On that stay in Buenos Aires, I'd return to our hotel, lovely Fierro in Palermo, and get up to our room where the large door windows would be wide open and a young Malbecc would be ready for the tasting. Later we'd descend to the their inimitable restaurant and proceed on a slow and languishing tasting journey until we were looking up and wondering which heaven we had entered. . .
An ebullient evening with my cousin who resides in Devoto, a distiguished suburb of Buenos Aires. Afterwards when they took us home after our late parillada at the local club, a downpour ensued unlike never seen before. We waited about an hour at a gas station which served as an island before we ventured forward towards our hotel. Malbec dreams, I suppose.