“This grape is gonna blow up!” That was New York restaurateur Drew Nieporent roaring about his glass of Torrontés to a table of foodies one summer night in Argentina. Drew’s enthusiasm for the local white was more audible than other guests’, but the sentiment was especially poignant deep in the heart of Malbec country. And despite the near-exhausted palates of the global connoisseurs, Nieporent’s aria was just one in a weeklong chorus of Torrontés praise at the Masters of Food & Wine, a modern-day bacchanalia held every February at the Park Hyatt hotel in Mendoza.

Torrontés is both grape and wine, an aromatic, almost perfumed white that smells like flowers and fruit, yet has the quirk of being completely dry on the tongue. Argentines know this already because it’s already a hit in its homeland (where it is the most-planted white), and now local winemakers are ready to make it a household name in the States, crossing their fingers Torrontés will get the same reception as their breadwinning Malbec. And if Nieporent’s gut is right-on, it will. Just not yet.

After swilling my weight in the stuff, I jetted back to New York confident that Torrontés (pronounced ‘torron-TEZ’), with its alluring aroma and sweet Latin-American price tag, would become a summer accessory as crucial as my aviators. But save for a few bottles, a scour of New York’s wine emporiums left me dry. So I queried a wine-industry friend: What gives?

“Wines ‘make it’ for one of two reasons,” he told me. “Either the buyer thinks it’s a deal too good to pass up or it’s delicious—sex in a bottle.”

As per taste, many experts liken Torrontés to Viognier and because it’s best enjoyed within two years, it’s plenty salable. But even success in both categories doesn’t speed up journey for a good wine to get from bodega to, well, bodega. “It’s a matter of time,” says Geoff Cheeping, an independent wine broker based in Long Island, New York. He estimates that from the moment a label deems its juice good enough for export, it’s still a year until it lands at your local wine shop “and two years to get real traction.” Especially when my favorite bottle, Colomé, makes the pilgrimage from Salta’s Calchaqui Valley, a sunny, chilly, wind-swept spot near the Bolivian border in northwest Argentina—and also the highest-altitude vineyard in the world. (Which also makes the wine organic and biodynamic—who needs pesticides when nature’s on your side?)

Waiting for Cheeping’s 2010 estimation wasn’t going to cut it, not when I knew it would widen the eyes of guests at this season’s rosé-saturated rooftop parties. Even an $8 textbook Torrontés has a come-hither scent—honeysuckle or jasmine or rose plus tropical fruit. But then it gets tricky. As soon as it hits the tongue that sweetness disappears and an assertive, almost tangy acidity steps in. It’s a pleasurable bait and switch.

“I’ve never had a Torrontés I didn’t like,” claims Nieporent, who is looking to add one to his list at Tribeca Grill and Nobu. “It’s different and very refreshing—and economical.” That last part can’t be overstated. The few bottles floating around the States—and I did find some—are all under $15. (Thanks to the handsome exchange of three Argentine pesos to the dollar.)

But it also underscores the thing about Torrontés that makes it quite unlike Malbec. Patricia Ortiz of Fincas Patagónicas vineyard, whose Zolo label produces a fine bottle, says if quite bluntly. “It’ll never be a great grape.” She explains that, like many a minor-league ball player, its physique is simply not made to do extraordinary things.

Says Nieporent: “It’s not a prestige wine, it’s an every day wine.” But that didn’t stop him from whipping out a bottle for an 80’s pop star that dropped by Tribeca Grill recently.

At midtown Manhattan’s chichi The Modern restaurant, sommelier Belinda Chang, a champion of New World wines, offers Torrontés by the glass and bottle. “People see ‘Argentina’ and they’re open to trying it cause they’re already into the reds.” she says. “There aren’t too many too discover, that’s what’s available on the market is usually very high quality.”

Perhaps because Argentines drink the plonk themselves. The country—the world’s fifth-largest producer—consumes around 90% of its bottles and has only in the past few years started relinquishing its stash, usually their finest. So as exports grow (and they’re growing), so will the quality.

But until the prestige cases arrive, Chang tells diners to enjoy it with fish, crudo, and spicy and citrus-y dishes. “Anything that tastes good with Riesling will work with Torrontés.” Which means Chinese and Thai takeout, too.

With that in mind, I returned to my wine pal’s formula. Is Torrontés a deal? Absolutely. Sex in a bottle? Maybe just third base. But for a daily indulgence, that’s well worth the wait.