A Winemaker's Dinner In The Heart Of Mexican Wine Country

Tonight was a story about people. About connections. About creativity. About countless experiences forged over a shared meal in the middle of Mexican wine country, under a sky filled with stars.

The car bounced along the old dirt road at a staggering ten miles per hour, kicking up large swaths of dust and gravel behind it. The wheel wells sounded like rain beating down on a tin roof as a cloud of dry dust spewed out from the rear tires. My driver veered right and then left, dodging pot hole after pot hole until he was forced to make a choice between a deep and a shallow crevice. The car lurched, and I turned my head, gazing out of my window at the fields of lush wine grapes snaking their way up the mountain. In between all of the vineyards and fenced off parcels of land, buildings as old as time dotted the landscape. Some in immaculate condition, others in a state of constant dilapidation.

Time here seemed to have stopped. Or for those dreaming of the nostalgic days of Napa or Sonoma wine country, then this place was most definitely for you. And while you may not know what the hell to expect when you visit here, I absolutely did. And this drive certainly didn’t disappoint. This dirty, dusty road. This somewhat white Volkswagen Jetta sedan rattling down this pothole infused road in the middle of Baja, dust clouds billowing behind us like we were running from the law. As we crossed from one side of the highway to the next, Carretera Francisco Zarco was a memory in the rearview mirror, replaced only by a washboard track that threatened to shake my teeth loose. My driver, a man of few words and even fewer facial expressions, navigated the ruts with the stoic calm of someone who’s seen much worse. This was wine country off-roading at its best. Valle de Guadalupe was Mexico’s answer to Napa-only the Napa that was rough around the edges with dirt roads and gravel unmarked side streets, with wineries pointed out by directional signs placed along the old carratera. This region was a mix of beauty, and a small taste of chaos. This was Mexican wine country. Not the kind of manicured, glitzy place that you might see in glossy magazines. This instead, was the real deal. It was raw. It was unvarnished. It was beautiful in a way that made you feel both lucky and a little bit unworthy to be here.

As my car bounced around a sharp turn to the right, and even sharper cleaves in the bare road, La Villa del Valle appeared out of the dust like a mirage, perched on a hill overlooking a patchwork of vineyards and the distant, brooding outline of Sierra de la Laguna. The whole place had the quiet confidence of somewhere that knew it didn’t have to try too hard. The Spanish style inn had six rooms, all charm and no pretense. It was the kind of spot where the staff greeted you like an old friend and welcomed you as though you were visiting their own home. I strolled along the gravel drive towards the front door and was greeted and led inside. The massive staircase and Mexican tile was warm and inviting, and created an atmosphere of quiet sophistication. Before “buenas tardes” barely escaped my lips, I was handed a glass of Vena Cava Cabernet as welcome and a winemaker’s sincere handshake. I smiled and took a slow sip, letting the wine do what it generally did best.

Vena Cava does things a little differently than most other wineries. Phil Gregory, the winemaker was not a stranger to taking risks. And his cabernet definitely was a great example of that. This was definitely not the bruiser cab you might expect. Surprisingly, it was very smooth. Gentle and light on its feet, it had a light enough backbone to let you know it meant business. There was plum and violet on the nose. In the distance. Somewhere in the back of my palate, but not too far away, there were hints. Maybe they were more whispers of spice. There was also a finish that lingered like the last rays of the sun slipping silently behind the mountains in the distance. I walked out onto the terrace, glass in hand, and watched the sky go from gold to indigo. The air cooled as the sun dipped behind the jagged mountain ranges, and I imagined the yellow orb sliding into the Pacific Ocean just on the other side of the rocky terrain. This was the kind of sunset that made you believe in the magic of this valley and the alchemy of this wine country. I lifted my glass slightly, as a ray of sunlight carved a path straight through my wine and onto the villa. It was a moment of love and nature combining into a stream of delicious beauty that was captured in my wineglass. A lone toast to the parting day, and an anticipation for the evening to come.

The concierge gestured for me to follow him, as dinner was not in the villa this evening, but down the gravel path at Corazón de Tierra instead. This amazing restaurant was shuttered since the pandemic due in part that people had sheltered in place, and simply just stopped coming. For this evening, this winemakers dinner, the restaurant was reopened once again. Tonight’s dinner was like a secret whispered among friends, neighbors, and family. The room buzzed with laughter and conversation as once again, people filled the beautiful space that had been silent for far too long. Tonight, there was the kind of anticipation that only came when you know you’re about to eat something that you’ll easily remember for a long time to come. I panned around the room, briefly nodding and greeting online acquaintances, meeting others for the first time and enjoying the liveliness and welcoming atmosphere of the small restaurant. The smell of dinner drifted around the room. There was something smoked, citrus, something green and alive that hung in the air around us. It was only fitting that my stomach growled in protest, despite my cabernet aperitif.

Phil Gregory, the winemaker and the legend behind Vena Cava, greeted me warmly along with his wife Eileen. They’d built the winery and the villa out of a passion for winemaking, carving out a little piece of paradise in the Baja dust. Kristin Magnussen, winemaker and owner of Vinos Lechuza, also joined us for dinner. It was quick reminder that in Valle de Guadalupe, the lines between competition and camaraderie are deliciously blurred. It’s a place of intense creativity and passion where winemakers and chefs all combine their unique love for gastronomy to create something truly elegant and something utterly sublime. We mingled in the small space. The restaurant providing a venue of close interaction and intimate conversations. I met business owners who spoke about the challenges of building something from the ground up. I met retirees who spent years working for companies like Coca-Cola as executives. They opened the South American market to the soft drink giant. Now quietly retired here in the valley. There were people who were local, and many, like myself who had traveled from the United States to attend. Some even coming from as far as Guadalajara, Mexico as well. We came from everywhere, and tonight, we all gathered here, in one place to eat, to drink and bond over an amazing meal together.

We all took our seats, and the first course was delivered to the table. In true Baja style, the Primero was a scallop, fat and glistening, swimming in a pool of green curry and coconut. The dish was plated perfectly and looked almost too pretty to eat. But, I wasn’t one to lets aesthetics get in the way of a good meal. I took one bite and I was hooked immediately. The scallop was sweet, served raw and separated like butter as I bit into it. The green curry was a slap of heat tempered by the creamy coconut that swam in my bowl. It reminded me of a gazpacho that had gone on vacation to Thailand and came back with infinite stories to tell. Those tales were cool, creamy, and had a kick that lingered just long enough to make you yearn for more. The selected pairing was equally vibrant. Vena Cava’s 2023 Sauvignon Blanc. This was unlike anything that you would experience in Napa Valley. Phil’s Sauvignon Blanc was bright, almost electric. It was smooth as well with floating aromas of citrus and vanilla. And, while every palate was different, as many said that they detected just a hint of green pepper that played off the curry, for me it was quite the opposite. There were layer of guava and earthy sweetness that had just enough acidity to cut through the richness of the coconut. As all wines should do, this one complemented the dish and elevated it at the same time without overwhelming the scallop. Even as I finished, I continued to sip more of the Sauvignon Blanc, resetting my palate. This is what wine and food were meant to do. They were meant to dance together, each one elevating the other and changing the flavors and textures to create a unique and splendid experience.

Around the table, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine was poured. When you gather a group of winemakers at a table, you will always hear an amazing story or two. Tonight, Phil talked about the challenges of making wine in Baja California. He spoke about a decade of changes, both climate and economic. He reminisced about the varied seasons, the stubborn vines, and the absolute joy of coaxing something extraordinary from the dirt. Kristin chimed in with stories of her own. From her parents discovering the valley, to her turning her father’s hobby into a thriving business. Her passion for winemaking was obvious. And, as we all chatted and toasted, the second course arrived.

Segundo. It was fresh halibut, caught that morning just over the mountain ridge. It was plated on top of a cream of broccoli, sikil pak; a pumpkin seed sauce with Mayan roots, and a chorizo XO sauce that smelled like heaven and sin all in the same moment. The fish was utterly perfect. Firm, flaky, tasting of the sea but not overwhelmed by it entirely. The broccoli was puréed, smoky, a little bitter. Meanwhile, the sikil pak adding a nutty richness. And finally the chorizo XO sauce added a blast of umami and spice that lingered on the palate, if only for a moment. The pairing was an old friend. The Vena Cava 2021 Cabernet Sauvignon. While most seafood pairings would generally involve a white wine, for this dish, the cab worked perfectly. After all, this was Baja, and rules were definitely made to be broken here. The cabernet, with its silky tannins and notes of blackcurrant and tobacco, stood up to the chorizo without bullying the halibut in any way. The wine’s acidity kept things lively and soft. Its fruitiness echoed the sweetness of the fish, while its structure tamed the richness of the sauce elegantly. It was a pairing that generally shouldn’t have worked, but did so beautifully. The chef and the winemaker took something expected, and made it unexpected.

Between courses, the volume of the conversation elevated in the room as we were all getting slightly tipsy and more lively in our discussions. We talked about the future of Mexican wine and the challenges of climate change that the region was seeing. We also discussed the importance of community here in Valle de Guadalupe. Phil reminisced about the early days of Vena Cava. About taking risks. About the joy of building something from scratch. He reminded us that he started with one barrel of wine which steadily grew to over one hundred. But it was more than taking chances. Phil never lost respect the land. He trusted his instincts, and he never stopped learning.

The third course was an absolute showstopper for me. Spending time in both Spain and Italy, I learned to appreciate the magic of pork cheek. This pork cheek was braised with love and attention until it collapsed at the touch of a fork. It was nestled on a bed of pibil risotto and created a texture that was a compliment between meat and starch. The dish was creamy, smoky, with flavors that were deeply comforting. This was food that hugged you from the inside out. The wine pairing was a Vena Cava 2018 Tempranillo. Bold and structured, with aromas of plum, cherry, and a hint of smoke, the wine echoed the earthiness of the pork and the smokiness of the risotto while still remaining true to Vena Cava’s soft and gentle touch. Phil kept its tannins firm but not aggressive, its acidity balanced the richness of the dish elegantly. Each bite and sip seemed to be a conversation between Spain and Mexico. It was old world smashing against new, tradition crashing into innovation, all meeting at a point of creativity.

During the beginning of each course, our chefs stepped around their bar to introduce each dish, reviewing the details in both English and Spanish. Truth be told, and very selfishly, I wished that they had only used Spanish. But, that was mostly for my general immersion as if I found it a rare treat to come to Mexico, and use only Spanish from the time I entered to the time I left. The fourth course arrived in anticipation. Cuarto. Tell me, who the heck doesn’t like duck? And especially this duck. Roasted to a rosy pink, served with beetroot, raspberry, and an orange sauce that shimmered on the plate like a stained-glass window, even at night when the sun had long set on the Valle. The duck was tender, the skin was crisp. The beetroot was earthy and sweet. The raspberry and orange sauce was a bright, tart counterpoint that cut through the richness of the dish and created an air of freshness and crispness. The pairing was one of my favorites. The Vena Cava 2020 Phil’s Blend. This was Phil in a bottle. The wine was innovative, complex, layered. And honestly, much like the countryside, it was a little bit wild. It was a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, and Nebbiolo red grapes. Even still, in keeping with his style, the wine was lush and generous with notes of dark fruit, spice, and a hint of something slightly savory. Every sip wrapped around the duck like a velvet cloak, the fruit complementing the raspberry and the structure standing up to the orange sauce. The whole dish was truly a masterclass in balance and delicate intuition.

The hour was late. The wine continued to be poured generously. The conversation popped across the table, to left, and right of me. The entire room was humming. And just like that, strangers had become friends over a shared experience. Over a meal. Over drink, or two, or three, or four. The boundaries between winemaker and guests, between locals and visitors, had blurred beyond recognition. We toasted each other, and we raised a glass to the chefs. And most all, through our laughter and our newly found closeness, we were grateful for this moment and for this table that shared and enjoyed together.

We were so engaged with each other that we did not notice the dessert arriving at our table. It was at first glance, luxurious. It was however, completely sublime. Imagine a slice of rich brie, topped with peanut, passion fruit, and date. It was a study in contrasts. Something creamy and something sharp. A little sweet, and a little tangy. Somewhat crunchy, and somewhat smooth. The wine pairing surprised me more than the dessert. For this dish, Phil paired this luxurious dessert with something equally luxurious and rich. The Vena Cava 2017 Cabernet Franc Reserva. Phil called it a happy accident. Taking a sip, you could easily taste the serendipity. The wine was plush. It had deep notes of red fruit, herbs, and a hint of earth. And there was a smokiness to it. It was a hint that literally came out of nowhere. Its acidity cutting through the richness of the brie, its fruitiness playing off the passion fruit and date. It was the kind of pairing that made you grateful for mistakes. Because after all, some of the best mistakes have become some of the best moments of genius, creativity, and discovery.

As the evening sadly came to end, the kitchen wound down, and we realized that very soon, we would all need to retreat back to our hotels, our homes, and some of us, back to the border to cross into the United States. We raised our glasses one last time-to Phil, to Eileen, to the chefs who had worked their magic, to the valley that had brought us all together, and to an unforgettable evening. We had arrived as strangers, but we departed as friends. We were bound by the shared experience of good food, good wine, and good company. And we brought life back to a place that had been shuttered for far too long.

I stepped outside into the cool night after I said all of my goodbyes. In reality, as it seemed, the goodbyes were really more of a “until next time” as all of our paths would cross again. The sky was ablaze with stars and the air was thick with the scent of earth, rosemary and endless possibilities. I took a deep breath, pulling in the flavors and textures of Valle De Guadalupe. I savored the moment knowing that nights like this don’t come around that often. My driver was waiting, ready to ferry me back to, and across the border. It was a trip back to reality, and a journey away from a place that had become extremely familiar to me. The semi-white Volkswagen Jetta bumped down the jagged dirt road, making its way back along the La Ruta del Vino. I rested my head against the back of the seat and looked back at La Villa del Valle, its lights dimming in the distance, but still twinkling in the darkness. Tonight was a story. It was a story about people. About connections. About creativity. About countless experiences forged over a shared meal in the middle of Mexican wine country, under a sky filled with stars. It was a taste of Valle de Guadalupe.