It’s my good fortune to have an acquaintance who owns a major chain of retail
wine shops in the South. I’m on his loosely instituted “research board of rare
acquisitions.” He’s known as Brick, which according to him is half diminution of
a polysyllabic Punjabi sir name and half a pun on “Brix” (a technical term for
the sugar content of a wine grape). Not exactly a handle I would choose, but who
am I to judge. I called him the week before Thanksgiving to see if he could
arrange a tasting of well-priced Argentine wines.

One of the things about the wine industry that makes it so different than any
other is that the people flogging the product actually LOVE the product. Not
solely out of self interest—it's not the phony fellow-feeling of software
salesmen; this is real fetishistic, hero worship, that has nothing to do with
remuneration, and is way past the understanding of the unfortunates who sell
other commodities. So when I called him he had the ring in his voice of
discipleship. "I'm going to reach deep," he said. "This is going to be fun."
"Enlightening" is what he meant.

A couple days later I stopped by Brick's warehouse in
Midtown Atlanta, on what was a crisp but clear and sunny Thursday. Like a lot of
wine retailers, Brick preferred his warehouse to his office, or home, or Hawaii
for that matter. If he wasn't there, he was someplace wishing he were. Deep
down, I understood it. I always wanted to be here too. Driving away from here
after a particularly satisfying sampling, everything felt right in the world.
For wine nuts, it's the "safe house."

After a short stroll through partitions of Burgundy,
Bordeaux, Piedmont etc., cases stacked four-high, the occasional flash of a
beloved winemaker's stamp catching my attention and respect, I entered the warm
glow of the Brick's research center: a 20 X 20 corner section of warehouse
space, roughly carpeted, with a custom made bar, stools, massive wine racks
holding roughly 300 bottles, a book case of reference materials, and, the
fulcrum that holds the whole unbalanced scene together, a centrally placed
antique oak card table, eight feet in diameter—the examination board. There
wasn't a drop of red on it. Brick was already stacking cases stamped “Mendoza”
on the bar, tearing them open, pulling bottles from each and sticking them in an
empty case on the floor.

"Look at this," he said, setting a bottle down on the card table. I sat down
next to it. This was a wine not to be fooled with: Bodega Catena Zapata, a 100%
Cab and a reserve from 2001. I've had other Zapatas, plenty, and enjoyed them
all, but I’ve not had their best. This gobby bottle of grape was worth some
reverence (and probably $180 U.S.).

"This on the menu?" I asked.

"Maybe."

He picked the sample case up off the floor and placed it gently on the card
table. "The Aztecs believed there were 12 layers of heaven. We have eight
bottles here, and that's pretty good even by their standards."

Brick is rarely wrong when it comes to oenology, but his religious reference
missed the mark by a few thousand miles. Not an unhappy scenario, I'm sure, for
the relatively peace-loving Incas who did call the area now known as Argentina
home. And neither they nor the Aztecs had a taste of wine until the arrival of
Spanish missionaries with the vinifera grape California calls "Mission."

Commercial winemaking in Argentina didn't begin in earnest until the late
nineteenth century with the introduction of Bordeaux varieties and viticulture.
By this time South America was already heavily colonized, and the 1880
construction of a railway from Mendoza to Buenos Aires helped turn what was
exclusively a local affair, into a thriving business in less than a decade. The
vineyard owners weren't particularly interested in making masterpieces; they had
plenty of "real" Bordeaux in their personal wine cellars. Their interest was to
pump out alcoholic product to sate the Capital, whose thirsts were substantial.

One of the reasons for the change in direction from quantity-fixated to
quality-driven was also (unromantically) commercial. According to Wine Institute
numbers, in the 1970s the country had a per capita consumption rate of 92
liters, 24 gallons per (legal) consumer, per year, only being outdone by Italy
(111 lt.) and France (108 lt.). That's Herculean drinking. By the 21st century
Argentines were drinking a meager 39 liters. Up until the 80s there were enough
wine drinkers at home for Argentine winemakers to sell all of their wares in
country. By the 90s, they knew they had to find foreign customers. But to
compete, they had to make a product that was more in line with European and
American palates, instead of the really special taste many Argentines had been
programmed to favor, which, I've heard, is proof of the dogged human sprit when
it comes to copping a buzz.

Whatever the motive, it's undisputed that Argentina's wine regions grow some
succulent, world-class fruit, which has grabbed the attention and capital of
well-known US and European purveyors of quality wine. And of those regions,
Mendoza is supreme. In the west of the country, situated at the foot of the
Andes, it generates 2/3 of the country's wine. Malbec, that heretofore second
string Bordeaux variety, is the major grape throughout the country. Malbec
couldn't have asked for a better agent. Nearly always as a supporting blend
outside of South America, Argentina has shown that this grape can solo-perform
with the best of black grapes. Most of Argentina's five-star wines are made from
it.

After several minutes of organization and uncorking (and a brief and probably
inaccurate rehashing of the scene in Diamonds are Forever when Bond
unmasks an assassin posing as a sommelier by asking, "Do you have any Claret?"
"No sir." The assassin is pouring a Mouton), we got to work.

Unlike the rigid cosmology of the Aztecs, the order of the below wines are
not descending by quality. Each layer gets its blood sacrifice by luck of the
draw. I don't use numbers or stars, or gingerbread men as ranking symbols, just
my tasting notes, which I think gets the point across just fine. Brick? He uses
stars, five of them, for publication in his newsletter. For his generosity, I
give his "Brick Stars" here as well. Even though he didn't open the Catena
Zapata Reserve Cab.

These wines are either 2003 or 2004 vintages. ‘03 was an excellent year for
red varieties, trailing only the previous year in the minds of experts. 2004 was
comparatively poor. However, as you’ll see, good winemaking can always pull it
out.

Of the eight wines, none are over $25, and can be found readily throughout
the US. Accept on Sundays, if you live in Georgia.

The eight Layers

El Felino 2003, Malbec, Mendoza

$13

As I mentioned before, this is from Sonoma Valley's Paul Hobbs, and at $13
retail this baby is the best value in a lineup that averages $100.

This is a big wine, but not a bit brutish. I was expecting more when I stuck
my nose in it, but big blackberries balanced by good acidity lasted long for a
major finish.

Brick Stars: 3 ½. (he claimed the nose was "cardboard." I didn't agree. The
"Sequoia forest" notes are what the wine world calls "rustic.")

Norton 2004, Reserve Lujan de Cuyo, Malbec, Mendoza

$13

This is a great wine, and my personal favorite of the bunch. Not as big as
Felino but super velvety, ripe and rich, with, get this, loads of cocoa and
coffee. Brick agreed. "I drink this at home," he said. This wine could lie on
its side for a few more years, if pressed to do so. But it is ready now, so
drink up.

Brick stars: 4

Catena Alta 2003 Chardonnay

$25

Made by Bodega Catena Zapata. I get the slightest bit of stink, just below
the flowers. But I like that in a blonde. And this golden beauty is dynamite.
Crisp, luscious, and really refreshing. Racy and elegant. The bottle has a very
cool label portraying a piece of vine looking like it's been drawn by Ralph
Steadman.

Brick Stars: 3 ½

Bodega Catena Zapata 2004 Malbec, Mendoza

$16

This had really tight aromas, and when I took a sizable sip there was monster
fruit in it, almost overpowering any other detectable flavors, ones which Brick
describes as "reef" (“mineral” in tasting vernacular). Still a very respectable
wine, which I'd take to even the most stodgy, buttoned up wine affair. Drink
this and shut up!

Brick star: 3 ½

Terrazas 2004 Chardonnay, Mendoza

$10

Hum. Let's say this wine is good for a hot day. Crisp, green apple with some
reef. Can't argue with the price though, and one of the best you'll find for
that amount. Should be widely available.

Brick Stars: 3

Aleph 2003 Malbec, Mendoza

$25

There's a chance that this might be harder to find than the others. Brick
says there were only 700 cases produced. If you can't find it at your local
shop, and you're determined to get your hands on one, it should be available
online. The Aleph is well worth the effort. Structure is the key here. Big
tannins hold the oak and berry together for a really delicious wine. After his
taste, Brick blurted out a spontaneous food match: "Filet Mignon!!!"

Brick Stars: 31/2 (and one filet mignon)

Valentin Bianchi Famiglia 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon, Mendoza

$13

Our only Cab in the bunch hits you in the nose with heady leather and spice.
This is a big wine, biggest and driest of the day, but is still loaded with
berry and plum. A really good wine. Brick had not remembered it being so good
when he had bought his case. He gushed over it, and took several more sips (not
spitting). I think the fact that he’d made a better purchase than he was
originally aware of may have influenced his rating.

Brick Star: 4

Norton 2004 Privada, Estate Reserve, Mendoza

17

Beautiful. Jam and toast. Gobs of fruit with a long nutty, toasty finish.
This is a great wine, and one of the only wines in our lineup that could
probably use a bit more cellaring. Maybe. Brick thought it perfectly rounded out
and ready. I wouldn't wait either.

Brick Star: 3 ½