People Doubted the ‘Ñ’ in Latino-Owned Mi Sueño Winery but It Created a Dream That Deserves a Toast From the Entire Community

There is a particular kind of pride that comes from being Latino. It lives in the food that welcomes you home, even when you’ve been gone too long. It fills a room before the music starts. It moves in silence, when someone offers you a plate without asking where you’re from because they already know. This pride does not come from convenience. It was carved out over generations who made impossible choices and carried their dignity like armor.

That is what I felt when I walked into Mi Sueño Winery in Napa Valley, a place built with the kind of intention only Latinos would recognize.

I traveled to California for La Onda Festival, sponsored by Verizon, eager to immerse myself in música mexicana and, if I’m honest, unsure how I’d feel about the California vibe. This Miami girl brought her cowboy boots anyway, tags still attached, ready for whatever came next. Before the festival, I wandered into a Latino-owned winery I had only heard of through whispers of love and longing. And there, I met a dream.

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♬ Almost forgot that this was the whole point – Take my Hand Instrumental – AntonioVivald

A Shared Dream

Rolando Herrera learned early that land teaches you things. In El Llano, Michoacán, he walked steep hills to his family’s communal farm, once grumbling to his grandmother about the distance. She told him the best crops grew up there, and she was right. He carried that idea with him for the rest of his life.

By eight, he was living in Northern California. At fifteen, he returned with his brother to finish school and build a future. He worked nights at Auberge du Soleil and Mustards Grill, eventually moving from the kitchen into the vineyard. A summer job breaking stones at Stag’s Leap led to a role in the cellar. Over time, he became cellar master, then winemaker, then director. Each season brought him closer to the dream he was shaping with his own hands.

Lorena Herrera also understood what it meant to grow up among vines. Her parents, Reynaldo and Maria Robledo, arrived from Mexico in the 1960s and built a life working the land in Napa. As the eldest of nine children, she learned early that farming was both discipline and inheritance.

Rolando and Lorena met at church as teenagers. Their friendship held steady for ten years until they married in 1997 and poured their shared values into their first 200 cases of Chardonnay. They called it Mi Sueño, a name that honored both of their paths.

Together, they launched Herrera Wines in honor of their children and committed to overseeing every part of the winemaking process. Each harvest, each blend, each bottle became part of a story built on shared labor, long memory, and love for the land.

A Name That Carried Everything

During a wine tasting with BELatina, Rolando introduced himself with quiet strength. “My name is Rolando Herrera. I’m Mexican, but I’m also American. And this is my story, Mi Sueño Winery’s story.”

He described what it meant to bottle his first wine. “When I bottled my ‘97, it was something very beautiful,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it — I was like, wow, it’s my wine, I’m bottling a wine.”

That joy came with difficulty. “It was also frustrating,” he said, “because I wasn’t happy with the packaging, the quality of the label, the materials. I didn’t have the resources to buy what I wanted. But I had the quality experience because I started at Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars, where everything was premium.”

He held the bottle and made a promise. “One day, God is going to help me,” he said. “I’m going to make a wine, and I’m going to dedicate it to my family, the Herrera family. One wine for each of my kids. And there, I won’t have any limitations. I’m going to do the best of everything.”

And he did.

The Letter They Said Would Not Work

That wine, and every one that followed, carried a name some believed would be a barrier. The ñ might confuse people, might make the label harder to sell. They were told it was too cultural, too foreign, too hard to pronounce.

That letter still trips people up. Many try to skip it, flatten it, or change it altogether. But every Latino knows this feeling. We grow up hearing our names mispronounced, misspelled, shortened to make others comfortable. And still, we keep saying them the way they were meant to be said.

For Rolando and Lorena, the ñ was never up for negotiation. It carried where they came from. It held the sounds of their language, the truth of their names, the history of their bloodlines.

What others doubted became the power behind the brand.

Mi Sueño grew, not in spite of the ñ, but because of it.

Wines That Speak Their Names

Years after that first bottling, Rolando kept the promise he made to himself and to God. He created a collection of wines under the Herrera label, with each one dedicated to one of his children. Every bottle reflects their personality, matched with a varietal that speaks to who they are.

He started with Rebeca. “She’s strong,” he said. “She’s an entrepreneurial woman. Very confident. Very sure of herself. So I chose a classic Napa Valley Cabernet for her.”

His son came next. “He has always been robust, aggressive, strong. So I chose a Cabernet with tannins that reflect his personality.”

Then came Victoria. “I chose a Malbec for her because a Malbec is beautiful in every sense. But be careful — don’t cross her,” he said, smiling. “She always smiles. She has a beautiful personality, charming like the sun.”

Perla changed everything. “In the Herrera line, I didn’t want to make a Chardonnay. But when Perlita was born, and I saw her, I said, oh my God, I have to make a white wine like a pearl.”

He laughed with the room. “Look at what happened to me after saying I wouldn’t make a Chardonnay,” he said. “I took a lot of time to discover the style I wanted to make for her.”

Each of the wines in the Herrera line came from that same idea. “When we talk about wine, we talk about what we like,” he said. “The fruit, the body, the strength. And that’s how I matched them. Each one has their variety.”

Don Rolando and the Dream That Stays

Eventually, he made one for himself. “I said, I’m doing this like it’s for someone else,” he explained. “Then I started playing with the name. With my silver hair, the name Don fits now. Don Rolando.”

He smiled and lifted the glass. “It has to be an explosive wine,” he said. “With tannins, structure, body, something among the best.”

He reminded us of the family philosophy. “If we’re going to do something, we’re going to do it right,” he said. “Everything we do, we do cien por ciento chingón.”

Then he turned to the bottle. “It has harmony, sarcasm, humility, but also a lot of pride,” he said. “It’s like a book. Read the front, and the back, and the back again.” (Fun fact: You can find “cien por ciento chingón” on the label too.)

He toasted the group. “Today I toast with a glass of Mi Sueñ for all my cien por ciento chingonas and chingones. Salud.”

Mi Sueño Lives in Us Too

Rolando looked around the room. “I’m blessed to be in this industry,” he told BELatina. “I’m blessed that God has led me into this industry that I love, that I have a passion for. I feel like I’ve been here before.”

Mi Sueño now produces between 8,000 and 10,000 cases each year. Rolando, Lorena, and their children oversee every step through Herrera Vineyard Management. Their wines are sold across the country, but their meaning deepens when shared with people who know what it means to grow something with care.

What this Latino entrepreneur created was shaped by vision, held steady by work, and made real through family. For Latinos, this echoes something we carry in silence. It speaks to the hopes we grow up watching, to the dreams spoken quietly around dinner tables, to the deep belief that we are meant to build something lasting.

What fills the glass is a dream come true, created with intention and shared with pride.

And when that first taste reaches your lips, you feel all of it.

Salud.