Bodega Garzón Petit Clos Albariño 2019: A Clash of Descriptions and a Question of Value

Marina Torchiari’s review of the Bodega Garzón Petit Clos Albariño 2019 isn’t just a tasting note; it’s a narrative. It’s a story of expectation, surprise, and a healthy dose of skepticism aimed squarely at the winery’s own marketing materials. This Albariño, she argues, is a wine of significant character, but one whose story is being misrepresented.

Torchiari’s tasting begins with context. She’s clearly a serious wine enthusiast, referencing Tim Atkin’s 2021 Uruguay report and demonstrating a familiarity with the wines of Bodega Garzón. Her prior experience with their wines, a positive white and a less impressive red, sets the stage for this Albariño. The “caramelo” colored bottle, typical in Uruguay, is noted, as is the significance of the “Petit Clos” designation, signaling a specific vineyard selection. This attention to detail permeates her entire review.

Bodega Garzón itself is painted as a “modern” and “fashionable” winery near Punta del Este, a place of awards and recognition. The wine hails from “Block 27,” a specific plot within their meticulously managed vineyards. This emphasis on origin and quality is important, as it underscores the wine’s premium status.

Then comes the tasting. Torchiari’s notes are vivid and specific. The aroma is “salvia” (sage) and “peras” (pears), more fruit-forward than floral. The color, a deep yellow, is striking and, she emphasizes, atypical for a non-oaked white. This deep color immediately clashes with the official description, a point she returns to repeatedly.

The taste is where this Albariño truly shines, according to Torchiari. “Super ácido,” “super fresco,” and dry, the wine’s vibrant acidity drives the experience. She detects a “dejo amargo” (bitter aftertaste) that morphs into a salty, almost “picante” (spicy) sensation, reminiscent of “tajín” and ginger. This complex interplay of flavors, coupled with the wine’s tactile mouthfeel, sets it apart from the previous white she tasted. She envisions it paired with acidic dishes like ceviche, a perfect aperitif, though she questions its ability to stand up to richer, heavier fare.

This is where the real drama begins. Torchiari’s critique of the official Bodega Garzón tasting notes is scathing. “It has nothing to do with the wine,” she declares, suggesting the author never even tasted it. The “pale yellow with subtle green reflections” description is, in her words, completely wrong. The wine is intensely yellow, gold, or caramel, she insists. The entire description, she feels, is generic and fails to capture the wine’s true character.

She contrasts this with Tim Atkin’s notes, which mention lemon (a note she didn’t pick up) and confirm the wine’s oak aging and its divergence from the Rías Baixas style. Atkin’s 95-point score is something she wholeheartedly agrees with.

The price, however, is a sticking point. At 2,655 Uruguayan pesos, it’s the most expensive white wine she’s reviewed. She finds this price, comparable to high-end Californian wines, perplexing, especially considering it’s more expensive than top Argentinian whites from iconic producers. She questions the target market for such a pricey Uruguayan white.

Despite the cost, Torchiari sees potential. She believes the wine could be a good investment, appreciating in value if Bodega Garzón maintains quality. She recommends it, but with caveats. It’s a “super alta gama” wine, not for everyone, and certainly not for those put off by the price.

Torchiari’s review is more than just a description of flavors. It’s a dialogue, a conversation with the wine itself and, perhaps more importantly, with the winery. She praises the wine’s quality, its unique character, and its potential. But she also challenges Bodega Garzón, calling out what she perceives as a misrepresentation of their own product. Her review is a reminder that wine writing can be both informative and engaging, a blend of objective observation and subjective opinion, all wrapped in a narrative that brings the wine to life.