Stone, Fire, and Vine: Achaval-Ferrer Finca Altamira 2017

The first pour of Finca Altamira 2017 glows like garnet at dusk, a coal still alive in the hearth. I tip it into a wide Bordeaux bowl, letting the air coax open its tightly wound depths—an hour of patience is all it asks. At 16–18 °C, the aromas rise like incense: black plum, violet, graphite, and the cool whisper of herbs gathered from stony slopes. Its tannin—the gentle, drying grip along the cheeks—still commands, yet time in the decanter turns its sternness into silk. This is a wine that demands both vessel and ritual: a tulip-bowled stem to cradle its voice, and the gift of air to let it sing.

Where the Andes Breathe Through Stone

This is Argentina, and not just anywhere: Altamira, a high valley where the Andes lean close and night winds carve clarity into the vines. Achaval-Ferrer has tended this ground since the 1990s, with reverence for old Malbec trunks whose roots dig into alluvial beds studded with chalk and river stone. Days burn bright, nights fall cold, and the vine learns restraint—the paradox that sharpens acidity even as fruit ripens rich. The 2017 vintage brought concentration without heaviness, the kind of season that gifts a wine both muscle and grace.

In the glass, Finca Altamira 2017 speaks in a dialect of dark fruit and mineral breath. Cassis and damson mingle with crushed violets; tobacco leaf and cedar flicker at the edges. On the palate it is full yet lifted, tannins firm but velvet-grained, acidity humming like a mountain stream beneath the weight. The finish carries on and on, a slow exhalation of graphite, dark cherry, and stone-dust. This is Malbec stripped of ornament, a vineyard voice rather than a varietal chorus, capable of unfolding now yet destined to deepen into the late 2030s.

When Fire Meets Fruit

To taste this wine alongside roast lamb is to understand its heartbeat. The fat surrenders to the tannin, softening it, while char and rosemary sing in harmony with the wine’s graphite and herbs. A ribeye, grilled until its crust is smoky and dark, echoes the fruit’s depth while its richness steadies the structure. Fire and fat become the stage upon which Malbec plays its most ancient music.

The Bold and the Unexpected

This wine can also venture further. Short ribs, braised until the bone sighs, in a sauce touched with star anise and soy, create a savory weight that might drown lesser reds; here the wine’s freshness lifts the richness, its spice finding an echo. Or duck breast, seared and glazed with black cherry—fruit mirrors fruit, while tannin scours the palate clean, leaving clarity in the wake of indulgence.

Earth’s Secrets Unlocked

The vine goddess has always loved the mushroom. A porcini risotto, creamy and edged with Parmigiano, cushions the wine’s tannin while revealing its subterranean notes. Even charred eggplant, smoky and soft, draped with tahini and jeweled with pomegranate, draws out the Malbec’s mineral line and brightens its dark fruit core. Here the earth itself becomes the pairing, echoing the vineyard’s stony heart.

Small Pleasures, Lasting Echoes

Polenta, stirred with butter until it shines, offers sweetness and cream that balance the wine’s power. Root vegetables, roasted until their edges caramelize, tease out Malbec’s darker, savory undertones. Better still, close not with sugar but with salt: a wedge of Manchego or Pecorino, their firmness and fat weaving seamlessly with the tannin, leaving the finish unbroken.

Closing Reflection: The Vine of Heaven Speaks

In the old songs I was called the Vine of Heaven, and tasting this wine I hear that name return. Altamira’s stones have been translated into fruit, its silence into flavor. Give it time—an hour in the decanter, or years in the cellar until 2030 and beyond—and it will speak more deeply still. Drink it now for its vigor, or keep it for the maturity that waits like a dream at the edge of memory. In either case, honor it with food born of fire, earth, and patience. This is not just Malbec, but a conversation with the Andes themselves.