Sear and Lovin in Chile

Written by Aldo Parise | 03 November 2008

We’re flying high over the turbulent Andes Mountains. The stewardess is serving the last third of the plane as a rushed Spanish voice comes over the loud speaker. I can see the surprise in her eyes as she stops, turns and starts to collect the garbage. It’s the 25th minute of a 50-minute flight and we’re going down. I’m wondering if the onboard snacks will be my last meal. Ten minutes later we’re safely down at Mendoza’s El Plumerillo airport. The stewardess says this is the fastest they’ve ever flown from Santiago to Mendoza. At this point I just want a drink.

Things actually started quite uneventfully a few days earlier, as a number of us arrived in Santiago for a junket to visit Chile and Argentina’s growing wine regions. As we headed for our tour of the city there was an air of enthusiasm. Most of us had delighted in the local wines but only some of us had actually been here before.

The first thing you notice around the city, apart from the usual architecture and the construction everywhere, are the wild dogs. They are all over and very domesticated.

I was looking forward to our first day. Aside from visiting the very commercial Veramonte, part of the same family of wineries as Franciscan, Ravenswood and Quintessa, we were having lunch at Pablo Morandé’s new restaurant. Known as the father of the Casablanca Valley, I was looking forward to picking his brain about what he saw here. “In the early eighties there was nothing [in Casablanca] but we found the climate was ideal for white varietals. So I planted Riesling, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc. Today there are vineyards everywhere.” Morandé smiled over a glass of his not-too-sweet Sauvignon Blanc Late Harvest.

He noted that his fingerprint wine — they actually have a copy of his fingerprint on the labels — is the Dueto line. We tasted the spicy Carmenère as he explained one of the great advantages of the valley. “The temperature varies dramatically during the summer; from 25 degrees during the day to almost 10 degrees at night. This allows the grapes to ripen very slowly, which balances the acidity and the sugars. You can taste it here,” he raised the glass as if he could physically see the finesse of the wine. I had to agree.

And when asked what it was like to be the father of an entire region, he laughed lightly and took another sip. He never answered the question.

We jumped around a lot, trying to see as much as possible; spending most of our time on the bus. It was there that I got to know two French brothers who were on this trip to learn more about Chile (it may have been to keep an eye on the competition, I’m not sure). Denis and Ivanhoe Johnston, from the Bordeaux negoçiant SEMAV, were typically French — argumentative, witty and the most discerning palates I’ve ever seen. They added a flavour to the tastings by picking out exactly what they liked and discarding the rest with snide side comments. They played on the doubts of some winemakers while delighting the others who managed to impress these brothers.

It was with them that we uncovered Terra Nova. The drive seemed to take us deep into the Andes but really it wasn’t that far off from the valley. As the temperature dropped, and road opened up, we saw a misplaced hacienda off to one side and what seemed to be vineyards, on the other. We drove through the gate and found no one to greet us. After about 15 minutes — we amused ourselves by freezing — a truck came roaring in and Max Errázuriz stepped out.

Part of the famed Chilean family, Max is actually a retired Polo player. Together with winemaker Sergio Traverso, they dreamed up Terra Nova — a small batch winery famed for its well-rounded reds made from Carmenère, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot.

After a short tour of the property — mostly pins, with vineyards interspersed — we sat down for lunch. It was a meal to remember. Max and his family had made for us a typical Chilean meal of empanadas for starters, everything BBQ, an incredible potato salad, and to finish me off, a dessert I can’t even describe. My written snapshots don’t do it justice.

We all sat down at a long table in the back of the hacienda, started to eat and talk about nonsense, music, life in Bordeaux, as the bottles emptied. Everything tasted better with the stark country air. Everything felt great after the third bottle. We shifted from the medium-bodied, smooth Cabernet Sauvignon, to the balanced, fruity Merlot, to the depth and full-body of the Carmenère. I wanted to take a case home with me but in reality I just didn’t want to leave. But we did have to leave.