(Munchies) It’s 3 AM on a Saturday night in downtown Mendoza in the Cuyo region of Argentina, and Brennan Firth has just passed out in his kebab.
The Arizona-born winemaker has good reason to be tired. In the past 24 hours and on four hours’ sleep, Firth—who moved to Argentina nine years ago to work the grape harvest—has picked me up from the airport, barrel tasted, bottle tasted, purchased lager, picked up labels, smoked weed, drunk lager with the artist friend who designed the aforementioned label, filled in paperwork, and delivered cases of Syrah 2011 to a distributor.Argentina nine years ago to work the grape harvest—has picked me up from the airport, barrel tasted, bottle tasted, purchased lager, picked up labels, smoked weed, drunk lager with the artist friend who designed the aforementioned label, filled in paperwork, and delivered cases of Syrah 2011 to a distributor.
We might have also squeezed in some lunch. All this to the soundtrack of Johnny Cash and D12.
The day’s final port of call is buzzing Aristides Avenue, where Firth and I knock back beer with some of his winemaking pals. By 4:30 AM, the four of us are politely asked to vacate the kebab shop. I confiscate the keys to Firth’s ancient VW Gol and sedately transport us through the city’s deserted one-way streets, back to his home-slash-warehouse in Luján de Cuyo. He grumbles the whole way that I drive like a grandma.
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