Calchaquí Valley, Argentina
Watch that burn!
There’s something primal about it. The fire, the slow crackle of wood, the scent of meat rising into the air.
You don’t just show up for the meat at an asado. You arrive early. You settle in.
The event unfolds slowly, like the low murmur of old friends catching up.
When I visit a winery, and someone makes an asado for me, it’s more than a meal. It’s a homecoming. A reunion. The visit becomes more relaxed.
That’s what Agustín, Raúl, and Matías did for me on this last trip. They didn’t just show me their wines; they welcomed me into their world.
Before dinner, we tasted all the wines. We went through each one like old friends getting reacquainted. These guys have been friends for years, and at this point, so have I. Tasting each new vintage, and seeing how the old ones have matured, really does feel like a reunion. And whatever bottles are left over? Well, they find their way to the dinner table.
Raúl with the wines
Chorizo hits the grill first, then morcilla (blood sausage — equal parts tradition and acquired taste).
Matambre de cerdo (pork flank steak) follows, juicy and irresistible. Then comes provoleta (grilled cheese) with a smoky, bubbling crust, and bell peppers roasted with eggs and cheese inside, sizzling to perfection.
And then, the heavyweight. The bife de chorizo (ribeye steak). Thick, dripping with flavor, waiting patiently over the coals.
The sides are simple. Potatoes or pumpkin, roasted right in the ashes. A lettuce and tomato salad, nothing fancy, but perfectly fresh.
But more importantly? The wine is always flowing.
Yet, none of this matters without the asador (grillmaster). This time, Raúl was in charge.
Raúl at the grill, keeping it simple
He’s not just cooking — he’s commanding a sacred ritual. If an Argentine says, “Next time you’re here, I’ll cook you an asado,” that’s no casual offer. It’s trust. Respect.
Because an asado isn’t for strangers. It’s for those closest to you. For friends you want at your table, sharing your wine.
And the asador? His role is untouchable. When he’s at the grill, you’re there to talk, to hand him more wine, but never, ever to give instructions. Two chefs in the kitchen? Never here.
And it doesn’t have to be fancy. An asado is a show of appreciation — plain and simple.
Sometimes, as a bonus, someone might pull out a guitar. They’ll sing or recite poetry. But that, my friends, is another level.
Raul’s place, the site of this asado, is something else. The walls of this house, built over 200 years ago, almost talk. You can feel the weight of its history in every stone.
This was one of the first wineries in Argentina, if not the first. Even Miuccia Prada, the fashion designer of Prada, once visited. She liked the wine so much, she took about 20 cases back to Italy with her.
Raul lit a fire right on the ground, cooking a bife (steak) that we later sliced up thin like roast beef. The next day, we took those slices and ate them as we walked through the vineyard at Gualfín.
I’m happy to call these winemakers friends.
An asado seals the deal. Every time.
Salud,
Diego
