Every other year the Valdez clan gets together for a weekend reunion around the Fourth of July. The Valdez’s are Juanita’s family—my wife Carla’s late Mom. The reunions take place in the mountains on a family property near Angel Fire, New Mexico. It’s a small ski town about 45 minutes east of Taos with a population of just over 1,100 and an elevation of over 8,900 feet.
The first reunion took place in 1998. With the exception of COVID in 2020 and nearby fires a couple of years ago, the gatherings have happened every two years. I believe this year’s edition was the 12th. As reunions go, the Valdez version is about as chill as it gets. There’s a permanent open-sided structure with a corrugated metal roof on the property that’s large enough for a cooking area (including electricity and running water from a well) and half-a-dozen eight-foot folding banquet tables with chairs for meal seating. There’s also a fire pit next to the structure. Other than sitting and visiting, which I did a lot of, there’s any number of things to do including nearby golf and a small lake for fishing. Also, multiple trails for hiking, running, and biking.
Along with her cousin, Danita, Carla was one of two majordomo’s in charge of organizing this year’s reunion. About 55 signed up to attend. True to form, Carla created a masterpiece of an Excel sheet that listed everyone including partners, spouses, and kids. The only thing missing were names of the dogs, of which there had to be at least eight. They (the dogs) were good for random barking conversation interruptions throughout the weekend. The kids, as young as 15-month-old Adeline seen below, also provided constant entertainment. The strength of the herd present meant they could roam free with watchful eyes always there. And certain aunts and uncles were more than happy to take little ones on ATV rides.
It goes without saying that eating is one of the major activities of the weekend. Breakfast is served up mid-morning with scrambled eggs, potatoes, sausages, and bacon with the requisite red and green chile. Lunch was planned for Saturday, but we never got around to it as breakfast was late. Everyone spent the afternoon snacking instead.
Dinners then are the mainstay of reunion dining. In the past, they’ve run the gamut from the simple to the complex and potentially hazardous. Per the latter, there was a year when a group of guys deep fried several whole turkeys. I was impressed to say the least. I also viewed the proceedings from a distance.
No surprise one of the prime responsibilities of the two majordomos is to plan the meals. This year Carla and Danita spent considerable time narrowing down the possibilities. Much to their credit, they pushed the easy button. The first night dinner was made by someone who owns a catering company and food truck in a nearby town. Late in the afternoon, Phyllis, a relative, showed up with multiple large trays of enchiladas and tacos, as well as chips, salsa, and red and green chile—the yin and yang of New Mexican food. Carla, Danita, and her brother, Robert, also made a serious quantity of excellent guacamole. It was a perfect meal.
The menu for the second night was beef fajitas with a corn/red pepper/black bean salad. The latter required a lot of chopping veggies in the prep trailer where all the food was stored. I was on the prep crew along with Carla, her sister, Melissa, and Robert’s wife, Deborah. To get things started, I made cocktails for the crew. In preparation for the trip, I’d premixed a liter of Negronis at home using an empty Campari bottle. And yes, I buy Campari by the liter. After all, a man’s gotta’ take care of necessities. But don’t worry, I used a large Pyrex measuring cup to make sure the concoction was the necessary equal parts of the holy trinity of Campari, sweet vermouth (Carpano Antica), and gin (Plymouth 80-proof). All served up in red Solo plastic cups with ice out of a large plastic bag. Life doesn’t get better.
The wine we enjoyed with dinner that night was a bottle of 2004 Sterling SRV Reserve from my cellar, which is now stored in Santa Fe. A few months ago, I finally moved what was left of my cellar, which had been sleeping quietly at a friend’s storage place in Oakland, California, for over seven years. Mind you there are only two wine storage places in the state of New Mexico. Both happen to be in Santa Fe, which is an hour from home.
A half-hour before fajitas time, I opened and decanted the bottle. The wine was superb. Everything you’d want in a traditional Napa Valley Cabernet blend two decades old, with layers of dried fruit, cedar spice, old wood, and a touch of Brett. The latter giving the wine an attractive earthy quality. The palate was seamless. One sip of a wine like this and you understand why people have a cellar and age wine.
The Sterling Reserve was perfect with the fajitas. The wine had more than enough fruit left to complement the spice rub on the beef, not to mention the magic interaction between the protein, fat, and salt and the integrated tannins. Otherwise, as I sipped and enjoyed the fajitas, I wondered how the higher altitude was affecting the wine. After all, there’s the biodynamic calendar, with its fruit, flower, and leaf days. I’m guessing the system was designed for use at sea level and not high altitude. But then I also wondered how the altitude was affecting me, the taster. If anything—and I could be wrong about this—I thought that being at a higher altitude sharpened my senses. Maybe because I was running on less oxygen so my system had to work a bit harder. I can tell you that even a short walk at 9,000 feet will get your pulse and breathing rate up in no time.
Perhaps the altitude was responsible for my nose/palate/brain combo perceiving the wine in microscopic detail. The fact it was such a good wine didn’t hurt. Then I had one of those déjà voodoo moments when you realize that context, as with practically anything in life, reigns supreme with the wine experience. In this case, a family gathering, a gorgeous setting, and a great aged bottle that really showed its stuff.
I sat for a long time after dinner, making sure to enjoy every last sip of the wine. I also thought about how life is funny sometimes. One moment you’re 22 and finishing up your undergrad degree. Then the attractive violinist who had a locker next to you in the music building the entire previous year asks you to go see a movie with her the following weekend. You end up dating and some months later get invited to spend Thanksgiving at her parent’s place—along with 40-plus relatives. By then, most of them have heard about you and want to meet you. And yes, a few want to cross examine you.
Fast forward over 45 years later. The family has changed over time. Sadly, we’ve lost both Juanita and Bennie, Carla’s Dad. In fact, the only surviving member from Juanita’s generation is her brother Fred, who’s 98 and still spry. But for everyone we’ve lost, there’s been one (or several) new additions. Through it all, the Valdez’s have remained a close family. It goes without saying how lucky and grateful I am to be part of such a tribe. And it reminds me of how some things will always be more important than wine at 9,000 feet.
