Sanlucar Recollections, Part I

If Flamenco is the soul of traditional Andalucia, and bullfighting its heart then, undoubtedly, manzanilla sherry is the blood that courses through its veins. And if you've never had manzanilla from the barrel, you've never REALLY had manzanilla. That's why, even after more than three months have passed, I feel compelled to write about our visit to manzanilla country, or rather city: Sanlucar de Barrameda.

Flor in your wine?

It's a strong statement, I know. But that's how strongly I feel about it. Since we've been in Andalucia, I've had a lot of vino de Jerez, as sherry is referred to in these parts. Generally, you order it by its specific type, so you'd order una copita de fino or una manzanilla (which, by the way, you could only get away with in Andalucia: everywhere else in Spain you'd get a chamomile infusion). In Sanlucar, there is nothing but manzanilla. The first bar we went to when we arrived had a plaque saying, "if you come to Sanlucar and you don't drink wine, then you haven't been in Sanlucar," or something very similar. I felt rather sheepish, then, even scarcely a day over my fevery flu, ordering a pair of soft drinks with lunch. I more than made up for it, though, during our only full day in town.

Amberly's stomach flu was still running its course, so to speak, so I was alone to explore the bodegas of Sanlucar on my own. This charmingly colonial, obviously well-to-do town's corner on manzanilla is due to its unique microclimate, a confluence of the oceanside, the Guadalquivir River, and the mangrove-heavy Parque Doñana across the bay, which purportedly creates the only place in the world where flor grows this dense. The town's bodegas, therefore, are tightly clustered within walking distance in the main section of old town. With no advance planning, and little time to spare, I headed directly to the smallest and, coincidentally, nearest bodega I could find: La Cigarrera.

This was a happy accident. In a world of consolidated mega-producers, La Cigarrera is a small, family-owned joint with a wine- (rather than market-) driven approach to its production. (That is to say they don't make a half dozen different bottlings of manzanilla or anything else—it's strictly one of each.) They are also charmingly located across the way from a salty seaman's personal museum of crap, which I was unfortunately unable to visit, which adds to the homeyness of it all.

I got an individual tour of the facilities, which were simple and functional, with the traditional westward-facing high windows which bring in the ocean breezes which impart the coolness and humidity that keeps the ageing wine happy. The barrels were old, and stacked no more than three high to keep them close to the cool dirt ground. The criadera system described to me was too complex to explain here without a diorama and plenty of circles and arrows, but suffice it to say that the wines do their fair circuit around the place.

The proof that cellar practice was sound was, of course, in the bottle. Or, in this case, the barrel, as all the tasting happens from barrels of finished wine in the tasting room.

Tasting manzanilla from barrel was a revelation. Before the wine has been siphoned away from its flor, it is naturally a bit darker—one winery representative told me they intentionally clarify for the market!—but that's just the beginning. This was mouthfilling, creamy like a nut butter and especially complex. The stickies that followed it were no less sensational for their balance and outrageous flavor. Since it's a bit awkward to write tasting notes when you're touring one on one, but mainly because I was too blown away by it all, I don't have anything more specific to write three months later about my taste impressions, other than that they still linger very strongly. The PX, in particular, went on forever in the mouth, with a bright acidity that just barely kept the sweetness from being overwhelming.

Bodegas La Cigarrera, I found out afterward, is imported to the 'States by Andre Tamers' DeMaison Selections. I highly suggest you get your hands on a bottle, because this is the real deal.

Next post: my first real Palo Cortado