Wine made with
unhurried hands.

In 1947, Salvatore Mirador arrived from Piedmont with a single suitcase and a cutting of Malbec wrapped in damp newspaper. He planted it on a windswept ridge in Luján de Cuyo that nobody else wanted — too high, too dry, too far.

That ridge is now our oldest block. His granddaughter, Elena, makes the wine today, alongside her brother Tomás, who tends the vines exactly as their grandfather taught: by hand, by ear, by intuition.

We have never chased scale. We make what these six hectares give us, and not a barrel more.