforts of a group of journalists & film historians to document, salvage, & exhibit the record & extant examples of what may have been, at one time, a locally thriving film industry-- with a documentary tradition going back to the late 1920's & their first silent fiction feature dating to 1938.
Amazing. The group itself was surprised at the amount of material moldering away in various institutional film archives in Buenos Aires. The most impressive-- & charming-- piece of filmmaking showcased was, to these eyes, a Western parody rather obviously titled 'El Último Cowboy'. The selection of clips evidenced excellent visual, photographic & directorial quality; it seemed a well-acted, spot-on satire featuring droll, dry humor which may (or may not?) be another regional Mendocino character trait...

Mendoza: Season of the Kvetch

The timing of my arrival at this particular edge of the Western winemaking world may have been especially unfortunate-- too close to the Holiday Season, which dovetails right into Summer vacation & is celebrated with leisurely, wine-soaked, late night asados-- featuring huge chunks of beef grilled in the backyard or the balcony-- as the sweltering, lingering heat of the evening finally cools down. This lifestyle might account for difficulties in casually setting up meetings--& my growing sense of a general unavailability in people.

I wonder if it's not a stretch of social psychology to look at the way class structure & rural conservatism might intensify the more general Argentino passive-aggressive traits to a particularly frustrating pitch in the Mendocino character--
One might unspool the theory of a provincial tendency-- pressure, even-- to be friendly & welcoming, that, hemmed in & compromised by harsh economic realities, results in inner conflict & dissonance, projected as fictionalizing self-aggrandizement...

It seems nearly everybody I meet has a cousin, an uncle, an ex-fiancé or former classmate in the wine industry. Sommeliers, waiters & waitresses & anybody else having dealings at any level with the business of wine warn me about how clannish & mercenary the big players are.

Everybody thinks my project-- co-branded small batches of minimally interventionist wine, marketed through a protected, streamlined 'supply chain' of emigrated Argentinos, & used to fund a network of cafés dedicated to linking diverse migrant groups' cultures--
is inspirational-- complex, but ultimately doable-- even of possible great social & economic import!
-- so people sign up on the idea emotionally, & generously bring their suggestions & solutions to the conversation-- but nobody calls back, nobody comes by with their friend as promised, nobody sends the introductory email linking me to the recommended key player that could, might, should help put the pieces together...

But maybe it's just me-- maybe my meagre, near-autistic social skills are not up to juggling the subtle negotiating complexities of such a multi-faceted undertaking-- least of all in a place like Mendoza, with its Byzantine, post-colonial socio-economic layering...

Orientado al Sur, Aliento busca Norte

merced al antojo y cólicos de añoranza convulsa
el viajero mide infructuosamente cada paso de su ruta perdida

extrañando cada paraje superado
o meramente anterior
a cada techo que le separó de la noche--

cada lecho que le permitió levantarse aún al día
después de machacarle al esqueleto
largas estaciones de avanzada soledad

buscando reflejar sobre pies al aire
un aliento repite al otro en espejo turbio

bajo el agua corriente que lava la vista
encostrada de ilusiones en polvorosa
un aliento repite al otro

Dusty Foothills of the Andes, the French update!

I woke up in a pool of sweat on the breaking edge of predawn, my heart overwhelmed by a fit of arrhythmic palpitations. Taking deep breaths, the pounding would quiet down, then cycle up again as I was about to sink back into sleep.
The first night in my apartment share did not go too well. I'm not sure I can last the whole month I've committed to paying for, here: Summer's barely getting started & Mendoza finds relief from its dry, desert heat in bouts of sweltering humidity as storm fronts push over the Andes & unload their rain on the way down the slopes before they reach the dusty, smoggy bowl of a valley that cradles this city of open ditches, abandoned railway tracks & wild apricots...
...

Four days later I'm much better & actually enjoying a gusty, blustery Christmas afternoon, with thunder rumbling around low, swirling stormclouds. I missed meeting up with 'los hermanos Garramuño', Frank & Santiago, yesterday. Santiago & sister Valentina both live in Puerto Rico; Valentina works for Argentina-centric wine importer/distributor Bodegar.
A second cup of espresso meant to kill some waiting time downtown kept me up all night & got me out for a daybreak run after a light Nochebuena dinner (Mesclun salad with an artichoke & pimento vinaigrette, smoked Boar & Ñandu cold cuts & a loaf of grilled garlic bread on the side, washed down with some so-so Sauv Blanc) --shared with Leandro, the flatmate I'd yet to meet as he was gone to Tucumán on work-related travel when I moved in. Now he's off to Perú for his three weeks' vacation: January to Argentinos seems like August to the French...
...

Speaking of the French, I need to make a red-faced correction to this little write-up:
it seems Restaurant Trois Cent Onze, my home base for fine dining in Old San Juan, has had a website up since 2006!
Christophe-- désolé, je t'en prie de m'excuser...

Meanwhile, there's a little French restaurant name of 'Sans Souci' here in Mendoza, on the edge of the goverment office quarter. As I can attest from personal experience, it's not the most welcoming area at night, & their business mainstay is 'executive lunches' (closer to the 'platos combinados' of Spain than to the de rigeur, legally mandated, three-course prix-fixe lunch every restaurant must offer there) catering mostly to personnel from the Provincial & National courts nearby.
The two partners will celebrate their year in business when they get back from vacation on February 5th-- seems everybody working in the judicial system, from judges & lawyers down to the lowliest assistant & dictation taker, gets 45 days paid vacation, and though- of course!- there is some staggering of schedules so the system doesn't completely shut down, the slowdown during January, the peak Summer month, is dramatic enough that it's just not worth the expense of staying open...
Sans-Souci had been attracting attention for holding regular winemaker events last Spring so I look forward to February. The kitchen is young but they've wowed me with a great salad featuring Salmon Tartare, & some fresh & tasty Chicken Liver Mousse. I'll have to cultivate a more carnivorous mood to dive into their hanger steak-- 'onglet' en Français, 'entraña' en Castellano.

New American Port-- Old Mendoza Hand?

I'm catching up in fits & starts with the wine blogosphere, after minimal contact over the last month, & was happily flattered to discover that my suggestion for a name for American fortified wines that did not infringe on Portuguese Port's DO protection was worth public mention in Jim Gordon's blog for the online edition of the Wine Enthusiast, Unreserved. Thank you, Jim: it feels like a nice validation of my meagre talents at this stage in my life & non-existent career in wine & marketing...

For those of you keeping score, I finally sat down to my first Asado de Lomo de Vaca, weighing in at 400 grams-- 14.08 ounces by my calculations, last Tuesday the 18th, to celebrate my first lunar month in Argentina. The location was the lovely patio courtyard of 'La Chancha' (The Sow!) --right next to the swimming pool.
It's a gem of a restaurant, located in Barrio Bombal, a socially diverse suburb just ouside of Mendoza downtown that links up with Godoy Cruz, once upon a time a separate little town that was swallowed up much in the way that Barrio de Gracia, La Salud & Sants were by the growth of Barcelona. 'La Chancha' is not a well-kept secret, as a full young crowd gave evidence last night, when I returned to try the pork version of the dish.
Owner Diego is a recovering adman (--you're not alone, Terry!) just starting a new career as an Architect. I'll try to get some pertinent facts next time I visit. He likes spicy foods, associated in Argentina with the subtropical Northeast of the country, & he got some ginger to douse the pork in a ginger-pineapple sauce after I mentioned a similar preparation as the Christmas dish I had in one of the happier occasions I shared with my ex- & her family.

Mendoza is a highly idiosyncratic place, even for Argentina, & a sweltering town this time of year. Been jotting down impressions all of these last two weeks & will try to weave a semi-coherent narrative out of them soon.