Finca Adalgisa

Before we get into gauchos and wine tours and late-night cheese sessions, I must first give you the single most valuable piece of advice for a visitor to Mendoza: when you dine at vineyard-set boutique hotel Finca Adalgisa’s asado (that’s Argentine for a beef-laden barbecue), save room for the steak at the end. This is crucial. Once you’ve filled your belly with olives, bread, chorizo, blood sausage, flank and an array of other meats (yes, you’ll get about a month’s worth of protein at this meal – my fellow Smith and I dubbed it a ‘meat-a-palooza’), you’ll suffer severe ‘fomo’ (fear of missing out) pangs when you’re too full to eat the best steaks, which appear at the end of the meal. You’ll curse your stomach for not stretching further and shake an angry fist at the meat gods for fooling you. Consider yourself warned…

So, now you know how to feast like an Argentine, be sure to swing by the asado during your stay at this charmingly rustic Finca – the carnivore-wooing banquet takes place in the hotel’s open-walled dining room, which overlooks 100-year-old Malbec vines. In addition to sustenance (to say the least), the communal-style meal is a great way to meet fellow travellers. The night my friend and I pulled up our chairs and loosened our belts, we befriended a couple from Miami. The conversation carried us through dinner and eventually over to the pool area for some lido-side Malbec. One thing led to another, someone introduced a cheese plate to the mix, and before we knew it 2am had rolled around and we were laughing uncontrollably as we debated which politicians throughout history we’d most like to be linked to in some sort of (alleged) sex scandal. I’m not naming names, but Ronald Reagan did come up… twice. The party ended when one of our hotel neighbours emerged from his room wearing nothing but underwear and politely asked us to keep the volume down. We obliged, said goodnight to our new-found friends, and debated the correct translation of ‘tighty whities’ in Spanish before turning in for the night.

The next morning, my friend and I woke to a massive cheese hangover that could only be cured by consuming even more cheese, naturally. Fortunately, Finca Adalgisa serves an incredible breakfast spread each morning, with not only cheese, but also warm breads, jams, fruit salad, made-to-order eggs and more. Over breakfast we agreed that it was time for some adventure, so we spoke with the hotel’s manager – the exquisite Teresa – who hooked us up with a day-long horseback tour in the Andes through a company called La Quebrada del Cóndor. 

The reservation set, we then became obsessed with what we should wear to best blend in like a local. My interpretation of a gaucho – J Brand jeans, Vans sneakers and a crumpled felt fedora – was more City Slickers than spot-on, but I felt cool, regardless. Our guides, Agustin and Yanina, picked us up at the hotel and drove us for about two hours to the ranch where we’d meet our four-legged friends. On the way there, Yanina passed us a silver cup filled with what looked like a mixture of crushed sticks and rain water. My friend took a sip and immediately claimed she was high. I was skeptical and took the biggest swig I could muster to either prove how wrong she was, or how stupid I am. Fortunately for me, Yanina eventually explained that the warm beverage was simply yerba maté; and no, it’s not hallucinogenic.

That afternoon we rode from the green-grass-covered ranch to the snow-covered peaks – it’s a bit like moving from fall to winter in a matter of hours. We joked with Yanina that we were prepared to ride all the way to Chile, but she reminded us that there were warm empanadas waiting for us at the ranch, so we turned back (yes, like large gaucho babies, we could be swayed by the promise of a snack).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (I have waited my entire life to use that phrase in earnest), another decadent asado had been prepared, so we hopped off our ‘hosses’ and saddled up by the grill, where we gorged ourselves with steak for a second night in a row. Yanina and Agustin then drove us back to Finca Adalgisa, where we – two tuckered-out cowgirls with a taste for Malbec – made our way to the winery room to polish off a couple glasses of red, as we recounted the day’s adventures. Later in our room, we crawled into our side-by-side beds, right next to a handsome painting of a horse, appropriately enough, and dreamed of meat, maté and pairs of men’s calzoncillos ajustados (the most-faithful translation of ‘tighty whities’ we landed on).