Fino sherry — the drink that calls loudly for tapas | thearticle

In an ideal word where money was no problem, I would subscribe to two great vinous aperitifs: champagne and fino sherry. A flute of champagne is impossible to resist and it puts you in the

mood for food, particularly when you are studying the menu. Restaurants don’t figure much in my life these days, however, and I suspect few of us have bottles ready-chilled in the fridge

(half-bottles are ideal). So I shall pass straight on to my second choice: a _copita_ of fino, or manzanilla sherry. An aperitif must have two particular qualities: it must taste bone dry

and possess mordant acidity. A glass of moscato d’Asti, or a mature Mosel Spätlese, however enchanting, does not suggest food in quite the same way. The very worst thing for the appetite is

a sweet, alcoholic wine, like those ropy ports French people used to offer you as aperitifs in the past — although I suspect this practice has now bitten the dust. Sweet wine does not

encourage appetite, it removes it. Sherry inevitably invokes memories of the city of Jerez and its satellites of Puerto Santa Maria and Sanlucar de Barrameda. I have been many times, and

visited the whitewashed bodegas, some of which resemble great cathedrals with their stacks of casks ranged along aisles either side of a broad nave. The city swings to the sound of flamenco,

and is situated in a steamingly hot, coastal region just north of Cadiz. The local bars serve a variety of fish tapas: razor clams lie lolloping wantonly out of their shells, and there are

salt cod fritters, little tiny sole-like fish, sardines and of course, _pata negra_ ham. I have asked myself many times how long you would have to be in Spain to grow tired of _pata negra_

ham. I am not even close. There are other, more rarefied meats. I was once taken on a crawl by a member of the Gonzalez family of Tio Pepe who was determined to make me taste something

“unusual” — which from the look on his face I assumed was going to be something like a pig’s pizzle. I wasn’t far off: it was a bull’s testicle. My guide was a rigorous observer of the

_Jerezano_ principle that if you don’t drink one small, tulip-shaped _copita_ at 11 am, you must drink 11 _copitas_ at one. At 15 per cent, fino is a slightly fortified wine, but in Jerez

you seem to be able to drink quite a lot of it without ill-effect: a half bottle slips down effortlessly with a meal. A lot of fino is consumed with tapas before lunch at around two. Dinner

is likely to be at ten. There is time to sleep it off a bit in the afternoon. Fino, and its seaside version from Sanlucar de Barrameda — manzanilla — is the expression of the otherwise

unexceptional Palomino grape, grown on the chalky _albariza_ soils of the region. Nothing is done to tame its fierce acidity and the wine develops a natural bacterial “flor” which protects

it from oxidation in the vat. Sherry has its “crus” or “pagos” which have their own qualities and are generally blended to make the house styles of the various bodegas. Some _pagos _are

released unblended, while there are _almacenista_ sherries where young wines are bought up, aged and blended in independent warehouses. The best-known specialist here is the house of Lustau.

The seaside wines of Sanlucar or Chipiona to the north are said to develop a salty tang from ageing close to the Atlantic Ocean. Good fino or manzanilla should have both aroma and bite, but

it has its drawbacks. It oxidises quickly, so that a bottle open three days often loses some vital freshness. The perfect solution is the 37.5 cl half-bottle. Fino is so more-ish that you

are unlikely to have any problems finishing that off before it loses it lustre. As I said, manzanilla is meant to be saltier than fino, and some would say it was earthier too. Alegria from

the old firm of Williams & Humbert is just that, but dominated by the aroma of rich honey, with a taste of green olives and apples overlaying a bitingly salty finish. Gabriela from the

Bodegas Barrero in Sanlucar actually comes from the Pago Bilbaina midway between Jerez and Sanlucar. There is a similar honey nose and green olive fruit and a very salty finish, but it is

much more delicate, more filigree than Alegria. And now to fino: The Wine Society’s version is astonishingly good value for money at £6.95 for a full bottle. It comes from the Bodegas

Sanchez Romate and has excellent structure and bite. It is the ideal sherry for people who like it on the sharp side, and not too rich. From Cesar Florido in the coastal town of Chipiona

comes a straight fino with lots of pleasant evocations of honey and apples and a beautiful structure that would render it a natural counterpoint to tapas. Its big brother is the Fino Peña

del Aguila en rama (straight from the cask) a gorgeously peachy wine, but quite muscular, with lots of salt and runny honey. Sanchez Romate’s Perdido 1/15 is actually eight years old, and

lies in the borderlands between a fresh and lively fino and a more complex dry amontillado. It should come as no surprise that the wine is darker, fatter and more complex, adding a nuance of

liquorice to the more usual honey. Finally, Pedro’s Almacenista Selection is a warehouse sherry which combines old and young finos and seems to give an illusory impression of sweetness

combined with a brilliant structure and a subtle taste of honey and olives. Again, it calls loudly for tapas.