When An Argentinian God Wears Tailored Wool — Finca Altamira 2017

The first time I tasted Achaval-Ferrer Finca Altamira 2017 I felt a small earthquake in my palate — the polite kind that upends dinner plans and makes you call three friends to say, “Cancel everything, I found it.” This is not a Malbec that arrives to the table in flashy sneakers and a logo; it strolls in wearing hand-stitched boots, smelling faintly of riverstone and the kind of dark fruit that remembers old arguments. If you think you know Malbec, let the arrogance fall away. This bottle wants to educate you with authority, not apologize with sugar.

In The Glass: A Shadowed Jewel

Pouring: the color is a deep garnet with a blue rim that still hints at youth — not purple bravado but concentrated dignity. The rim catches the light like a bruise on velvet. Lift the glass and the first whispers are black cherry and pressed plum, but then the wine leans in and reveals unexpected things: inked violet petals, an olive-tapenade loam, and a ghost of smoke from a distant campfire. There’s salinity tucked behind the fruit, a mineral line that keeps the whole thing from becoming indulgent. This is a wine that scents the room with the memory of the river that runs near the vines, and the gravel that taught the grapes to fight for flavor. (Finca Altamira sits in La Consulta, Uco Valley at roughly 1,050 meters elevation with stony, volcanic-ash influenced soils.)

On The Palate: Velvet Fist, Iron Glove

The mouthfeel is where this bottle seduces and then lectures. Texturally it is plush — ripe black fruit folds over a steel-taut spine. The tannins are present like well-trained soldiers: muscular, chalky, but never mean. Midpalate is a parade of plum compote, black olive, graphite and a peppered herbal thread that keeps your teeth awake. The acid snaps in the finish, and the aftertaste hangs like an old lover’s perfume: long, slightly bitter, impossible to forget. There’s an almost iron clarity — this is not a wine for background noise. It wants conversation, argument, a slow dinner with someone who knows how to chew.

Behind The Scenes: The Vineyard That Became Legend

This vineyard is the romance every winemaker dreams about: semi-abandoned old vines (many planted early last century), rediscovered and coaxed back to life in the late 1990s. Achaval-Ferrer built its reputation on single-vineyard devotion, and Altamira is their pulpit — tiny parcels of ungrafted, densely planted Malbec on limestone-sandy soils with volcanic ash and stones that force the vine to concentrate. The story matters because the wine tastes like a place that had to be saved, not created. Achaval-Ferrer’s obsessive single-vineyard approach and the unique Altamira terroir are the reason this wine carries its pedigree like a weapon.

Serving Tips: How To Make It Sing

Decant. Not because the wine is shy, but because you owe it the courtesy of oxygen. Give it 45–60 minutes if you can; the first glass is flirtatious, the second becomes conspiratorial. Serve at 16–18°C (60–65°F). Food? Go rich and savory: slow-braised short ribs, charred lamb ribs with rosemary, wild mushroom ragù, or even a black garlic burger if you want decadence with a push. Avoid anything sugary-sweet — this wine rewards savory architecture and umami depth. Bring bread only to sop up the last drops; you will not forgive yourself if you waste the finish.

Investment Potential: Cellar Or Covet

This is the kind of bottle that collectors keep two ways: one to drink at the right moment and one to watch. Achaval-Ferrer Altamira is historically collectible — high scores and limited production mean availability tightens with time. The 2017 vintage sits in a sweet spot: sufficiently mature to show complexity, with at least a decade (and likely much more) of graceful evolution ahead if cellared properly. If you’re the type to trade stories over spreadsheets, this wine plays nicely in portfolios that value provenance and scarcity.

Final Note: Don’t Let It Slip Past Your Table

Here’s the blunt truth: passing on Finca Altamira 2017 because “you’ll find another bottle later” is how regret is born. This wine is a compact history lesson, a landscape in a glass, and a show of restraint that borders on arrogance — in the best possible way. It’s not for the casual sipper or the label collector; it’s for anyone who wants to be moved, argued with, and ultimately converted. Go find one. Open it for someone who appreciates the hunt. Or buy two and thank me later.