Marriage wasn't made for officials

They say Malbec wine goes very well with meat. I read and hear it whenever I'm among so-called professionals, sometimes sommeliers, sometimes fellow wine writers. A Malbec wine always goes well with grilled meat. Sure. Although, being skeptical in a world accustomed to managing things like someone handling the statistics of a government ministry, I find myself wondering what this Malbec wine, usually made in Argentina, is like. Does it come from sandy or calcareous soils, to name a couple, or is it from a vineyard with a lot of clay? Before choosing, it would be good to know about the harvest, the amount of water the vines received, the level of sunlight, or the time of harvest. I should start by asking myself who made it, where, and while I'm at it, with what intentions, but the first thing that matters is this: Malbec goes well with meat.

A bottle of wine contains 70 or 75 centiliters of variables. Did the vine grow at high altitude or in a valley? Did the proximity to the sea or the shelter of the mountains influence its development? What temperature fluctuations did it experience? Were the grapes harvested early, before the sun's rays? How long did it take to reach the winepress? How were the grapes pressed? Are we talking about fermentation? How long did the wine spend in contact with the skins? Was the wine aged in wood? New or old? Barrels, casks, vats, concrete eggs, open winepresses, clay amphorae, stainless steel tanks? How long did the wine rest in the bottle? How was it stored afterward? Did it grow in Mendoza or Río Negro? Everything contributes to the difference.

It seems that beef forms a special bond with wines made from Malbec grapes, a bond it apparently doesn't share with Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, Criolla, Syrah, Bonarda, or a Bent. You just have to find that one bottle of Malbec. Fifty million cows make up Argentina's main agricultural industry, second only to soybeans. I see cattle slaughtered at twelve months old and others (a few) that took two or three years to reach the slaughterhouse. Many never set foot on grass, while others lived freely. Some were fed on pasture, others on feed and forage. They may have been sold and served immediately after death, or they may have waited ten days to reach the market, or perhaps twenty or thirty days, if they didn't fall into the hands of visionaries and live fewer days than they later spent in an aging chamber.

None of them taste the same. Luckily. Neither do ribeye, skirt steak, flank steak, tenderloin, picanha, or rump roast. Just as a cut of beef roasted in pieces is not the same as a whole, processed beef. Between a cut cooked over charcoal embers and one destined for a wood fire, there are as many variations as there are between a rare steak and a well-done one. And that's not even considering the chimichurri that comes along to transform the flavors.

We continue with the meat. Every shift in flavor and the condition of the muscle, every difference in the technique applied, every partner in the journey, offers new results. When the dish changes, the wine must be different. We'll have to search. Each dish feels comfortable with a range of wines that help it express itself without the contents of the glass losing their essence. To find a pairing, one needs to explore the depths of a well-stocked cellar. Although the legendary audacity of the Latin American hospitality industry makes variety a dispensable circumstance. At Nuema (Quito), recently added to the 50 Best list, they prepared a menu for me paired with the only six bottles they had in the restaurant; the same ones they carried to a neighboring table when we asked for the wine list. "This is what we have," they explained. Years later, they offered me something similar in Quitu: six wines displayed casually and without prices. It must be the aftereffects of some local bug.

It's important to understand what we're looking for. What do sommeliers (here they still use the term "sommelier," the profession's complexities thrive on the details) mean when they talk about "the wine that goes very well with this dish"? They recite the mantra of pairing without generally understanding that a successful pairing is a rare feat. Perfect balance isn't quite a pipe dream, but it comes close. We seek a wine that meets the dish, or vice versa, creating a love story in which both yield a part of their nature without losing it entirely, multiplying their qualities in return. It's no longer simply the flavors and aromas of the wine and the dish. What results is the fruit of an encounter that is usually sublime; much more complex and elegant. A good pairing fills the mouth with nuances (and adjectives too) and opens new paths to pleasure.

Nor is it an immutable law; there are no formulas to guarantee balance. Wine follows its evolutionary path, while the dish—the meat that, they say, pairs so well with Malbec—can seem different with each encounter. To assume otherwise would be to establish that wine is always the same, unaffected by the evolution determined by time and storage conditions, and that meat always comes from the same cow. The slightest change in either will alter a relationship that is never immutable. Balance is defined in simpler terms: it fundamentally depends on the intensity and persistence of aromas and flavors. Nothing has ever been said about color. Among other things, this is because there are many white wines that are more consistent, intense, persistent, and nuanced than many red wines. To verify this, you only have to dare to taste.