January 2026

Dear friends,

I’d like to share a few thoughts on the unique identity of Casa Carmen—the spirit that animates this quixotic endeavor we call home.

In ancient Greece, the term ξενία (xenia), often translated as hospitality, named the sacred guest–friend relationship protected by Zeus. This inviolable moral obligation required the host to offer food, shelter, and gifts to the stranger before even asking who the stranger was. The guest, of course, bore a reciprocal obligation: to be a good guest. Yet none of this was without risk. Nothing guaranteed that either host or guest was worthy of trust. Indeed, it was a violation of xenia by a host that led to the blinding of the Cyclops Polyphemus, and a violation by a guest that brought about the downfall of Troy. And yet, risk notwithstanding, both host and guest were bound to honor the demands of hospitality—for “all strangers,” The Odyssey teaches us, “are beggars from Zeus.”

The Judeo-Christian tradition deepens and expands this understanding. Scripture is filled with examples of the central importance of hospitality, in both its fulfillment and its failure—from Abraham welcoming the three strangers, to Mary and Joseph being denied shelter, to Christ’s first miracle: the transformation of water into wine at Cana (at Casa Carmen, we are, of course, especially fond of this one). Most importantly, Christ himself is often portrayed as a stranger among us, and Christians are commanded to recognize Christ in the other, to love one’s neighbor as oneself. This is the heart of the Christian understanding of love as caritas.

I don’t want to burden you with further examples or with the complexities of these ideas, but only to point out that this xenia, this caritas, is the animating spirit here at Casa Carmen. We come from a culture in which drink and food—important and delicious as they are—are ultimately secondary to the people who pass through our doors and sit at our table. This rests on a conviction no evidence has ever managed to dislodge: that “strangers may be angels in disguise.” The only way to live, as our father (el Jefe) always says, is without fear, regardless of risk. It is to live with a presumption not only of innocence, but of infinite worth—to believe, truly, in our better angels.

And perhaps the most remarkable discovery of all is this: it is not merely that strangers may be angels in disguise, but that all persons are. Each one of us is a herald of the divine reality that makes us worthy of love—and, we hope, of trust as well.

So this is our offering to you, dear friends, who are always welcome in our home. And to those who are farther away, we hope that our wines and vermouths—quite literally our home in a bottle—can serve as a small symbol of our xenia and our caritas, drawing you closer to us and to one another.

Salud!

Enrique Pallares