The water comes up to my neck. It’s so warm it feels almost womb-like. Ripples form as a couple of doves swoop down to skim the puddles next to the soaking pool. I float, exhausted from nearly ten hours of transit including a pre-dawn flight from Santiago to Lima, and then another hour-long flight to Arequipa in the south of Peru.

The sun casts a ray onto the facade of our room. The entire building is made from white volcanic stone bricks called sillar, the building material for all of Arequipa, known as the White City. The stone catches and holds the light differently depending on the hour, and even from the pool I can see how the shadows shift across the courtyard walls as the afternoon moves.

After soaking for a while, my husband sleepily emerges and eases into the pool. The tiredness is finally loosening its grip and I am starting to feel the itch to head out to explore.

A few hours earlier, we’d landed in Arequipa on Thanksgiving Day. With high crosswinds and a bumpy approach between three towering volcanoes, I was grateful to be safely on the ground. The road to town wound down and around the outer sprawl before eventually opening into the historic center where we arrived at our beautiful hotel, Cirqa.

Stepping through a single wooden door, the street disappeared behind me. Inside, the building, dating back to 1540, the narrow entrance opened into a series of courtyards connected through arched colonnades, with olive trees and linen canopies filtering the intense light overhead. With only eleven rooms, each room maintained the original vaulted ceiling — frescoed brick, nearly five centuries old — while everything else had been stripped to a spare, modern decor.

Feeling ravenous, and very thirsty, we sat down to order celebratory pisco sours to toast being back in Peru and experiencing the joy of Thanksgiving abroad (no cooking required). Two perfectly frothy cocktails arrived soon after, their bright, limey tang going down dangerously easily. We ordered grilled alpaca skewers with ají amarillo (yellow chili) sauce and solterita arequipeña, the most delectable salad of fresh fava beans, corn, tomatoes, olives, and queso caparella, the intensely salty cheese from the region. By the time the food arrived, I already wanted a second pisco sour.

“Tread lightly and hydrate,” I thought to myself. At 2,300 meters above sea level, Arequipa’s high, dry climate can sneak up on you, along with the pisco.

At golden hour, we set out for the Plaza de Armas, just two blocks from the hotel. As we approached, the narrow colonial streets gave way to an enormous square with the cathedral to the north, the arcades framing the sides, and the silhouette of Misti volcano rising just beyond the bell tower.

The entire colonial center is built from sillar, and at this hour it caught the last sunlight and bathed everything in an amber glow. Wreaths had already been placed on the cathedral doors and lights were being strung along the arcades. Workers were assembling a nativity scene in front of the church while locals were out paseando, strolling, and teenagers clustered on benches the way teenagers do everywhere.

There were not many tourists — the vibe was decidedly local. The first time I went to Peru in 2003, Cusco had this same undiscovered feel, and over the years we’ve watched it tip into crowd mitigation. Arequipa still felt like Peru before all of that.

We wandered until twilight then came back to the hotel where they had lit fogatas — bonfires — on the terrace. We sat outside with drinks and snacks, not particularly hungry after our late lunch. The atmosphere at Cirqa after dark, with the firelight dancing, was one of those evenings where you don’t need anything else. The city was already working its magic on us.

The next morning, bright and early, we rendezvoused with our guide, Leo, who was a born and raised arequipeño. We drove to the outskirts of the city to the quarry where all the sillar — ignimbrite, compressed ash and pumice — is extracted. What should have been a short drive stretched out with traffic and proved to be an unhinged obstacle course full of stray dogs and stoplights as suggestions — I was grateful to not be behind the wheel.

Leo explained that Arequipa sits in a protected zone and river valley that produces much of Peru’s exported fresh produce. Irrigation turns what would otherwise be high desert into an oasis. Ringed by three volcanoes — Misti, Chachani, and Pichu Pichu — Misti sits directly overhead at nearly 5,800 meters high. Being active, and close enough to the city center, an eruption scenario would produce a “Peruvian Pompeii” in about 17 minutes.

Nearing the quarry, the land turned blindingly white with huge cuts out of exposed earth. We passed the first section which felt like a theme park complete with a replica of Petra carved from the stone. We stopped to hike the Quebrada de Culebrillas, a mini-canyon surrounded by tall winding walls. As we scrambled over some of the rocks, Leo, with his wide-brimmed hat, reminded me of a Peruvian Indiana Jones.

We continued down the road with mountains of raw sillar boulders on either side. Leo had arranged for us to meet an artisan who still cuts sillar bricks by hand, a craft that has built the city for five hundred years. A man covered from head to toe including a face mask approached with an enormous ball in one cheek, looking like a chipmunk. He was chewing a wad of coca leaves, which is common among Andean workers in the altiplano. Coca leaves are energetic, suppress appetite, and make heavy manual labor at altitude considerably easier.

The artisan took a large block of sillar and explained how to split the stone. Placing the wedge into the grain in the center of the stone, with one precise whack, he cleaved the block in two. Being so lightweight and porous, and with the force applied correctly, the block separated almost willingly. He evened the edges, shaping it into a brick identical to the ones that make up every colonial building in the city. This is how literally every structure in Arequipa’s historic center has been built since the sixteenth century. These artisans are becoming scarce though — fewer people want this kind of labor, and the craft is slowly disappearing.

Back in the city, we spent the afternoon on foot. Walking through Arequipa, you start to feel how important this city once was with the grandeur of the churches and buildings. Positioned between Lima, the mining wealth of Potosí (Bolivia), and the ports of the Pacific, it became one of the great colonial strongholds of southern Peru — politically influential, deeply Catholic, and wealthy from trade and agriculture. Leo walked us through the historic center — church after church with Baroque gold interiors, the heavy ornamentation that the Spanish crown used as much for conversion as for worship.

While I was not up for visiting every single church in Arequipa, Leo insisted on showing us Iglesia de la Compañía with its intricate facade full of tropical birds, vines, flowers, masks, saints, and symbols and lavish gold interior. Built by the Jesuits during the height of Spanish colonial power, the church is one of the finest examples of Mestizo Baroque in Peru — European religious ornamentation fused with Indigenous craftsmanship, carved entirely from sillar. Wandering through the cloisters adjacent to the church, the arcaded courtyards felt almost Andalusian.

We zigzagged down busy commercial streets toward the San Camilo market for a glimpse into truly local culture, both food and people. Walking into the market, it was like stepping into the circulatory system of Arequipa. It was a pulsating maze. Leo motioned to follow him down an aisle stacked floor-to-ceiling with the wide-brimmed straw hats so iconic to Arequipa, that provide protection against the relentless sun.

We continued past stalls selling herbal remedies, lucky charms, bottles of floral water for protection against mal de ojo, offerings to the Pachamama, dried llama fetuses for ceremonial burial blessings, candles, saints, rosaries, and incense. Leo stopped to buy us charm bracelets made from Amazonian seeds for good luck. While standing there, I noticed the Virgin Mary nestled in coca leaves next to natural aphrodisiac pills called rompe calzones. Catholicism, Andean cosmology, and everyday superstition playing out in a uniquely Peruvian way.

I smelled the sweetness of the most aromatic pineapple, probably from the selva (jungle) and sure enough, the next corridor was full of fresh fruit and juices. Rows of women in aprons fed papaya, chirimoya, strawberries, bananas, and lúcuma into blenders while shouting orders back and forth over the roar of the market. We walked past vendors hawking dozens of varieties of potatoes and tubers from pebble-sized purple ones to the yellow speckled olluco, and long finger-like tubers called oca alongside sacks of giant corn, beans, and dried herbs from the Andes.

Across the way, there were stalls full of sauces made from different chilies from ají amarillo (which goes in almost everything in Peru) to the mild ají panca, fiery rocoto, and many more. Standing in the middle of all these ingredients, I understood why so many chefs consider Arequipa the cradle of Peruvian cuisine. Everything converges here. Ingredients from the Andes, the Amazon, and the Pacific coast meet in this valley, and the cooking that comes out of it is spicier and more layered than anywhere else in Peru.

From Mercado San Camilo, we made a beeline to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, Arequipa’s crown jewel. Dating back to 1579, Santa Catalina occupies more than 20,000 square meters and functions less like a convent than an entire enclosed city. It remained sealed from the outside world for nearly four centuries before opening to the public in 1970.

As we entered, a large arch, painted in terracotta, read silencio. While that could be read as devotional, Santa Catalina was also where the wealthiest families paid enormous dowries to place daughters at as young as twelve or thirteen, often a symbol of status for the father. Yet this was one of the very few places in colonial Peru where women could receive an education, become literate, and live free from marriage and the colonial patriarchy.

The intensity of the colors from one area to the next — saturated shades of terracotta, indigo, cobalt, and burnt orange — created this constant oscillation between brightness and enclosure, joy and melancholy. At moments it felt devotional; at others, strangely domestic. Behind its massive walls were streets, plazas, kitchens, fountains, chapels, gardens, laundry areas, cemeteries, and individual living quarters where women entered with servants, artwork, porcelain china, and spacious apartments. Others lived in far more modest cells. The hierarchies of colonial society reproduced themselves almost perfectly inside the walls.

Leo ushered us through Santa Catalina and I kept thinking about Flora Tristán, the French-Peruvian writer and early feminist who traveled through Arequipa in the 1830s and wrote Peregrinations of a Pariah — one of the earliest detailed descriptions of Santa Catalina and a sharp criticism of the constraints placed on women in colonial Peruvian society. Tristán called herself une paria — a woman with no legal standing, no inheritance, no recourse. She saw in the convent walls what I was feeling walking through them: the architecture of a world that educated women only by enclosing them.

The convent felt suspended between refuge and confinement — one of the only doors open to a woman seeking a life of the mind, yet still entirely shaped by the structures that limited her freedom in the first place. I felt furious at how limited the options were, yet there was also evidence of women building lives inside those constraints: organizing kitchens, preserving recipes, creating devotional art, educating one another, and maintaining traditions that still survive today in the sweets prepared by the convent and sold in the gift shop.

I left Santa Catalina with a pit in my stomach. The best a woman could hope for in colonial Peru was an education inside a beautiful jail. And five centuries later, the fight for women’s education and agency still isn’t over.

Glancing down at my phone, I saw we had hit 25,000 steps — literally a half marathon walking around Arequipa. My feet were tired with reason. The sun had already set and the sky was that deep indigo blue at twilight. We bid farewell to Leo and settled into Cirqa’s chic dining room with crystal chandeliers and velvet banquettes for cocktails and dinner in the form of little bites — baby stuffed rocoto peppers and the famous chupe de camarones, a rich river shrimp chowder.

What a day it had been. Perhaps a little too crammed, but that’s how work trips go sometimes. I could still feel the heat and intensity of the day — the rocoto chili, the white glare of the quarry, the silencio arch at Santa Catalina. Fiery, luminous, and layered — Arequipa had gotten under my skin.

The next morning, we were heading four hours north to the Colca Canyon, but that’s another story… coming very soon.
Un abrazo,
Liz

The post Stone, Light, and Fire: Arequipa, Peru’s under-touristed south appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

The first thing you notice landing in Calama is the incredible dryness. On the road to the desert oasis of San Pedro, the jumping off point to the Atacama Desert in northern Chile, the landscape registers few signs of life — dry riverbeds, copper colored hills, and even an entire mountain range made from compressed salt. By the time you arrive, your body cannot hide from the 5% relative humidity and the altitude. Thirst seems unquenchable and the 8,200 feet above sea level makes your head swim during those first hours as you acclimate.

The remoteness and martian desert-scape is part of the draw. As one of highest and driest places on earth, with the clearest skies, many astronomers come from around the world to peer deep into the cosmos at the nearby ALMA (Atacama Large Millimeter Array).

I am not here though to study the stars, not scientifically at least. I am hosting a wine group from Texas to start a ten day adventure from the Atacama over the Andes into Jujuy and Salta in Argentina. Wine, and nature, are the common language.

Our home base is Awasi Atacama, a luxury lodge within walking distance of San Pedro’s main square and the pretty 17th century whitewashed iglesia with its cactus-wood doors. Yet with its high adobe walls, you almost don’t know the hotel is there at all. Inspired by Tulor, one of the oldest archaeological settlements in the Atacama, it feels like a hidden village. The twelve villas are earthen buildings with weathered woods, native stone, paja brava thatched roofs, and the pathways around the property are shaded by algarrobo and chañar trees with the murmur of running water through the irrigation channels.

After settling in and lunch, we set out towards the Cordillera de la Sal — a mountain range formed entirely from tectonic uplift, layers of red sediment and compressed white salt rising out of the Salar de Atacama basin. As we turned off the road, there was not a single sign of life. The vast emptiness between the ridges felt like a real life Tatooine.

The hike started with a quick ascent, enough to get your heart rate going, to the top of a salt-crusted ridge with views of the valley of San Pedro, the salt mountains, the volcanoes — Licancabur, Juriques, and Láscar — and the desert as it rises to the altiplano.

Each villa has its own private guide and driver, so even when the group is traveling together as a caravan, all the guides and drivers go. This group were all accomplished hikers so I let them take the lead and hung back with my guide Leo. After breaking my ankle earlier in the year, despite being healed, this was my first real trekking and my footing still felt wobbly (along with my confidence).

As we moved out along the highest, narrowest, and most rocky part with a steep drop to either side, the loose gravel made me apprehensive. Leo pulled out the trekking poles and pointed out where to step — at times giving me his hand to make sure I was steady. One of the guests had waited for me at the top of the huge sand down and we descended together. I made it!

We caravaned offroad to a sheltered clearing with a sprawling view of the desert where the Awasi team had staged a spectacular sundowner — plates of cheeses, charcuterie, and tapas alongside wines from the Limarí Valley, a limestone-rich coastal desert to the south, making some of the most exciting wines in Chile. The sommelier, Rommy, poured one of my favorite Chilean sparklers, Tatie, made in partnership with Thiénot from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir with a saline, mineral edge.

The sun continued to drop and the volcanoes turned amber, fuchsia, and magenta. The cold crept in and people started piling on layers — wool hats, jackets, and refilling their wine to keep warm. The Atacama holds almost no humidity, so the second the sunlight disappears, the temperature plummets. Feeling giddy, and maybe a little of the champagne effect, we huddled together for group photos to remember this moment when the Atacama welcomed us in all her grandeur.

The next day after breakfast, we were up early to hike part of the Guatin Canyon to arrive at the Puritama hot springs. Set within a narrow desert canyon at nearly 11,400 feet above sea level, the eight cascading thermal pools wind through golden grasses, volcanic rock and giant cardón cacti. We changed into our bathing suits and eased into the steaming, warm, mineral-rich water. The pools varied in temperature — some had waterfalls, others were more like swimming holes. By the time my fingers looked like shriveled raisins, the zonda — a fierce wind that sweeps down from the Andes in spring — had picked up.

As I hoisted myself out of the pool, the biting cold wind made me shiver. I wrapped myself in the plush bathrobe and ran to the next pool. When I was finally ready to get out for good, our guides had prepared warm maté de coca (coca tea) along with healthy nibbles, perfect to acclimate to the higher altitude.

Lunch was further up the road in a special place we had scouted at near-altiplanic altitude. Perched in a natural reserve, the excursions team had set up a carpa, tent, looking down over San Pedro, the Gran Salar de Atacama, the volcanoes and beyond. But the zonda had only intensified. We were tasting wines from MOVI, a collective of independent Chilean wine producers I had selected for lunch, when a particularly strong ráfaga, gust, nearly blew the tent away. The waitstaff quickly became tent holders in between serving steaming pumpkin soup and roast beef with quinoa. Despite being bundled up and slightly windblown, nobody wanted to leave. The beauty and wildness of the setting was part of the adventure.

On our last morning, the group scattered to explore the desert at their own pace. A geologist and his wife left at four in the morning for El Tatio to experience the sunrise and geothermal activity at the geyser field at over 14,000 feet above sea level. Others went to Toconao for Atacameño textiles and see the great salt flat with its flamingos.

Fortunately, the wind had subsided. We reconvened for lunch south of the town, in a savannah-like grassland with an almost safari feel. Jota, the head of excursions, along with his team had put together a beautiful tent and table with a full working kitchen. As we pulled up, the somm approached our SUV with a bottle of champagne and crystal glasses in hand. Who could say no to that??

We mingled, then sat down at the table, in a U, so everyone had a view and tasted a series of Pinot Noirs from north to south in Chile with the main course. I have no idea how much time elapsed, nor how much wine I drank (my glass was mysteriously always full), yet by the time we left, we were all fairly giddy.

After lunch, we drove out to Baltinache, turquoise salt pools in the open desert. The drive itself was half the experience: a long, isolated desert road and a landscape so immense it felt cinematic. The salt crusts looked almost like snow from a distance and the pools themselves were a deep shade of turquoise and jade green. With a salt content as high as the Dead Sea, you bathe in the (very cold) water and your body simply does not sink. You float on top, just like a cork.

That particular afternoon, halfway there, we got word that the zonda had unexpectedly returned and the pools were closing immediately due to 100 km/h gusts. The desert had made the decision for us. We turned back to town for our farewell dinner. Leo, my guide, blared Daft Punk and we enjoyed the road trip home.

Back at the hotel and showered, I sat at the bar near the crackling fire pit and had Rommy make me a negroni with a local vermouth using Andean herbs. As he served me homemade camote (sweet potato) chips, one of the guests joined me and ordered a rica rica sour. Rica rica is an aromatic plant growing all over the Atacama that is reminiscent of thyme and used in everything from soups to sorbets to…cocktails!

For our final dinner at Awasi, I put together a tasting of Chilean icons to pair with the tasting menu the chef had prepared. I had brought from Santiago some special library vintages and magnums, like Caballo Loco. At the end of dinner, the group, animated by the wine and conversation, asked for the chef and cooks to come out and take a bow. They had nourished us in the best way possible for three days.

Yet we weren’t done. While some people headed off to bed with our early morning departure to cross the Andes into Jujuy, Argentina the next day, half the group carried their glasses (and a couple wine bottles) onto the van to the stargazing setup outside town where there was no light pollution. Arriving at the telescopes, we were given ridiculous polar jackets to combat the near-freezing temperature that made all of us look like giant teddy bears. The Milky Way was visible with the naked eye. Looking into the telescope at the moon, in its waning stage, was almost blinding. Through another telescope, we saw Saturn with its rings along with the constellations and stars unique to the southern hemisphere. Standing there, the sheer depth of what was visible made you realize just how infinite the universe truly is.

Deserts have a way of stripping distraction away and making things obvious. There is less visual noise, less humidity, less softness, less interference between you and the landscape. The light bounces endlessly off the salt, the minerals, the mountains, and even the stars themselves. It can feel harsh and deeply energizing at the same time, and it’s expansive on a cellular level. In all the years I have been traveling to the Atacama, it’s the light I remember — or why, at least, I keep returning.
Un abrazo,
Liz

The post What the Desert Asks of You appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

The Uruguayan Riviera returns February 19–25, 2027 — our third edition, and it gets better every time.

I‘m standing on the sand dunes above Playa Mansa in José Ignacio, Uruguay. Big raindrops — the fat, splattering kind — are beating down on my head and the cashmere sweater I am wearing to ward off the chill is quickly getting wet. Two hours ago, the sky turned a terrifying shade of dark blue-gray-green that looked like something from a sci-fi movie. I barely made it back from lunch in town to the bungalow before the heavens opened.

Earlier that day, the group had bid farewell, the end of our annual group journey, the Uruguayan Riviera. I was now in that blank space, an energetic vortex, that comes after a week of intense togetherness. A friend from Montevideo had just arrived to catch up and as we watched the rain pound the ground, we sipped a favorite Albariño.

Then the sky started to clear up. A seam of amber opened along the horizon as the sun dropped behind the tail end of the clouds heading towards sunset. The sand, the bungalow, us — were bathed in golden-ochre light, like being veiled inside a Renaissance painting. I knew this could only mean one thing…
We ran to the top of the dunes and there it was — a perfect full arc rainbow. It stretched from the Atlantic over the entire village of José Ignacio.

Besides being refracted light, I have always felt rainbows are direct communication from the universe, a bridge between worlds. You need the storm and the light. You don’t get one without the other. And it was the perfect crescendo to a week in Uruguay — a place that asks you to slow down, stop reaching for the next thing, and just be in it. The best things here arrive with paciencia.

We move from Montevideo’s Belle Époque elegance — with time to stroll La Rambla along the waterfront — through the rolling vineyards of Canelones, Uruguay’s historic wine heartland, where Tannat is poured in family cellars and long asados unfold alongside the vines. East into Maldonado province, where soft green pastures and olive groves meld into the sparkling azure of the South Atlantic, framed by eucalyptus and towering pines. We taste on hilltops, lunch at a producer’s home, and visit the atelier of a prominent artist making monumental marble sculptures set against sea and sky.

Then three nights in the dunes at Bahía Vik in José Ignacio — a village where the historic faro watches over the peninsula and carved wooden signs read aquí solo corre el viento: here, only the wind blows. Ride horseback along the beach with gauchos. Lie beneath a Skyspace at dusk — an hour of shifting light and color that plays with your perception of depth, sky, and where one ends and the other begins. Between experiences, José Ignacio does what it does best — long beachfront lunches, bare feet in the sand, ocean air, and nowhere to be.

And the grand finale: a sunset tapas tasting of iconic wines from across the country’s finest cellars, poured oceanfront. As the sun drops into the Atlantic, the sky turns blazing orange, then pink, then magenta, with the sketched silhouette of Punta del Este penciled against the horizon. It’s easy to fall for the encanto, the magic, of José Ignacio — and Uruguay.

The Uruguayan Riviera
February 19–25, 2027
7 days / 6 nights
Montevideo (Sofitel Carrasco) → José Ignacio (Bahía Vik)
Twelve guests
Hosted by Liz Caskey

We’d love to have you at the table. Please Contact Us for the detailed itinerary and to reserve your place.

The post The Uruguayan Riviera — February 2027 appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

I am sitting like a lizard in the warm afternoon sunshine, wrapped in an alpaca wool shawl on a scenic terrace overlooking the Apalta wine appellation and volcanoes of the Andes. The chilly morning rain has moved out and there’s not a cloud in the sky. In the distance, there’s a shrill call of a queltehue, a southern lapwing, one of the most common birds in the Chilean countryside and the murmur of voices from the nearby lodge. I am enjoying a moment to myself to reboot after a very early arrival from Buenos Aires this morning.

After touching down, I made a beeline to Clos Apalta Residence, a stunning hotel property in the heart of the Colchagua Wine Valley, 2.5 hours south of Santiago. While Clos Apalta is renowned for its wine, and the stunning gravity flow winery is certainly iconic, I am here to stay in the newish, ultra-luxurious villas, added as an extension to the existing four vineyard casitas (also freshly renovated).

After a very leisurely check-in and lunch, I climb aboard the golf cart ushering people and luggage up and down the steep hillside to/from the villas (note to self: just walk next time, or hold on tightly). Each villa (and casita) is named for one of the grape varieties grown in the vineyard. Fittingly, I am assigned Grenache, as if they knew my affinity for that variety!

Entering the villa, it immediately feels like an opulent treehouse. The view opens completely and is located mid-slope right above the center of the vineyards. The architecture is completely integrated into the hillside so you feel the forest yet seem to be floating just above it. The picture windows have encompassing vistas of the surrounding hillsides (awash with wild mustard at this time of year), the valley floor, and the Andes. There’s a panoramic view from every single vantage point (living, bedroom, bathroom) and a wraparound veranda to enjoy it outside, too. Even the individual vanities in the spa-like bathroom mirror the landscape. And then there’s the ‘hall of mirrors’, an enormous closet area with floor-to-ceiling infinity mirrors that makes getting dressed so fun and an excuse to indulge in endless selfies…or at least I did that!

Another thing to love? The living room is completely detached from the master bedroom and bathroom so if you need to work, make a phone call, or wake up in the middle of night or really early in the morning for a coffee, it doesn’t bother your significant other or travel partner. And at 1600 square feet (148m2), the villa definitely feels like a private hillside getaway where you can easily disappear for as long as you want, surfacing only to be fed and wined in the main lodge as needed (breakfast can be delivered and served in your villa upon request, too).

Following a short siesta, I manage to peel myself away from the villa. I skip the winery tour, which while a true architectural feat everyone should see at least once, I have visited probably 100 times since its 2005 inauguration. Instead, I meet with their resident sommelier to taste through a few vintages of the Clos Apalta wine by the fireplace.

Founded by Alexandre Marnier (of the Gran Marnier family), Clos Apalta’s icon wine has consistently scored 100 points for multiple vintages and is firmly established as one of Chile’s most acclaimed red wines on the icon level. The project has grown to include other wines within the portfolio, which are tasted in the context of meals, although Clos Apalta continues to be the hallmark wine. As we taste through the line up, I realize this is the kind of wine I don’t gravitate to very much anymore as my palate has veered more in the champagne-white wine-Burgundy-esque red direction. It’s big, dense, and chewy and reaches 15% alcohol. The style is very Michel Rolland (their wine advisor) and, for my palate at least, has this bonbon quality from the concentration and use of new oak that immediately makes the vintages with some age on them (like 7-10 years) more approachable.

While Clos Apalta as a project was initially built as the ‘home’ to make the namesake wine, today the focus is a complete hospitality experience and is part of the Relais & Chateaux group. Chef Leonel Diaz helms the kitchen and is a Colchagua native leveraging much of what is sourced from the property’s extensive vegetable garden to create the menu along with products from the local Santa Cruz feria (farmers market) or other small producers in the valley. While his perspective is acutely local and Chilean in many flavor combinations, there’s a consistent French flair (and undertone) that cuts across not only the food but the aesthetics as well. It’s that kind of old world touch of understated elegance and sophistication that feels rooted in a clear vision and noble materials.
The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, I head out on a long vineyard walk to get fresh air before the most scenic pilates workout ever. There’s a villa solely dedicated as a gym, complete with dry and Turkish saunas! Fortunately, I can take my time since there is nothing on the agenda this morning…what a godsend in a place like this!

For guests staying at Clos Apalta, the property is strategically located within the Colchagua Valley so many winery visits and anchor dining, like Francis Mallmann’s Fuegos de Apalta, are very close by. Of course, as tempting as it may be to run around the valley and conquer tasting as many wines as humanly possible (and certainly one day could be dedicated to that…), I think this is the kind of place to savor, rest, and enjoy just being there. It’s so incredibly exquisite in every way!

After a fabulous champagne brunch, before moving on to my next stop, I did just that. I absorbed as much of those glorious views of the Chilean countryside as I could. Having spent over half my life in Chile, the imagen (image) of the Andes and the green valley floor will be forever etched in my memory — and soul. I was, in essence, filling my tank with nature and beauty for the road.

Definitely worth a few days detour from Santiago, or even a trip from afar, too.

The post Just back from… Clos Apalta Residence in Chile appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

From my air-conditioned perch inside a picturesque bar in Cartagena, I have a view of the San Pedro de Claver church, made of golden coral stone and heavy wooden doors where many passersby stop to snap photos. The plaza just outside is surrounded by white and ochre-toned colonial buildings with carved balconies where the palanqueras wait, draped in jewel-toned ruffles with a bowl of tropical fruit balanced on their heads. I can hear the clip-clop of a carriage coming, such a familiar sound in the walled city, and traditional mode of transport.

I am snapped back into the present moment as a freshly mixed daiquiri is placed in front of me by Juan, the owner and master mixologist. “The daiquiri,” he explains, “exemplifies balance. A perfectly balanced daiquiri has the tartness of fresh lime juice, the sweetness of sugar and the tropical flavors of rum. Without any of these ingredients, the cocktail would simply not work.”

While I am not usually a daiquiri drinker, he explains that it’s a ‘trinity cocktail,’ the same as a negroni (hands down my favorite!), and if that’s the case, I can be convinced…plus it is way more Cartagena in vibe.

One of our brave guests volunteers to get behind the bar to mix up a signature cocktail under the bartender’s guidance. The bar is already quite cozy so the illuminated rows of dehydrated-fruit-infused spirits, house-made bitters, and botanical infusions, give it an apothecary-meets-speakeasy ambience.

We have covered a lot of ground these past days since arriving in Cartagena. Even after many visits here, the city still feels fantastical; almost like a movie-set (except it’s not): the ornate bougainvillea climbing the facades, the imposing walls of the fortress and its heavy cannons, vendors hawking freshly squeezed limonada to beat the heat under the palms, looking up to see a sloth sleeping peacefully in a magnolia tree, the never-ending murmur of salsa drifting out of open windows. Then there’s the constant sea breeze, and view, if you climb up on the walls or find a rooftop terrace.

Cartagena also has this yin-yang pull where you need nature to counter the city’s intensity. Earlier that day, we sailed out to the Rosario islands and the Baru peninsula where the crystal-clear turquoise Caribbean Sea appeared. We snorkeled, swam, sunbathed on a swath of golden sand, had massages on the beach and ate fresh lobster for lunch. It was paradise…

I am roused out of my daydreaming (again) by Juan who says,

“Ya te toca Liz!”

My turn at the bar?? I am usually the one drinking, not mixing…but…¿por qué no?

“What cocktail do you want to make? Penicillin or Sex on the Beach?”

I take a moment to consider my options. Well, besides being allergic to actual penicillin, I also have an aversion to whiskey. Sex on the beach seems very 1980s Miami Beach although fitting, or at least this city seduces me every single time. Let’s go with that…

I make my way behind the bar to the mise en place where the bartender points to everything I will need to pull this off, minus a dose of confidence that I have to find on my own.

I measure out the chilled vodka into the jigger, followed by smaller portions of peach schnapps, cranberry juice, and a chaser of orange juice. I add the ice into the shaker and seal it. Now comes the tricky part, and fun – the shaking. I channel my best version of Tom Cruise in Cocktail and with a firm, two-handed grip, go for it. This is actually harder than it looks (requires using my biceps). It takes a few seconds to find a rhythm as Juan coaches me from the other side of the bar. I need to maintain it for at least another 10 seconds to get the right dilution and temperature.

I fight to open the shaker – the seal is tight! The bartender arranges glasses in front of me and I strain the liquid, which is the color of a sunset, and place an orange peel and maraschino cherry on top. Just as the name promised, that was entertaining. Tonight is already our last night, how sad!, so we raise our glasses to cheer all the good times we have had in Cartagena, and Colombia, over this past week.

That’s the onda though in Cartagena. Fun. Playful. Lighthearted. And joyful. So much joy! I think Colombia’s cocktail culture is really symbolic of her energy. You fill your glass with (liquid) joy, then drink it, too.

Our upcoming trip to Colombia is from March 19-26, 2026, for more information on the trip contact us here to speak with our team

The post Where Joy is Shaken and Poured …Cartagena appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

I have a big smile on my face as my toes dig into the warm sand–I am in my happy place.

Gauging from the sun in the sky, it’s late afternoon, but I am far from concerned about the time at this precise moment. My husband, looking extremely tan and very handsome in his white linen shirt, pours me another glass of Albariño as we wait for our lunch to appear. We are in no rush though. It’s quite the scene, and we are quite content to sit here for hours drinking wine on the beach and taking it all in.

We are at La Huella, in José Ignacio, Uruguay, quite possibly my favorite restaurant in the world, which I have been visiting, and going on and on about ad nauseam, for over a decade, ha! Seriously though, it’s a place if you ask me where I would tele-transport myself in a heartbeat, this would be it.

José Ignacio sits on a small peninsula jutting out into the ocean, surrounded on three sides by beaches that capture the sun and waves from sunrise to sunset. It’s also the definition of rustic elegance in these latitudes, very much the Riviera of South America.

Lunch at La Huella feels like arriving at the heart of this chic yet very laid back beach village east of Punta del Este. From the outside, it appears to be little more more than a shack with its canvas tarps flapping in the south Atlantic breeze. In fact, the owners say, “We serve simple beach food.” However, as soon as you enter, you realize this is anything but ‘simple’; something very special is going on here. You can feel it.

While we came sporting our flagship white linen, many families came straight off the beach clad in swimsuits and flip-flops with their pets and/or kids in tow. However casual La Huella may seem at first glance, there is an understated, elegant onda going on. From lunchtime to late in the evening, the DJ, the hum of conversation in multiple languages, and the ever-present sounds of the waves crashing on Playa Brava blend together in this forever-packed locale.

We spot our server across the tables in his head-to-toe Lacoste uniform gracefully weaving from the grill, through the mayhem, towards us with a platter of still-sizzling chiparones and grilled octopus (our standing order in addition to the burrata-heirloom tomato salad). Having now kicked the first bottle of Albariño, obviamente, we ordered another…this time a favorite Riesling from Bodega Bouza made in the same Maldonado province where José Ignacio sits. We dig into our meal. The food is simple, elemental, flawlessly prepared, and divino.

La Huella is about more than food though…es un lugar de encuentro…it is a place to come together, see and be seen, catch up, run into new friends / old friends / neighbors, grab a bite or a drink when in town on any day, at any time of the day, or at least after 12pm till 12am, or so. It channels a vibe, a state of being, a feeling…one that Uruguay embodies so well.

That ‘state’ is all about being descontraturado…relaxed, open, come-as-you-are. There’s something exquisite in how the rusticity of the countryside and the wildness of the sea mingle together that creates this understated aesthetic that carries through everything there. It pulls you in. It invites you to linger as long as you can…or at least until the wine is gone!

This vibe, the DNA of La Huella, José Ignacio, and Uruguay is indescribable until you go and know it first hand; then you will never forget it…and it will call you back to return to it again…and again…

Perhaps in 2026, it’s time to discover Uruguay??

We will be dining at La Huella on our upcoming trip to Uruguay from February 13-19, 2026. Click here for more information on the trip; or here to speak with our team

The post A Love Letter to La Huella (and Uruguay)… appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

Beyond viticulture, Napa Valley is all about its farm-to-table cuisine, luxury resorts, and outdoor activities. Dating back to the 1830s, though, Napa feels a bit like Mediterranean Chile, Tuscany, and very California.

And while Napa is most certainly very much about wine, there are many other things happening!! Given the millions of visitors coming, we thought we’d share a local foodie/somm’s POV since these tips may serve you. Vamos….let’s go…

#1 Pick your season wisely
We cannot emphasize this enough. Napa Valley receives millions of visitors each year and the majority are during summer and harvest in the fall. For the record…summer is the hottest time to visit and HARVEST IS THE WORST TIME OF YEAR TO VISIT. It’s fire season, winemakers are not available (umm, they have to harvest), everything is slammed with visitors, restaurants are collapsed. Moral of the story–come off-season or shoulder season. I love winter, particularly February-March when the mustard is in bloom up until Spring before Memorial Day. Napa is also gorgeous after harvest in early November when the vineyards change color. It depends on what you envision doing, if you want to be cozy or outdoorsy.

#2 Pick your days of the week even more wisely
Weekends in Napa…they sound super sexy, while logistically they tend to be a nightmare. Why??? We have San Francisco and Silicon Valley in two hours driving distance and LA/SoCal a short flight away. The lure is real. Many of the best vintners/wineries don’t open on the weekend or at least nobody on the winemaking team is around (yes, they have lives). The competition for restaurant reservations is fierce (along with the open wineries and any spa appointments at your luxury hotels). And just when you think you escaped the city for the peaceful countryside, be prepared for the worst traffic. I remember that time before the weekend dinner rush near Yountville…45 minutes in a total standstill in the middle of seemingly nowhere. Buck the trend here, friends, and do what everyone else doesn’t do–book your stay from Monday-Thursday and you’ll be in travel nirvana.

#3 Pick your base in the Valley carefully
Napa is like a bowling alley 30-odd miles long between two mountain ranges, the Mayacamas and the Vaca Mountains. There are basically two ways to get up (and down) the Valley–on Route 29 or the Silverado Trail. Both are (mostly) single lane roads and somewhat windy (particularly Silverado). Many people don’t realize that getting from Napa (town) up to Calistoga is 45 minutes on an easy traffic day. Or that Calistoga, where hotels like Solage, Auberge, Meadowwood and the Four Seasons are located, is closer to Healdsburg (foodie capital of Sonoma) than Napa. Likewise, if you base in southern Carneros where the newish Auberge (Stanly Ranch) opened, you will be closer to San Francisco (great for transfers in/out), Sonoma (town), and less trafficked parts of the valley like Coombsville (AMAZING appellation) and Mt. Veeder. Which brings me to the next point…

#4 Yountville is touristy although well-located
You can love me or hate me for this comment…it’s real. Yountville is built for hospitality and as a town has gone from a local village to one being centered around swanky hotels and fine dining. In fact, they had to close the elementary school due to lack of students. Now I’m not saying it’s not adorable, cute, charming, or that I don’t love walking through the French Laundry gardens, having margaritas at Thomas Keller’s taco joint, or getting croissants at dawn at Bouchon Bakery and watching the hot air balloons take off…because it is ALL that. However, the focus has clearly moved to visitors because of its strategic position mid-valley. It simply does not have the authentic feel of towns like St. Helena, downtown Napa, or even Calistoga. Just know if you go and embrace the luxe, resort(y) vibe if you decide to base there.

#5 Get a driver
Former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s husband got a DUI in Napa last year and I thought the behavior was inexcusable–and unfortunately common on many weekends here. People, if you are going to taste wine in any form and don’t plan on spitting ALL OF IT, either have a designated driver or get a paid driver (ahem, chauffeur). Period. End of story.

#5 Book everything FAR IN ADVANCE
Napa is popular even if you adhere to the off-season and mid-week rules so successful planning means having all your dining and wine tasting ducks in order months in advance. If you are trying to have milestone meals at The French Laundry and/or Kenzo, both Michelin star experiences, first get the dinner reservation(s) secured and THEN plan the rest of your trip–this includes hotel and air. This is the only way to avoid getting everything lined up and then finding out reservations are impossible and no amount of string-pulling will work. Both TFL & Kenzo open reservations on the first of the month for the following month at 9am local time and release only a handful of tables. Imagine everyone jockeying for those few tables. You need to have a clear date (remember mid-week = better probability), a calendar reminder, your credit card memorized, and all cookies/cache cleared on your computer to be on your top booking game…and even then, say a little prayer.

#6 Here are a few of our favorite things to do living here
–A sunny warm spring / summer lunch (or early dinner) on the terrace surrounded by vineyards at Don Giovanni Bistro. Favorites are octopus salad and burrata pizza although everything is tasty.

–Stroll the riverwalk in downtown Napa (yes there is a river! And a boat dock!) and stop at Angele for a simple, classy French meal with champagne, or taste some valley wines at Compline restaurant (warning: the duck fat fries are evil).

–Take a hike in the tucked away Westwood Hills in the Brown’s Valley area to get an eagle’s view of Napa. At the top, you can see the whole way to the San Pablo Bay and even San Francisco on a clear day.

–The big Farmer Market day is Saturday. Some days we go to Oxbow for a sweet treat (me, an almond milk latte thanks) at Model Bakery; others we just shop for produce and let the kids get doughnuts (just look for the 40-person deep line).

–Walk Main Street St. Helena. It’s Americana chic and cuteness at its finest. I love Acres concept store for fun home, tableware, and kitchen items, No|Ma for a stylish coffee, Cook for a low key pasta lunch. You can stop for to-go coffee in the retro Gas Station (or just take selfies for Instagram). Nearby Sunshine Foods is like a gourmet Napa/Sonoma-centric version of Whole Foods and super local (you may run into local winemakers in the aisles). Your foodie mind will be blown!

-Put on your favorite tunes and take the back roads to Sonoma TOWN via Old Sonoma road to route 12, which is only fifteen minutes from Napa TOWN. The rolling hills studded with vines are so scenic. If you have kids, spend a morning at the old school Traintown (get there early), stop by the original (and still very cute) Williams & Sonoma shop (if you have a thing for iconic kitchen stores…), have a spectacular farm-to-table brunch at Valley on the town square, or if you are itching for authentic Mexican (i.e. mole), El Molino is your spot..

I can go on about the food trucks, more walks with views (Stanly Lane, Skyline park, Alston Park), my favorite scenic drives into the hills (Oakville Grade not for the faint of heart), where to soak in a mud bath, why I find Gott’s Roadside ho-hum and oh, winery visits…right…WINE. That’s the whole point??!! Well, kinda. You see, Napa has lots of things that are NOT JUST WINE!

Friends, there are too many wineries to even start in this note. It’s taken time to understand the terroir, the producers, and hone those which are worth visiting, many of which are small and not your usual suspects nor experiences, or at least the way we like to set things up.

As you can see, local Napa does exist if you scratch deeper. An entire wine industry and the communities that support are based here. It’s a beautiful place to call home. If you need our help curating a special trip or milestone celebration to the region, or procuring those hard to get visits (Harlan, Colgin, etc.…), contact us to make it happen.

Need more inspiration? We also did a podcast earlier this year which you can listen HERE.

The post A Local’s Guide to Visiting Napa appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

We dig into that in this episode. Travel provides the ultimate opportunity to get out of your comfort zone and challenge yourself. From immersing yourself in a new culture and language to confronting travel hassles, ‘scary’ adventure activities that awaken bravery, or swallowing your ego to become a student again and learn a new skill, the willingness to be vulnerable and adopt a growth mindset is key.

We also discuss how travel sharpens your people skills, makes you more present, and helps you cultivate embracing change and uncertainty when it inevitably comes your way.

The post IN SEARCH OF FLAVOR, EPISODE 39: Getting Out of Your Comfort Zone through Travel appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

In this episode we talk about:

• Family history dating back to grandfather establishing winery in Mendoza in 1960s
• The inspiration to focus on high elevation sites like Altamira, La Consulta, Gualtallary
• Understanding the valley’s geology, altitude impacts creating distinct terroir identities
• How he developed Zuccardi’s non-interventionist approach allowing transparent expression of place using concrete
eggs vs. steel to showcase vineyard character
• Why soil mapping via calicatas provides key viticultural insights and how clonal selection and varieties are
suited to high elevation, like chardonnay
• The impetus to make his own Vermouth with a group of friends, which revived theArgentine vermouth tradition
• Zuccardi’s dedication to wine tourism on a larger scale in Mendoza and the Uco Valley
• What the future holds for Argentina, Malbec, wine, and the next generation

Resources:

Instagram: @zuccardivalledeuco
@szuccardi

Website: https://zuccardiwines.com/en/

The post IN SEARCH OF FLAVOR, EPISODE 38: Seba Zuccardi on the Rise of Uco Valley Wines appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

South America’s Southern Cone exudes an irresistible summer siren song during the end-of-year travel season. While the days get cold, rainy, or snowy in the North, the weather is all sunshine and gelato in the South. It’s no wonder why it’s a favorite winter destination, from Patagonia’s glaciers to the sun-drenched vineyards of Mendoza and the bohemian chic of Jose Ignacio’s beaches. In this spirited episode, Liz Caskey gives the real skinny on how to approach planning a journey to the Southern Cone at this ultra peak time of the year and invaluable advice for hacking the nuances – flipped seasons, high demand, minimum hotel stays, Patagonian lodges, and holiday closures. Tune in for expert tips, destination highlights, and practical advice to make your end-of-year getaway stress-free.

In this episode we talk about:

• Why the holiday season goes beyond peak season and coincides with the onset of summer vacation
• A discussion on top destinations in South America: Patagonia, Mendoza, Buenos Aires, and the beaches of Jose
Ignacio, Uruguay
• How to navigate the varied weather and seasons
• Tips on booking flights, transportation, and accommodations
• The secret on how to avoid the summer crowds and when to go (all within the summer time frame)

Resources:
Instagram: @lccwe, @lizcaskey77
Website: www.lizcaskey.com

The post In Search of Flavor, EPISODE 36: The Skinny on End-of-year Travel appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.