Here I am sitting, indecisive, paralyzed. How can something as fun as planning a vacation be so difficult? How the heck did my calendar get blocked for the next year already? You would think that since we’re in the business of planning other people’s vacations, it would be a whiz when it came to our own. Nope. Please, somebody tell me where to start, how do I decide on the destination? I am in literally in front of a buffet of options of all the travel experiences I could choose to have, places to go, and most importantly, foods to savor. Yes, I pick destinations based on the appeal of the cuisine (and wine, sometimes) and I want to experience it all. I am starting to have a meltdown. This should be a fun process, when I am turning it into something else? Ya’po Liz.  Córtala. It’s simpler than this.

I make myself a list of dream destinations where I have not yet been. I close my eyes and let those images appear in my mind. I decide to let myself dream a little, travel without flying. I imagine how those worlds might be. I start to think of the ethnic food I adore and what those places would be like. What are the faces of the people, the smells, the sensations, what does curry taste like in India?? Now it’s getting fun. I go through  those dishes and flavors mentally, one by one. Turkey, Vietnam, Thailand, India(Kerala, Goa, Kashmir, Mogul cuisine), Morocco, China, Lebanon, Persia, Spain, France (everywhere!), Italy (Tuscany, Rome, Puglia), Greece, Mexico, Peru, Malaysia, Japan, Seattle. The list keeps going. All provoke an instant sense of longing and desire. Not just to have those flavors in my mouth but to understand where they come from and the history, people, culture, influences, land, behind them. Food is just the vehicle to experiencing those places. It’s a fire that burns inside of me, an insatiable curiosity of how what people eat is so intrinsically tied to how to the local culture—yet, we all eat. We all share that basic human need.  My gastronomic cultural thirst is growing and I want to expand my travel horizons off the “American” continent.

I keep drilling down and my inclination is pretty obvious. I keep lingering, in particular, with visions of “Arabian Nights” in my head. I imagine myself wandering in the souks off of Djemaa en Fna, in Marrakesh. I imagine sitting under palms in a desert oasis that could be Syria savoring Mezze. I imagine hot mint tea and sweet arab treats on a balmy afternoon on the coast of Tunisia. I wonder how it is to walk in the bazaars of Istanbul smelling yeasty bread, mounds of spices, lamb grilling somwhere, perhaps something sweet from tea, the call to prayer in the distance like a radio station. Ayyy, sí. That’s where I am headed. I want to know these places of Islamic culture, the cradle of civilization.  But then, I let my imagination shoot off in the opposite direction to the Far East. I imagine the whirring noise of scooters on a crowded Saigon street. The sweet, charred smell of pork. I imagine what banh xeo tastes like there. Or eating elbow to elbow in pho shacks. How about Hong Kong, Asia’s “culinary mecca” with cutting edge chefs, classic dishes, and my holy grail of Sunday brunches: dim sum.  How many years have I been eating in these immigrant versions, but never in the place of origin. There’s already a connection established to the country by its food. It’s familiar, sort of. But now I am anxious to go in person. Go deeper. I want to dive into that foreign, unknown sea. I want to bathe in everything foreign from the language to local ingredients, new textures, flavors, smells, sensations, learn to navigate again. Everything new.  I want to be willing to try, confront, and learn.

Aja! So there it is. My natural measure for choosing our vacation spots is usually by the local cuisine and my personal interest in it. I see I am stressing about nothing. I have the rest of my life to visit all these places, as slow or fast as I want. If it’s already my day-by-day way of conceiving, understanding, and connecting with life in Chile, and what we share with our clients who travel here in South America, obviously it’s going to be my own “bridge” to comprehending other cultures on my own vacation. C-O-M-E-R. E-A-T. It’s basic to our survival yet one of the most pleasurable experiences we can have. It is a universal language. Some people take more interest in it than others, but we all speak it.

I am seeing the light, finally. Vacation is a huge opportunity for me to disconnect from what’s normal and get reinspired through cooking and cuisine. Get out of my security zone. Go on an adventure. Throw myself fullheartedly into what’s not usual for me. I want to go far, far away. I want to hear dialects I don’t understand. I want to smell new aromas that tickle my senses. I want, with all this, moments of relaxation, luxury, and some regaloneo, affectionate time, with my husband. I know know where now. It was so easy. I will start with number one on my list. Istanbul. Or hmm, then again, maybe Hong Kong and Vietnam.

So how do you guys decide to go on vacation? Any tips for sharing your process?

Chilies are indispensable in South American cuisine as they bring flavor and heat to many dishes. That being said, South American spicy does NOT equal Mexican spicy. It’s a whole other world from chilies to the actual recipes where they are employed. While the Southern Cone with its heavy European ancestry may be considered slightly “wussy” in comparison to northern neighbor like Peru or the African states of Bahía in Brazil, even in Chile & Argentina, many of the chilies are cornerstones to authentic dishes. Fittingly, depending on the region and climate, chilies come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and spiciness to jazz up those regional recipes.

When buying fresh chilies, look for chilies that appear taut and glossy with deep colors. They should feel firm and crisp in your hand. Also check to make sure the stem is not broken. Wrinkled skin, brown spots, or a flaccid texture indicate a chili that is not fresh and will promptly grow “fur” in your refrigerator. Store chilies in the refrigerator, either loose or wrapped in paper towels. Storing them in plastic can cause excess moisture and faster spoilage.

Many chilies, like yellow chilies, are commonly blended first into a sauce that is incorporated to liven up a dish. To make a basic chili paste, cut off the ends of the chilies and seed. Cook them in simmering water for 30 minutes until very soft. Remove the paper-thin skins, then place the chilies in a blender with a few tablespoons of their cooking liquid and a pinch of salt. Blend until smooth.

If you’re living down in these latitudes, all you’ll need is a visit to the market to select a chili sauce from the vats available. A general rule of thumb is that the more visible seeds, the spicier it tastes. If you’re in the US and not near a well-stocked or ethnic supermarket, try a Latin grocer for specific varieties of chilies. In many cases, the chilies will come frozen. Alternately, you can purchase ready-made chili paste to use as a substitution for fresh chilies in the case of some of the Peruvian varieties. Here’s a run-down of some the most common chilies and their preparations.

Ají Chileno-Cristal

Despite Chile’s name, you’ll oddly find that Chileans do not in fact love spicy food. They are more about the condiments that go on the side to meats, potatoes, and the beloved bread or empanadas. One of the most common chilies throughout the country is the ají chileno-cristal is a Chilean heirloom sold in large mounds in marketplaces. A pale yellow with a slightly translucent skin, this chili has a medium spiciness that is perfect for many dishes, and is particularly used in the quintessential pebre. I love to use it as you would a jalapeño although it has bite. I find that jalapeños can be somewhat tasteless.

Rocoto

Hailing from Peru where it’s been cultivated for thousands of years, rocotos are some of the spiciest chilies with strength on par with the habañero. Be careful or you will scald your taste buds. They are similar in appearance to a petite bell pepper with thick walls, but the flesh is fiery with small black seeds. Although most rocotos come in the red variety, though there are variations of orange and yellow. When working with rocotos, I seriously recommend the use of gloves. These chilies are commonly roasted and stuffed with pork or beef, slivered as a garnish ceviche,  or puréed into a crema for sauces or dipping. If eating them stuffed, have abundant beer on the table to put out the fire.  Not for the faint of heart.

Ají Amarillo (Yellow Chilies)

The Atlantic wrote that yellow chilies are the soul of Peruvian cuisine, and I think that’s an accurate observation. What does that allude to? Literally, virtually almost recipe (or many at least) use yellow chilies, and their floral piquant paste, as the base of flavor. These chilies are a staple of Peruvian cuisine and are incorporated to many classic recipes in the form of a paste. Cook through a book of Peruvian recipes and I guarantee you’ll blow through the better part of a jar. Although these chilies are commonly called “yellow”, don’t let their mundane name fool you. In appearance when fresh, they are closer to bright orange and are subdued when cooked. Jarred yellow paste is convenient to have on hand if fresh yellow chilies are not available. Yellow chilies have a medium bite, on the scale of cayenne or Tabasco, a decidedly floral component on the nose, and add a piquant note to dishes. It’s the kind of heat you can truly dose and Peruvians love to prepare this with a sofrito base for so many dishes fro arroz con pollo to creamy yellow chili chicken, ají de gallina, or the succulent rice-bean tamale, tacu tacu.

Ají Panca

Similar in appearance the yellow chili, this is a deep red chili that normally comes dried or in a paste form. Once harvested, they are sun-dried and used whole or ground into the paste. It is a very subtle, earthy flavor and hardly spicy. In fact, on one visit, my mother confused it with tomato paste. They will soak it and purée it into a sauce for marinating meats as an adobo arequipeño for pork, or add spoonfuls to stews and soups like the delicious Peruvian Shrimp Chowder, chupe de camarones. Recipe for the above-said pork in our cookbook.

Ají Cacho Cabra & Merkén

Meaning “goat’s horns”, this red chili is quite spicy and used as the base for the local crushed red pepper or more commonly as a spicy condiment, merkén, Chile’s contribution to the global spice rack. Merkén is still an artisanal production in the south of Chile by the Mapuche indigenous community. Made from dried smoked cacho de cabra  chilies, it is ground with crushed cilantro seeds. In some cases, cumin and sea salt may be added. Merkén gives a smoky, slightly spicy note to food without being overpowering. Think chipotle minus the bite. Sprinkle it on fish, chicken, beef, soups, and vegetables. I seriously put it on everything. Store it in a jar in a dry place for up to two years—if it will last you that long!

Malagueta

This small tapered red pepper, about 2 inches long, looks harmless but carries a serious punch to the tune of 60,000-100,000 Scoville units, similar to Tabasco. In fact, they belong to the same family as Tabasco, with noticeable heat. Brazilians use these chilies primarily as part of Bahian cooking in the northeast, with its heavy African influence which utilizes heavier fats such as coconut milk and dende (palm) oil to place down its fiery nature in dishes like Bahian Coconut Fish Stew, or moqueca. Be sure to use sparingly. A little goes a long way!

Tips for Working with Chilies

I am going to say this out of experience,  having stuck one-too-many chili-laden fingers into my poor, unsuspecting eye. Use caution when handling fresh chilies. They contain a pungent compound, capsaicin, which will cause a severe burning sensation if it comes in contact with your skin, lips, or, worse, eyes. Use rubber gloves to protect yourself and thoroughly clean your cutting board, knife, and hands with soap after working with chilies. Avoid touching your eyes and any other “sensitive” body parts. Trust me.

Horses and horseback riding are a huge part of South American culture. From the Chilean huasos, cowboys, in the Central Valley to the baqueanos down in Patagonia, the horse is revered, respected, and loved from north to south in Chile and beyond. In Argentina, Uruguay, and Southern Brazil, the gaucho is an iconic figure, deeply engrained in the collective national nostalgia and not uncommon to see even in urban settings. Sports-wise? Rodeo and polo are almost as big as soccer with national championships every year and television stations dedicated to following them.

Who doesn’t admire horses? They are elegant, beautiful, smart creatures. I didn’t always have this admiration for them nor a desire to get on one. When I moved to South America I had rode once as a kid. And not very well I may add. Since horseback riding offers one of the best perspectives for seeing Chile’s mountainous terrain, in 2005, I decided I was going to get over my fear once and for all. I rode again and again. As we opened destinations, it seemed like I got to ride more and more frequently over all kinds of terrains and all types of horses. My confidence grew, it became fun, exhilarating, something I would look forward to.  Isn’t it funny how sometimes our biggest fears give birth to new opportunities and passions? And yes, I now love to ride.

Here are some pictures captured with my husband on a few of our many rides in the Atacama, Patagonia, wine country, and recently at Estancia Colomé in Salta. There were so many photos it was hard to pick let alone describe. I will let the images do the talking. When traveling to South America, it doesn’t matter if you’re a beginner or advanced rider. Look at riding as all about penetrating the gorgeous landscape and connecting to it on on another living being. It’s so profound, relaxing, gorgeous.  Ahh…Enjoy.

p.s. The name was inspired by National Velvet, a Technicolor movie from 1944 with Liz Taylor.

Oh sigh. Summer nostalgia has officially hit. I know many of you are indulging in the sweet tastes of summer. Nothing says summer for me like sweet corn. Growing up in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, I remember pulling off the road into farm stands where our Amish neighbors would sell recently picked corn. With butter and a touch of salt, it was sheer delight. Doesn’t everyone love corn?

Chileans, too, have an affinity for all things corn, although it’s a far cry from sweet corn. In fact, the corn husks can be the size of a rugby ball with brownish silk. It’s not sweet and not tender so they grate it off the husk to form a very fine yet textured pasta  that is seasoned to taste with salt and sugar, usually with some sauteed onions and fresh basil, to become tamales or the iconic pastel de choclo, Chilean corn pie. A sort of shepherd’s pie with a topping of corn and cumin-and-chicken tinged base, it’s sweet and savory, meaty and toothy texture will have you hooked. Chileans actually count the number of “pies” they eat in a summer season since they are such a project to make.

Do not be fooled, this video may make it look simple, which it is, but it takes time to create the layers of this dish. I did a long mise en place for this video and made the finished product ahead of time (ahh, the magic of TV…or maybe I shouldn’t be telling you that). However, you will be rewarded for your kitchen grunt work with the amazing taste and leftovers (which taste better and better). For this kind of culinary opus, I suggest pairing it with an equally iconic wine like we do in the video such as Coyam 2008 from Emiliana Orgánico. Many of you know I have written about Coyam and why it’s such an interesting Syrah-based blend of 5-6 grapes. It is one of those wines that always has personality, never the same. Yet it is always consistent and surprising. It’s also one of the most accessible icon wines from Chile price-wise.  Buen Provecho.

Rice, beans, and chili come together to form a one-dish comfort meal

Tacu Tacu is my current food obsession. It drives me crazy as it combines my two favorite carbs (beans and rice) into one chili-laden savory “tamale”. I used to only order it when we went out for Peruvian since my perception was that it was difficult to recreate at home. Wrong! When researching, testing, and writing our cookbook, Knack South American Cooking, this was one of the recipes that was an immediate home run.

Of humble origins in Lima, it was molded and mashed together from leftovers and primarily eaten by the African population. It is savory, earthy Peruvian comfort food hailing from the coastal region. On a plate, its appearance is similar to a gigantic tamale-shaped mound of rice and beans.

Tacu Tacu’s exterior should be toasty and golden, and have a slight crispness to it. The inside should be tender and piquant. Be sure to use day-old rice and beans with their broth. In the absence of broth, use chicken stock to flavor the legumes as they are cooked and mashed. The sofrito, frying, of the shallots and garlic with chili sauce infuse this dish. Focus on technique, like a Spanish tortilla, it is simple but takes patience to master.

Tacu Tacu is served alone or with savory seafood sauces or and served as a side to fried fish, and in a very common version, served a lo pobre, with seared streak, fried egg, and plantain. Other toppings can range from ají de gallina to sauteeed shrimp, seared corvina with sauce or on its own it is delicious. Don’t want to make it at home? Places like La Mar or any bonified Peruvian restaurant will serve this up.  Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients:

1 red onion, finely chopped

2 tablespoons oil

4 cloves garlic, finely minced

2 cups cooked pinto beans

1⁄2 cup water or chicken stock

2 cups cooked white rice

1 tablespoon Peruvian yellow chili paste (ají amarillo)

salt/pepper to taste

Method:

• Caramelize onion in hot oil for 3 minutes. Add garlic and fry 30 seconds. Incor- porate cooked beans with stock; cook 3 minutes.

• Mash beans in pan with a masher to form a paste. Fold in yellow chili paste. In a separate bowl, add rice. Fold mashed beans to rice. Mix until uniform.

• Sautee rice-bean mixture. Add oil to pan. Begin to work mixture into an oval form using a spoon. The sides should be lightly browned.

Tips: Sauté the Beans

• For a quick shortcut, use cooked or canned beans that are creamy, like can- nelini or pinto varieties.

• Let the beans absorb the stock to become very moist and easily mash into a paste.

• Taste the mixture for salt once mashed.

• As you cook, keep the heat on medium-low so that the beans slowly absorb the water and don’t lose liquid to evaporation.

Tips: Form & Flip the Cake

• Slowly pat the mixture into an oval shape. Do not move it immediately; let it brown for a few minutes.

• Carefully flip bean cake using a spatula, or with a quick shaking of the pan to loosen the crust.

• You can also split the mixture and make smaller cakes for individual por- tions or to serve as a side dish.

• Try substituting cooked lentils for the beans.

Green Light:  To avoid headaches with food sticking to pans, purchase nonstick pans that are large enough for whole meals or can be used to make an omelet. A good nonstick pan has a baked-in enamel that makes it hard to chip or scratch. This will greatly reduce the amount of oil used, making it ideal for low-fat cooking. Be sure to discard pans with a chipped coating.

Recipe Variation:  Make a heartier meal with this variation called a lo pobre, or Poor Man’s Tacu Tacu. Follow the recipe below for the Tacu Tacu base. In a skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil. When hot, add a 1/4-inch-thick steak, seasoned with salt and pepper; sear 2 to 3 minutes per side. Reserve. In the same skillet, add 1 tablespoon oil and 1 egg. Fry egg until egg whites set; season. To serve, place Tacu Tacu on a plate and cover with steak, then egg.

Photo: http://www.robertoseba.com

http://www.gardeniamvd.com

I am at the end of what can only be described as one of those spectacular meals. You know … where you stop to take copious notes and numerous pictures (some call it food porn, I call it memories). The flavors, textures, sensations, all meld together into one warm, fuzzy, wine-induced meal full of love. I am quietly sitting here sipping on the last drops of a velvety, feminine Merlot from the boutique winery Casa Filgueira. I am not in Buenos Aires, nor Santiago, nor Lima, not even Sao Paulo. Nope, I am in the most unexpected, and perhaps most under-the-radar, up-and-coming foodie destination in South America: Montevideo, Uruguay.

Where did I have this gastronomic enlightenment in a city typically known for asado, asado y más asado?  Gardenia.

My day didn’t start out this good. After a meeting with fellow food writer Clara OCampo from El Gastronauta the night before, she raved about this stylish new spot breaking all the clichés with what Montevideanos love to eat: grilled meat, salad, a lot of potatoes, and most definitely nothing too spicy.

Enter Gardenia. In this newish restaurant, two foreign chefs both in their early 30s, armed with international culinary experience and a lot of ganas and passion, had come to Uruguay to innovate, educate, open, and dazzle the local palates.

I decided I would go at lunch. It was a beautiful, warm fall day so I took my time walking along the Rambla as the sun reflected off the bluish waters of the Rio de la Plata. From Pocitos, I trekked up a hill to an area coined as “World Trade Center” (why is there a World Trade Center in every Latin capital?). Clustered around a central plaza of tall office buildings, the upscale restaurants obviously catered to the lunch and dinner crowd. I entered following the sign towards what I thought was Gardenia. I surveyed the ambience. Not exactly what I would define as stylish, a bit ornate (dragons everywhere), but maybe that’s my taste.

Lunch was a mediocre glass of Tannat, an ok piece of lenguado (sole), a soggy salad, and when they served me macedonia as dessert, I just about lost it. Seriously, what a bad rec?! Well, it all became crystal clear when I got the bill. In fact, I nearly died. I was in Gardenia’s neighbors. I could hardly believe my stupidity in having wasted a meal on that place. Annoyed at myself, I stormed into Gardenia, next door, and immediately recognized my error. The space was luminous, spacious with high ceilings, jazz playing in the background and an instantly refined, warm vibe. S-h-i-t Liz.

Photo: http://www.gardeniamvd.com

Marina is certainly not alone in this project. Her husband, also the chef, Raúl Florenza, decided to expand the Gardenia brand, already successful in Marina’s hometown of Sao Paulo with three restaurants in Gabriel, Pinheiros, and Alphaville. Why Montevideo? Why Uruguay? When asked, they cited being tired of the big city Paulista life, a city of 18+ million people. They were looking for someplace close yet different, tranquilo, maybe have a family, a place to innovate. Ballsy? Making any international (business) move is, but I would say Uruguay was particularly daring. Uruguayans are particularly traditional when it comes to their food and opening their social circles to foreigners. After all, it’s a small country. All of Uruguay’s populations wouldn’t even make up 1/6 of Sao Paulo, to put it in numbers.

Marina and Raúl bring together a fascinating mix of cuisines: Mediterranean, Spanish, Brazilian, and make the most of the local, seasonal ingredients. Is it eclectic and adventuresome? Yes, enough to be constantly interesting, but not to provoke fear of the unknown in the diner. What most caught my attention were the details. There was a constant focus on contrasting, bright flavors, textures, temperatures and colors. A constant pushing and pulling so that with every forkful, spoonful, or sip (the wine, of course), there was a new layer to be discovered. Savory, thoughtful creations that provoked umami in my mouth. That’s right, my first intuitive impression I had of Marina and her caring, embracing nature showed up the food. And tack on near perfect service and great wines like Pizzorno or Casa Filgueira.

So where did I travel on this odyssey? Given I am wheat-free, we had to work around that but I started with crunchy, homemade sweet potato chips tossed with celery salt and the most perfect roasted garlic, paired with the Casa Filgueira Sauvignon Gris. Next, a bite of a sublime carpaccio with merluza negra, black hake, pounded paper thin and laced with minced green apple, chopped pistachios and parsley with a drizzle of peppery olive oil. OMG. Next was Raúl’s delicious, refined rendition of gazpacho. The soup was creamy, balanced, with perfect acidity and an addictive mouth feel as it was passed through a fine sieve. I uncovered a skinned cherry tomato cleverly nestled at the bottom of the bowl, a little mouth burst of the finest of fine brunoise veggies, which some cook had patiently stuffed into that tomato.

After, I savored one of my favorite Brazilian dishes ever, moqueca, a rich coconut sauce made with a touch of nutty dende (palm) oil with fish, shrimp, and seafood floating in the pinkish broth. Marina and Raúl insisted on bringing more “mini” courses. Sure, why not? The wine is flowing and company is good. How about oxtail braised in Tannat sauce with a sublime mashed potato purée? Gamey, meaty, tender, delicious. I was toast. I passed on the crème brulee made with mate. There are limitations to my stomach space. I decided my Merlot would be “dessert”.

Since my escapade in Gardenia in Montevideo, we caught up with Marina and Raúl in Santiago on a chilly, rainy Good Friday. We went to the markets and then came back to our apartment to cook together. Well cooking “together” really didn’t happen. With two totally creative restaurant chefs in the kitchen wanting to convert Chile’s bounty of produce and seafood, I stepped back and let them cook for me—again. A guest in my own kitchen, what a novelty. I even got to sit on the other side of our island to be entertained as Raúl seared, sauteed, fried, chopped, and delighted us. We ate and drank by course, for hours, and went on a different yet similar trip to the first one in Montevideo.

Passion, originality and details. Marina and Raúl get food and what makes a restaurant experience work. If you want to do something totally different your next time in Uruguay (or Sao Paulo), go to Gardenia and let them woo you. It’s worth the detour from Punta del Este, Carmelo, to see their way of conceiving food. Just be listos to go for a ride.

Photo: http://www.gardeniamvd.com

Gardenia is open from Mon-Fri 12-3:30pm; 8pm-midnight and Sat 1-4pm; 9pm-1am. Reservations highly recommended. Be sure to follow their wine recs too.  (598 2 628 8838)

Besides the temperature outside, it’s Monday, another day as usual. Unless you move in expat circles (which I don’t), I am not planning on going to the US Embassy’s flag raising ceremony. I don’t have an outdoor grill to barbeque up some hot dogs, burgers, or even ribs and will probably stick to my high protein and green veggie diet today instead of the high cal cole slaw and potato salads that are the usual suspects. Barbeques and the food that accompany it always taste better on a holiday spent in good company and, preferably, in balmy conditions. Maybe I should have had my mother send me some stars & stripes napkins to be patriotic, somehow. I suppose I can watch fireworks on You Tube later tonight.

On cold days like this when all my family and friends stateside are celebrating, I go on a mental trip back to my hometown of Lititz, Pennsylvania where we used to go to the Lititz Springs Park to watch thousands upon thousands of candles be lit. We’d wander among school friends, eating up fries covered in salt and malt vinegar from Fink’s, and then snuggle down onto an army blanket to watch the fireworks over the baseball field. It was almost the start of sweet corn season. Independence Day was always a time to join together to celebrate being American and our progress together as a nation. Certainly living abroad, I have come to appreciate all the positive things that make me American from our entrepreneurial spirit, work ethic, melting pot communities and recent “lights” like the state of New York´s approval of gay marriage. So while I am 5,000 miles away, I suppose I don’t have to be there physically to participate. I can be there in mind and soul with you all. And yes, I certainly can pretend it’s mid-summer and pop open a bottle of Torrontes and day dream about hanging at a poolside barbeque with our friends in Napa, our last 4^th of July in the US.

Have a great holiday!

Before you rise to the comments section below, let me explain. Case in point. A while back, we had some old friends over for dinner. I took several hours to prepare a lovely meal. When they asked what they could bring, I replied, without thinking, “a bottle of red wine.” While they were munching on the appetizer, I opened their wine to let it breathe. To be blunt, it was simply terrible. An over-oaked, unbalanced, tannic green beast that I simply could not bring myself to drink, let alone “pair”. For my taste buds, it would trash the taste of my thoughtfully made dinner.

I was in a quandary.

I did not want to offend our guests yet I realized I had made the blunder in asking them. They were not wine drinkers and had brought the wine to comply with my request. They didn’t appreciate wine. Realizing my error and scanning my options, I came to a solution. I decanted their wine into glass decanter “A”. In a similar decanter, I opened our favorite aged house wine (at that time Paul Bruno Cabernet 2000 from Aquitania) and decanted that into decanter “B”. I kept them in the cool back room to serve from there, safely out of sight.

When seated, I approached the table with decanter “A” to first serve our guests. I feigned forgetting something in the kitchen, swapped decanters and came back to the table to serve my husband and I with decanter “B,” the good stuff. They never knew. In fact, they really enjoyed their wine. While it may seem sneaky, I realized that in this case it was about understanding the intrinsic difference between enjoyment and appreciation of wine. As I sipped our wine, I silently revered in the quiet strength of tannins and refreshing acidity. I savored the freshness of the cassis aromas after nearly 10 years aging with a personality that screamed “Maipo Valley!” I admired its elegance so typical of Aquitania’s wines and the French style of winemaking. Would that have been wasted on these guests? Most definitely. So I simply let them enjoy the wine that was right for them, that they chose. It worked out fine.

Honestly, when it comes to pairing guests and wines, it really does not have to do with the cost of the bottle. It is about not serving a fine wine to an unappreciative audience. The definition of enjoyment is “something that causes pleasure” while appreciation is “awareness of delicate perception of aesthetic qualities or values.” There is a difference.

On another occasion, during a trip in the US, we took a fine bottle of Rothschild Cabernet to my mother’s house to share with her over dinner. After fussing over the serving temperature, since it was July, I made sure it was a perfect 16C to serve into the glasses. I stared aghast as my mother’s (then) boyfriend, got up from the table and popped 3 ice cubes in his glass. I couldn’t cover my horror and let out a gasp. My mother turned and swatted me saying, “well honey, we are not all wine snobs.” Snobbery, Mom? I don’t think so. Would you take a perfectly grilled filet mignon and stick it in the freezer for 30 minutes? Hell no! Once again, it was the pursuit of enjoyment versus appreciation. I had learned my lesson.

So why do wine lovers, like myself, care to serve wines to people who will at the very least make an effort to appreciate them? Admiration. Awe. Reverence. I believe the more you drink fine wine, the more you become struck by its uniqueness and that it has an inherent personality. Fine wine is not Coca Cola. It is more on par with appreciating art, chocolate, espresso, classical music, anything that uses a language to convey an expression. Fine wine does have a language. It transcends being just “taste.” If you can appreciate it and are open to feel it, the wine will tell you a story. It will show you who it is and where it comes from, sometimes from far away corners of the world. It will show you the energy and passion of the people who make it, it will show you what the weather was that year, it will reveal and express itself in the glass and in your mouth—if you stop to appreciate it and listen, humbly. Wine has a structure, a rhythm, like the symphony. And when you have a wine like this, naturally, you want to share that with like-minded guests. What’s so bad about that?

We turn on the news. Apparently, the “fog” is not fog at all. It’s the fine, gray volcanic ash that spewed out from the Puyehue-Cordon Caulle volcano in southern Chile over the weekend, over a thousand kilometers away. The same ash that has buried much of Bariloche and the Patagonian provinces of Neuquén. The bad news? Buenos Aires airspace is closed until further notice and all planes are grounded.

“Control Liz, control. Do not have a meltdown.” We fly tomorrow to Salta in Argentina’s Northwest, or so we had planned. I resort to slightly delusional, self-calming measures. I convince myself it cannot be that bad. Not like Europe in April 2011 when thousands got stranded, including my own brother, in Paris for nearly a week. However, the gravity of the situation sets in as we take to the streets of Buenos Aires. As the sun rises, there’s a distinct brownish haze that distorts and reflects the sun’s rays. A thin layer of ash covers the cars. The normally busy skies of Buenos Aires have fallen silent. I will save you the rest of our travel saga, as I am sure you can guess what happened…

We got stuck in BA.

Not for an eternity, thankfully, but an extra 2 days. We did make it to Salta and back to Santiago on time. That morning our flight was cancelled over and over again, I was thankful that our wonderful hotel, Legado Mítico, had a great staff monitoring the flights online for us. Since, apparently, this issue could be recurring until the volcano calms down, these are two key sites for those of you traveling in Argentine air space. First, the news site that kept us up to date on the official committee meetings was www.infobae.com reporting on the air space that was opening or not. Then, for specific flight information, the official government website for Argentine airports including Ezeiza and Aeroparque, http://www.aa2000.com.ar, was infinitely more reliable. We learned that the airlines only updated, at best, a couple times per day with many times incorrect information. We discovered this after one bunk trip to Aeroparque to be told by LAN staff that “more info would be available in 4 hours”. Knowing that Argentines often say “maybe” when they really mean “we have no freaking clue,” we said, “screw this” and rebooked for the last flight to Salta the next afternoon. When you have the luck to get stuck and be forced to stay in a cool city like BA, who wants to waste time at the airport? We wanted to get down to more important things like enjoying our Buenos Aires querido.

In all fairness, I think that I brought getting stuck in BA upon us. Prior to our trip, I had been moaning about how, once again, we were embarking on a flash trip to Buenos Aires. Another in-and-out of the city in a bang in only 3 days with virtually no free time to just estar, be, and soak up what makes Buenos Aires so delicious—its urban lifestyle: the restaurants, boutiques, cafés, arts, walking the beautiful neighborhoods and parks.

And so I got my wish. Two extra days in Buenos Aires.

We revisited some perennial favorite restaurants like lunching atSudestada in Palermo Hollywood with its attractive picture glass windows and spicy (if you ask for it) pan-Asian cuisine. I had the vegetable-pork rice noodles and to my surprise, I think I may have actually scalded my taste buds for the first time in Buenos Aires thanks to the Laotian chef. Another day, we lunched for hours on end and soaked up the daylight over a lush Fabre Montmayou Malbec, succulent steak tartare and duck confit at Petanque, a wonderful brasserie in San Telmo. Being in Argentina, I let my true carnivore self come alive so I delighted in forking into a bloody, tender bife ancho with a glass of the slinky Urraca blend (made by Walter Bressia in Mendoza), at the oh-so-local Don Julio parrilla.

We walked from our hub in Palermo Viejo deep into the neighboring Villa Crespo passing through Little Armenia, where bakeries filled with Middle Eastern treats and the aromas of fresh pita tinged the air.  We hit the “Murillo” leather district, where store after store, block after block, is filled with every imaginable leather item. Only in Buenos Aires could I envision dressing myself from head-to-toe in leather. We walked up to Almagro to take my husband to the classic café,Las Violetas, far from the throngs of tourists at Tortoni off Avenida de Mayo. We sat down to a perfectly frothy espresso, glazed medialunas and families delighting in the Saturday paper while digging into their sweet pastries. As we walked, I savored these old school barrios, so evocative what life in Buenos Aires is all about, not just the glitzy storefronts of Recoleta and sights that tourists see. Buenos Aires is a city of neighborhoods and hard working folks. The corner verduleria (vegetable stand), butcher, dry cleaner, pasta shop churning out tons of homemade pasta and artisans still working over marble slabs to fold ricotta-stuffed agnolotti. Of course, there is always the empanada joint, bakery, and quintessential porteño meeting point: the café.

While we did have some food land mines (note: don’t do Mexican of any sort in Buenos Aires, what was I thinking?!), we discovered some new gems. On Friday, we dined at the under-the-radar foodie spot, Las Pizarras. There are no menus, just pizarras (oversized blackboards), touting the fresh-from-the-market menu that rotates on a nearly daily basis. The chef, Rodrigo Castilla, is cooking up orders in the back. We dug into a perfectly executed shaved roasted beet root, butternut squash, and baby spinach salad drizzled with a mandarin dressing and a silky goat cheese mousse, paired with Lurton’s zingy Pinot Gris from the Uco Valley in Mendoza. For the main, I couldn’t resist the braised, pulled lamb shoulder made into a ragout and stuffed into roasted eggplant. My husband was tapped out on all the red meat and went for an earthy, mushroom risotto with sheep’s milk cheese, both paired with a bright, fruity Malbec from La Madrid. Homey, real food, satisfying flavors and a good price-quality ratio (something that is getting out of whack these days in BA, ojo). The next day, we lunched at a newish El Efímero Festín, a vegetarian and gluten-free (hoorah!) haven in Buenos Aires. Off a quieter block of Palermo, on Uriarte with Cabrera, the restaurant has retro décor and a young vibe. The emphasis is on fresh ingredients with a selection of main course salads, fish and vegetarian dishes using abundant quinoa and tofu. I loved that everything was marked as gluten free as I felt like between pasta, pizza, sandwiches, and medialunas, I was in a wheat land mine, constantly, clinging to steak and salad (and Malbec) fervently.

During our extended stay, we hung out at one of my favorite hotels in the city, Legado Mítico. If you have ever longed to step into someone else’s shoes, here you can channel Evita or other legendary Argentines. The location is superb in the heart of Palermo Viejo, Buenos Aires’ food-and-fashion quarter, although it sits quietly tucked away from the action on a block lined with jacaranda and rosewood trees. The project of Salteño Javier Figueroa, with another luxe outpost in Salta, the 11 rooms pays homage to a cultural figure from Argentina, from Jorge Luis Borges and Che Guevara to Eva Perón, each with its one décor. We camped out in La Mecenas, dedicated to writer Victoria Ocampo. The room was tastefully filled with her books, photos, and memorabilia as if we were staying at her home. And that was just it. Legado Mítico made us feel totally at home. It didn’t matter that we were “stuck”. We were taken care of. And on Saturday at 7pm, we finally touched down in Salta to pick up the rest of our journey.

Isn’t an unplanned detour sometimes just what we need in life?

If Torrontés were a person, it would be a girl in a cute flowery dress flirting at a cocktail party. The nose is pervasively floral.  Many of the elements remind me of my favorite Alsace wine, Gewürztraminer, yet slightly more exotic with scents of orange blossoms or jasmine flowers. It also has a defined citrus and minerality in many examples, leading me to think of Viognier. Its body tends to be less voluptuous, with a zippy acidity. Admittedly, not everyone is going to dig this wine. In fact, until a few years ago, finding an interesting Torrontés was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Many were lackluster with flat acidity and a grape-juicey flavor. Pass. In fact, my husband had engrained this memory of Torrontés in his mind, and it took him several tastings to find a few, bright, zesty versions he could commit to drinking more than just a few sips.

Like it or not, Torrontés is an original.  Here are a few of the standouts I tasted but there are many others from Mendoza wineries referenced in previous posts or in your local wine shop. Check out some of these to have your own opinion of what’s coming out of Salta right now. For food pairings? Torrontés goes brilliantly with spicy foods, ethnic cravings like Vietnamese or Thai, grilled sausage and young goat’s cheese.

Terrazas de los Andes Torrontés Reserva 2009

The first thing that jumps out at you is the nose. It’s a walk in a garden full of white flowers like orange blossoms and roses. Behind it, there are stone fruits lingering like white peaches, along with a citrusy note. The mouth is full of tangy flavor and is very dry. We accompanied this with a fun take on Salta’s traditional spicy corn tamale, humita en chala.

Domingo Molina Torrontés 2010

We tried the fantastic 2011 vintage straight from the tanks (forthcoming!) and the 2010 follows pretty close suit. While the florid nature of the grape is present, it’s not so overbearing like in other renditions we tasted. It has a very nice balance of citric and tropical fruit notes. This wine crushes it in the mouth. It’s rich, complex, bursting with acidity, and just delicious.  Grown on the side of a hill with even more altitude than other Cafayate (Salta) wineries, the winemaker Rafael Domingo, lays this wine down with 5% oak aging. As he says, “it rounds it out for complexity and elegance, yet maintains acidity”. Brilliant. Pair this with a selection of goat cheeses. Conveniently, the Domingo family owns a tambo, a dairy farm, right in Cafayate.

Bodega del Porvenir Laborum Torrontés 2010

One of Argentina’s highest acclaimed Torrontés, the buzz is real. This tiny boutique winery, housed in a quaint abobe bodega, in the village of Cafayate, is producing some blockbuster wines. Laborum means “from work,” and certainly this Torrontes has “hand made” all over it, crafted from 45 year old vines. The nose is full of honeysuckle and tropical fruits. In the mouth, it’s surprisingly dry and low in alcohol at only 13.5%. Delicious in that toasty Salta sun, it seems like a match made in heaven for the ubiquitous empanada salteñas, filled with a savory-piquant beef mixture, baked in mud ovens.

Bodega Nanni Torrontes 2009

Established in 1987, this winery comes from the strong Italian lineage in Argentina. Nanni’s vineyards are outside Cafayate off of Route 68 near the stunningly beautiful, Quebrada de los Conchas. Here, grapes endure windy days and cool nights, so the owners only grow organic grapes and make organic wines. This Torrontés is a little on the sweeter and full side, had a bouquet of lychee and flowers and was less punchy in the mouth then others. I accompanied this with grilled rabbit. Also keep an eye out for Nanni’s Late Harvest Torrontés, also yummy.

Bodega Colomé Torrontes 2010

Part of the Hess Collection in a far flung corner of the Calchaquíes Valley, this Torrontes is from the Angastaco vineyard with sandy soils near the stunning Quebrada de las Flechas. The muscat aromas jump out at you with a concentrated perfume of guava, apricot and jasmine. It has a creamy texture in the mouth with decent weight and long finish. Fairly crisp. This would be a nice match for delicate, poached fish, a grilled Ahi tuna salad, or some garlicky prawns.

Amalaya White Blend 2010

Colomé recently acquired this smallish bodega in Cafayte from the Nuñoz family and has focused on making high-quality, price friendly blends. It’s white blend is mostly Torrontés (90%) blended with Riesling (10%). Orange blossoms, peach and limes invade your nostrils with a grapey scent that tangos seductively.  On the palate, you clearly see why Riesling is the perfect partner giving it a floral, limey character that’s clean with a fresh taste. I liked the acidity in this wine. This is a versatile, easy-to-drink, non-committal wine that is perfect for a party. Personally, I would be pairing this with some Vietnamese clay pot fish. Yum yum.