The return to Argentina was the excuse to visit one of the most renowned areas of Latin America.
If in previous trips my wine-related curiosity had been limited to Mendoza and the Valle de Uco, this time I want to move north, to the province of Salta, to Cafayate, known by locals as the “Tuscany of Argentina.”
It should be noted that there is very little in common between Tuscany and Cafayate, apart from the endless expanse of vineyards: the “pueblo” is on a semi-desert plateau located at an average altitude of over 1600 meters, nestled between the rocky giants of the Andes.
The area is famous for its production of white wines, especially Torrontés.
white grape varietal with semi-aromatic qualities of Spanish origin. Among the dusty and unpaved roads of the small village, there are several “bodegas” that offer free tours with packages to taste the different types of wine.
The choice falls on Bodega Nanni, a winery of clear Italian origins, one of the first Argentine establishments to convert to organic farming. To date, there are four generations of Nanni who dedicate themselves to cultivation and winemaking with particular attention to the environment, achieving organic certification in 1996 among the first establishments in Latin America. The entrance to the bodega is on a dirt road, with heat prevailing. There is a giant wooden door through which one can see the green of a lawn and in the distance a large wooden barrel with the inscription Bodega Nanni. A young woman approaches, inviting me to sit inside.
It starts with a 2022 Torrontés from the “youth line”: straw yellow in color, with a great aromatic intensity on the nose, showing notes of rose, white flowers, pineapple, and mango, and on the palate, the sip presents excellent freshness, a nice salinity, with a very light body and a short persistence.
The second label that piques my interest is a late harvest Torrontés, whose label is called “Tardio”, with grapes left to ripen directly in the vineyard. Full yellow in color with reflections leaning towards gold, immediately the aroma reveals honey, candied apricot, and a floral note. On the palate it is harmonious, rounded, with a good taste persistence.
In Cafayate, it’s hot; we are in the middle of December (the seasons in the southern hemisphere are reversed). The sun is beating down hard, and the roads go from a dusty red earth to large muddy puddles due to irrigation. There is no middle ground, like nowhere else here in Argentina. There are no sidewalks on Route 40, no asphalt, just old tractors and a few unwary cyclists challenging the land, the Andes, and the vineyards.
Walking through Cafayate gives a retro taste, like a western movie.
The main square has a small park in the middle, with a church and the Cabildo (the town hall) on the sides, a pharmacy, and a series of restaurants and wine shops that sell local products. I sit in a place to recover from my walk under the sun and order a cold Quilmes; the waitress tells me it is as cold as the glaciers of the Andes, I pour it into the glass and start to think about many things and I realize that perhaps Paolo Conte is right: “a beer is more appealing on this sticky rubbery day.”
I continue to drink my Quilmes, thinking of all the distance between Italy and Argentina, all the distance between Tuscany and the province of Salta, and perhaps the only things I can find in common are the vineyards and the grill, the way of cooking meat. The grape varieties grown are different, from Sangiovese to Colorino to Canajolo, to Vernaccia (just to name the most famous), to the various Malbec, Tannat, and Torrontes, but also Bonarda which strongly reminds me of the fog of the Po Valley.
"that looks like a glass of water and anise"
as Paolo Conte would still say. Another way to feel closer might be the way of preparing the meats, but also the way of understanding the grill differs: the nobility of a ribeye or a T-bone cut like that of Florentine steak versus the proletariat of asado and bavetta, cuts that are definitely less prestigious but no less tasty.
The Quilmes is finished, I order another one, the waitress makes sure it is well chilled and brings it to my table, towards the beer in the glass and the thoughts and similarities between Italy, who knows which Italy, and this part of Argentina echo. Thoughts pass and tractors pass, cyclists, the buses heading to Salta or Tucumán, the roads are always dusty and
slow and pink evening arrives
It's dinner time now, still sitting in that square, a couple of beers have passed, there are always many thoughts, the waitress asks me if I want to eat something, I order empanadas, she recommends the ones with plum and bacon, which are typical of the area. Once she takes the order, she leaves, comes back after a few minutes to take the empty bottle, asks me if I want wine with the empanadas, I reply that I prefer another Quilmes, because a beer tastes better on this sticky rubbery day, she says she didn't understand, I smile, she turns around with a surprised look and heads towards the fridge…
