Lusting after Lustau
By Howard G. GoldbergAt eye level, black stoppers plugging the sexily curvaceous bottles of Emilio Lustau Sherries in a rack resemble round musical notes on an orchestra conductor's score. Tasted in their dry-through-sweet sequence, Lustau Sherries express a flavor theme and variations that are uniquely Spanish. Alas, any expectation that wine lovers in los Estados Unidos will achieve expertise in Sherries seems as remote as their venturing into zarzuela, the unfamiliar indigenous Iberian musical theater that sent Plácido Domingo into opera.
Because Sherry remains, undeservedly, a minor genre with little status at Americans' tables, it is not infected by high-rollers' wine snobbery fueled by ritzy Bordeaux, Burgundy and Champagne. On restaurant wine lists, where serious Sherries are most often encountered, they tend to be also-rans.
As a nonvintage fortified wine that over decades is fractionally blended and aged in the solera system, built of pyramided wood butts (barrels), Sherry may be easier for consumers to master than vintaged reds and whites and their variously named vineyards.
Only titles of Sherry categories, the names of producers and their steady-state styles are important to absorb. With practice, it becomes easy to grasp the two basic categories, fino (plus its companion manzanilla) and oloroso, as well as the others: amontillado, palo cortado, cream, Pedro Ximénez and moscatel.
Although Champagne is routinely proclaimed the ultimate apéritif, I vote for fresh, bone-dry fino and, man oh man, light-as-chiffon manzanilla - both chilled - to accompany tapas, anchovies, smoked salmon, Serrano ham, paella, sushi and sashimi, oysters and other seafood, picholine olives, artichoke hearts and Manchego cheese. I often prefer ultrasweet, dark-hued, room-temperature Pedro Ximénez, which tastes like deluxe prune juice, to Sauternes and other renowned dessert wines.
Amassing first-class Sherries is as simple as finding compact disks of "Carmen." Andalucía, in southwestern Spain, has no shortage of outstanding Sherry shippers. Look particularly for Álvaro Domecq and separately the House of Domecq, Antonio Barbadillo, Bodegas Hidalgo-La Gitana, Delgado Zuleta, Emilio Hildago, González Byass, Osborne, Federico Paternina, Rey Fernando de Castilla, Bodegas Tradición, Herederos de Argüeso and Valdespino.
For years, the shipper Emilio Lustau, a heavily capitalized source of Sherries, has been my index to the entire field. From pale through tawny through brandy through dark amber and brown, and from transparent through opaque, Lustau Sherries' colors evoke old masters' mellowed oils. Their pungent aromas and flavors - grain, brioche, bean sprout, wood, olives, nuts, caramel, butterscotch and toffee - are captivating. The nuances - experienced by the palate like whole, quarter, eighth and sixteenth notes - are striking. The crescendos and decrescendos of power, and seemingly nonstop finales, can be mesmerizing.
Spain's unique contribution to international wine culture comes only from palomino fino grapes planted in a triangle of chalky, moisture-holding vineyards that extend from the sun-struck inland town of Jerez de la Frontera (Lustau's home) to Sanlúcar de Barrameda, an Atlantic port, and to Puerto de Santa María, near the Bay of Cádiz. "Sherry" is English speakers' corruption of Jerez (pronounced heh-reth by Spanish speakers). After palomino wine ferments to dryness, the bodega's capataz (cellar master) gauges whether it seems intended for fino or oloroso styles. If it has fino's delicacy, the wine goes into big oak butts, with wine spirit added that produces about 15.5 percent alcoholic strength. Most butts develop flor (flower), a thick white layer of live yeast that seals off the wine, preventing it from oxidizing while introducing nut-like aromas and flavors. In Sanlúcar, whose humid seaside milieu gives these pale wines a briny tang, they are called manzanillas. In both other towns, they are finos. If finos lose their flor, they age and become amontillados, which echo finos but add intensified aromas and flavors like honey, caramel and walnuts.
If the new wine is rather full-bodied and thus suitable for oloroso, it is fortified to about 18 percent strength, which prevents flor from developing; the wine, in long contact with air, turns shades of brown and becomes concentrated. Occasionally, a wine intended to become a fino or an amontillado fails to develop in those directions, and it ages like an oloroso. The resulting rare hybrid - amontillado's grace plus oloroso's strength and body - is called palo cortado; it can be memorable.
I was captivated by Lustau's fragile Jarana Fino, saline Puerto Fino, olive-like Papirusa Manzanilla, woody Don Nuño Dry Oloroso, intense Emperatriz Eugenia Gran Reserva Oloroso, gingerbread-like Escuadrilla Amontillado, nuanced Los Arcos Dry Amontillado, graceful San Bartolomé Gran Reserva Dry Amontillado and rarified - indeed, almost hypnotizing - Península Palo Cortado.
That's not all. The near-sweet East India Solera was an elixir. The sweet-and-dry Tintilla de Rota was warming. The sweet Emilín Moscatel, with hints of fruit salad, was seductive. And the San Emilio Pedro Ximénez, a nectar that can heighten breakfast, was, as a teenager might say, awesome.
Discovering almacenistas - matured Sherries that small bodegas sell to major houses - is supremely rewarding. Lustau's portfolio of almacenistas, which list the suppliers' names on the labels, include some of the most ethereal Sherries imaginable. Among Lustau's almacenistas, feathery light Fino del Puerto, matured by José Luis González Obregón, may be the most sophisticated fino I have ever drunk (his Amontillado de Puerto was notably delicate). It was nearly rivaled by a deep, stately Manzanilla Pasada de Sanlúcar (a manzanilla given extra aging) matured by Manuel Cuevas Jurado. An Amontillado de Jerez matured by Miguel Fontádez Florido was soul-satisfying. Pata de Gallina, an oloroso matured by Juan García Jarana, was divine. A Palo Cortado de Jerez matured by Vides impressed into my palate a caramel-and-walnut flavor seemingly as indelible as wax sealed by a signet ring.
In 2000, Sherry's governing authorities created new classifications for especially old versions. One category, VOS (Very Old Sherry or Vinum Optimum Signatum), guarantees that blends thus marked are at least 20 years old. Lustau's VOS Amontillado, the first VOS I have ever tasted, was remarkably light yet concentrated and long.
Because of dauntingly high alcohol levels - rising to at least 20 percent - if more than a few ounces of Sherry are sipped at one sitting, your clarity may be threatened - but not much more. As Sir Alexander Fleming, who discovered penicillin, reputedly said, "If penicillin cures illnesses, Sherry resuscitates the dead." While scientific proof of such resurrection seems lacking, I would not be surprised if one day Spain's undertakers went out of business.
Howard G. Goldberg, who contributes wine columns to The New York Times, is author of All About Wine Cellars, a guide that is part of The Complete Wine Cellar System kit (Running Press).