Vino Bajacaliforniano en el New York Times:

May 1, 2005
In Tequila's Home, a Wine Region Comes of Age

By JANELLE BROWN

The first time I went to Mexican wine country, I found myself digging my car out of a muddy river bed at 11 at night. It speaks volumes about the area's charm that this didn't deter me from a second trip, four months later. This time, I destroyed one of my sedan's axles in a pothole and popped a tire.

And yet, I still plan to visit again. Next time, I'll bring an S.U.V.

Wine tasting in the Guadalupe Valley of Mexico is an adventure sport; not an endeavor for the weak of will. There is the matter of the roads. They are dirt-surfaced, they frequently require that you drive straight through riverbeds and, thanks to a winter of record storms, they currently resemble the pitted surface of the moon. Then there are the obstacles to actually tasting wines: many wineries require appointments, and a working knowledge of Spanish is definitely an asset.

Persevere, however, and you could find yourself at the bucolic ranch of Antonio Badán, sampling a generous glass of elegant Mogor-Badán Chasselas with the winemaker himself. Mr. Badán's tasting room consists of a folding table in a corner of the small concrete building where he produces his wines. The chairs are wobbly; the walls are bare. From the tasting room, you can look over the vegetable gardens, the henhouse and the grazing cattle to the budding grapevines on the valley floor.

"If you are here very early in the morning, the breeze brings down the scents from the hills - all the wild plants, the aromas of the chapparal," Mr. Badán said, as he gestured out at the view. "I think our wines tend to express that, what the area has to offer."

Mr. Badán, a physicist by day, is one of a dozen boutique winemakers who are slowly transforming the scenic Guadalupe Valley, just east of Ensenada and south of Tijuana, into an intimate and unusual wine destination. Once the butt of jokes, Mexican wine is rapidly gaining a reputation for subtlety and complexity; and the Guadalupe Valley is increasingly host not just to award-winning wineries, but also to a handful of restaurants and inns that are luring intrepid wine aficionados from across the border.

"People have more open minds," explains Hugo d'Acosta, an oenologist and proprietor of the chic, contemporary Casa de Piedra winery and the high priest of Guadalupe Valley winemaking. "It's just the start. Mexican people are coming to know and be proud of the only wine region in Mexico."

In the land of tequila and cerveza, wine has traditionally been a hard sell. Annual wine consumption in Mexico is less than that of the city of San Diego, just across the border. One reason for this was that Mexican wine was notoriously bad: it was often aged in used whiskey barrels, which had an understandably adverse affect on the wine's flavor, and, thanks to onerous trade restrictions, it was often made in a creative vacuum without any comparison to European or American vintages.

The Guadalupe Valley's first winery, Santo Tomás, was established in 1888 on the former vineyards of a Dominican mission, and, by the 1970's, two more corporate wineries, Domecq and L. A. Cetto, had set up shop. But the area didn't begin producing quality wine until the late 1980's. Local people pinpoint the current renaissance to the arrival in 1988 of Mr. d'Acosta, who, with French and Italian winemaking degrees, set up shop at Santo Tomás. Simultaneously, a group of Mexican investors opened the boutique winery Monte Xanic and introduced the valley to high-tech winemaking concepts like stainless steel, temperature-controlled barrels and quality corks.

As it turned out, the Guadalupe Valley has an ideal climate for growing grapes: 14 miles long and 5 miles wide, the valley is arid but gets cool breezes from the ocean just over the hills. There are a dozen wineries in the area making wine in commercial quantities and a half-dozen more producing wine in smaller amounts, primarily for home consumption.

Highway 3, which cuts through the valley and is the area's only fully paved road, is lined with vineyards, olive orchards, modest farms and the occasional concrete-block roadside stand selling homemade chorizo, cheese, or olive oil. After several years of drought, this winter's storms - which dropped 25 inches of rain, more than the last three years combined - have left the boulder-strewn hills verdant and green.

Although the older commercial wineries, like L. A. Cetto and Santo Tomás, offer conventional tasting rooms and gift shops, most of the boutique wineries are, like Badán's, modest affairs. On a good weekend, only a few dozen people come through for a tasting, but they receive intimate personal service. Often, the person pouring your wine is the winemaker who will happily spend hours with you discussing vintages and grapes. An increasing number of them are young transplants from Mexico's major cities.

It's a far cry from the dollar-a-sip tour-bus culture of Napa Valley, although it is quite similar, local people are quick to note, to what Napa was like in the 1960's, before investment turned that region into a global wine center and tourist destination. Unlike Napa, however, the local folk hope to keep rapid growth out of their valley, and are working to block housing and industrial development that might mar the environment.

"It's not like a Disneyland for wine," Mr. d'Acosta said. "I don't believe it's going to be a Napa, where the tourists become more important than the wine."

The region's mecca is the four-year-old restaurant Laja, a serene stone-and-adobe building just off Highway 3, where the acclaimed former Four Seasons chef, Jair Téllez, serves inventive prix-fixe meals (giant clam with kumquats or carmelized black olives with olive oil ice cream) featuring local produce and wines. Diners come from as far away as Los Angeles and San Diego.

"When I first opened here people would tell me I was crazy or stupid," laughs Mr. Téllez, who was raised in Tecate, an hour up Highway 3. "But the restaurant has steadily grown. We have autonomy in the valley right now, no need to comply with any expectation. That's good for creativity and expression."

One of the biggest hurdles to the region's growth as a tourist destination, however, is a lack of hotels. If you aren't able to book one of the six rooms at Adobe Guadalupe - a bed-and-breakfast, winery and restaurant in the sprawling hacienda owned by a retired American couple, Tru and Donald Miller - you'll have to stay in Ensenada, 15 miles away. But at least two small inns and one large hotel are scheduled to open in the next year; two of these are planned for the Liceaga and Casa de Piedra wineries.

More problematic for wine tourism are the customs laws that prevent American visitors from taking more than three bottles of wine back over the border. At Adobe Guadalupe, the Millers occasionally store cases of wine for regular visitors from San Diego, who cross the border just to drink their own wine. The local winemakers grumble about a lack of support from the Mexican government, which has done little to develop the area except to install new "vinicola" signs marking the vineyards.

"In Mexico it is more expensive to produce wine, the government doesn't help us too much and the taxes are very high," said Eduardo Liceaga-Campos, a former civil engineer whose vacation home in the valley has evolved into a full-time winery called Viña de Liceaga. His bright yellow tasting room, where he sells not only his award-winning merlot but his wife's hand-crocheted ponchos, sits just off Highway 3.

But the casual, intimate atmosphere is a real attraction, regardless of the lack of government support. On weekends, the region's gourmands and winemakers gather at the wine bar Manzanilla in Ensenada, to nibble on sashimi and sample each other's latest vintages. On a recent evening, the bounty included a plate of pungent fresh goat cheese, and a velvety bottle of limited edition malbec from Monte Xanic. Karola Saenger, who works at the Monte Xanic winery, unwrapped the tissue-wrapped bottle and poured glasses for everyone at the bar. "This is something very special I want you to try," she announced to the room, as a half-dozen well-tuned noses dipped into their glasses.

"It's the beginning, as you can see. The valley is huge. We have lots of land to plant," said Gloria Ramos, Mr. d'Acosta's wife and partner in Casa de Piedra. "Mexican wine is - I don't know if the right word is hot, but it's in a very good spot."

Assuming your car will get you there.


PS: Ya lo están descubriendo. Tarde pero seguro...