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 News Around the Republic of Mexico | October 2005 
Mexico's Vineyards are Small, but the Buzz is Big
 Noelia Santos - Express-News
| | From the hilltop production facility of the winery Santo Tomás, acres of planted vines are visible in the valley that bears the winery's name in Baja California. (Photo: Noelia Santos) |
Ensenada, Mexico — Highway 3 in Baja California's Valley of Guadalupe is also known as the Ruta del Vino, as the road signs pointing toward vine-covered fields handily attest. "Wine," say some, or "restaurant." Sometimes "swimming" or "camping." A few simply announce a "Vinícola" (Winery) and point to a dirt turnoff that disappears behind a grove of olive trees.
The existence of a Wine Route, and the Mexican wine country through which it wends, has become one of the more pleasant additions to a nation generally more known for tequila and beer. But the buzz on the region's expansion is too loud to ignore, so I didn't, joining a friend for a leisurely exploration of tasting, history and culture.
Our first stop was just the kind of small, almost hidden hilltop winery (in this case not even a name) that the highway signs beckon travelers to try. Turning off the main road onto a dirt trail, we bounced through boulder-strewn foothills past fields filled with varietals such as cabernet sauvignon, tempranillo, chenin blanc, chardonnay and grenache. We finally arrived in front of an ivy-blanketed house.
Owner Ivette Vaillard emerged, introduced herself, and offered us a tasting. She led us into a kind of cave, no more than a brick niche cut into the side of a hill. She explained that her wines were made about as naturally as it gets: The grapes were pisado por mujeres (stepped on by women).
I asked in halting Spanish the name of her winery. She shrugged slowly, almost apologetically, and said it had none. A graduate of the local winemaking school, Vaillard said she makes just enough wine for herself, family and friends. And the occasional drop-in.
Of her two reds, we tried one that pinched my taste buds. She must have noticed my displeasure and so didn't offer a tasting of the other, a blend of merlot and cabernet. She calls it Intimo.
Too bad we didn't sample that one. Later that afternoon in the nearby small town of San Antonio de las Minas, we stopped at Hacienda, an outdoor patio restaurant and plant nursery. The waiter — a cousin of Vaillard — proudly presented the house wine: Intimo. It was pleasantly rich, berry-tart and analogous to its name.
And somewhat limited. The bottle was numbered No. 230, of 540 made.
Intimate is a good word to describe the Mexican wine country — at least for now.
Early shoots
Located within three neighboring valleys just outside Ensenada, a two-hour drive from San Diego, the Baja wine region is home to about 15 commercial wineries ranging in size from hundreds of thousands of cases produced per year to fewer than a thousand. Together they produce 90 percent of Mexico's wine, which in total is still a fraction of the production of Napa Valley alone.
The Valley of Guadalupe, where most of the wineries are concentrated, is small and lacks the tourism infrastructure found in major wine destinations. For a while, unpaved roads, no regular bus tours and a dearth of restaurants and accommodations will keep the masses away.
But not for long.
During our tour, we attended several of the kinds of recurring events that demonstrate the level of enthusiasm in the Mexico wine community. In the tiny town plaza of El Porvenir, in the Valley of Guadalupe, a lively festival was under way, organized by local residents and area winemakers. Vaillard was but one of the many wine aficionados pouring free samples of local vintages. Local families brought in carts serving homemade dishes. Onstage, an operatic singer and cellist performed, as guests of all stripes and classes sipped from wine glasses.
To me, the fiesta looked like a vision for the future. I soon found out it was.
Creating unusual, complex blends from a range of varietals, Baja winemakers are leading what some have called a renaissance of Mexican wines. Their products have ratcheted up international awards with each harvest, reversing the reputation Mexico had of producing poor-quality wines from its historic varietal, the Mission grape.
Baja wines increasingly appear in the better restaurants of Mexico City, Puerto Vallarta and Monterrey, and their distribution is expanding in the U.S. and Europe as well.
At another event we attended — a wine-and-food pairing party held at the chic restaurant Manzanilla in downtown Ensenada — winemaker Pau Pijoan Aguadé beamed like the proud papa of a newborn when describing the growth of his winery, Viñas Pijoan. "I'm growing 100 percent every year!" he shouted above the chatter of a fashionably dressed crowd sampling seafood tapas, tasting the wines, and listening to jazz dance tracks.
Aguadé said production at his vineyard had increased from 500 to 1,000 cases in the past year, and that next year's production could top 1,500 cases. (A case contains 12 bottles.) He said that his growth is typical for Baja, where, he said, "The small wineries are the ones that are having the revolution."
Royal beginnings
The geography and Mediterranean climate of northern Baja California provide ideal conditions for winemaking. Most of the vines planted in the valleys of Guadalupe, Santo Tomás and San Vicente are 40 to 50 years old, but others are twice that age, descended from plantings the missionaries brought from mainland Mexico at the beginning of the 18th century. According to Ralph L. Amey's "Wines of Baja California," winemaking in the Western Hemisphere dates to the conquest and to Cortés himself, who ordered the planting of thousands of vines in central Mexico.
Later, King Philip II tried unsuccessfully to halt wine production in New Spain to protect the mother country's import monopoly. But the missionaries continued planting the Criolla, or Mission, grape everywhere they established bases — including Baja California.
Centuries of political and economic upheaval prevented Mexico's wine production from finding a footing, and by extension, indoctrinating the Mexican palette for wine. After World War II, European varietals were introduced to Baja, but brandy and table wines continued to dominate domestic production. Affluent Mexicans looked to Spain or France for high-quality vintages.
That began to change in the late 1980s, when Mogor Badán and Monte Xanic opened as Baja's first "boutique" wineries. In turn, the region's oldest continually operating winery, Santo Tomás (established in 1888), began to focus more on quality. By the mid-'90s, a wine culture began to take shape.
Production has steadily increased ever since. According to USDA Foreign Agriculture Service reports, Mexico's domestic wine industry has reported growth of about 5 percent per year since 1998, and is expected to show a 12 percent increase in 2005.
Today, the venerable Santo Tomás is shaking out the welcome mat for wine tourists. A tour of the winery's fortress-like production plant — a state-of-the-art, gravity-based facility in which the grapes flow through successive lower levels of processing — reveals the upcoming changes, from a label redesign to expanded distribution. Also in the works are plans to build a tasting room and eco-tourism/spa resort.
But for all the excitement generated by this vibrant, homegrown industry, the winemakers maintain it's more than an experiment in regional viticulture. It's an expression of national pride.
Growing a culture
The elegant Restaurante Laja is a frequent meeting place for the wine elite and well-heeled tourists that come through the Valley of Guadalupe. Surrounded by dirt roads and humble farming communities, the restaurant offers haute cuisine and local wines at prices well beyond what most area residents can afford. It's just the kind of place to find leading Baja enologist Hugo D'Acosta, winery owner Don Miller and American wine distributors Nick Ramkowsky and Jeffrey Smith talking business.
"The (Mexican) wine industry now is trying to show what we are," D'Acosta said. "If someone understands us, it's not the important part. The important part is how we feel close to the grapes, close to the valley, close to the process. We are not servers. We are people that want to communicate."
Combining European enological training with bristling pride of country, D'Acosta is the region's emergent celebrity spokesman. His annual winemaking school trains local vintners such as Vaillard in the artisanal techniques employed at D'Acosta's winery, Casa de Piedra. And his consulting relationships with businesses such s Adobe Guadalupe and Viñas Pijoan help put him at the center of this tightly knit community.
"It looks like the dynamics of the region are moving in the right direction," D'Acosta said. "But there's a lot of things that scare us — how to manage the water, how to manage the land, (and) if we are prepared to really show our personality or are we going to change with the market? In the long term, it's going to be a beautiful region with wine. We don't do apples, that's for sure."
Development issues do loom large over the future of Mexican wine. As the industry grows, so does the need for paved roads and adequate resources, especially water. Some also fear that overdevelopment could rob the area of its local energy. The last thing anyone here wants is "a Napa Valley, so touristy that it loses its authenticity," as Antoine Badán, owner and winemaker of Mogor Badán, said.
But for now, "it's an exciting place to watch," Ramkowsky said. "There are very few places where you can see something develop from a nascent seed." |
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