Nearby, there's Clos de los Siete, a joint venture between seven of France's most heralded wine figureheads (grape globe-trotter Michel Rolland included) and Argentine winemakers. I arrange a lunch at Monteviejo, the first of three stunning wineries to open in these seven vineyards. This marvelous structure sits right between Mount Aconcagua of the Andes to the west and the gorgeous Uco Valley to the east.

For 60 pesos ($20), the best empanadas I have ever eaten kick-start a meal that includes a full-on asado, or mixed grill, and ends with flan flanked by Argentina's famed caramel-like milk jam, dulce de leche. The bottle of Clos de Los Siete, an experimental blend that includes grapes from each of the seven vineyards, costs 40 pesos ($13.50) more, but at this exchange rate, who cares? It all goes down as I gape at the vistas from the dining room - a portrait of vineyards in every direction, framed by the Andes and Uco Valley - which are surely unparalleled in the wine world.

Salta
If there was any doubt I'm in a carnivorous country, it's shed when my guide in Salta - a 100-percent-normal, 34-year-old guy - whips out a facon to cut his meat at a parrilla in charming San Lorenzo, just outside town. Gauchos, as Argentine cowboys are known, use this large knife first to slaughter their herd, later to cut up said herd for consumption, and then for protection anywhere else along the way - should the need arise. After lunch, he cleans it with bread (never water, I learn - it dulls the knife) and slides it back into the leather case on his belt. I immediately ask him where I might procure one for myself. "In Cafayate," he says, where I just so happen to be heading next.