"Sherry, Chérie?" (part 2)
Oloroso takes air and Pedro's kiss
There is a coming and going to life. Constant arrivals and departures. From the morning frost on the rooftops, slowly melting under the winter sun, to the passing of another year and where that leaves us. Optimism for the months ahead or a feeling of foreboding. A residing lethargy from days hard lived, nevertheless a want to run into 2025 with arms open wide. There’s a readiness. Or perhaps not.
I started the New Year by finishing a bottle of Oloroso Faraon by Bodegas Hidalgo. As with the finos featured in part one the saltiness lingers, but oloroso’s dry walnutty backbone is soon softened by dried figs and raisins on the palette. It goes well with dark nights lit by candlelight, complemented by something gamey to eat or enjoyed with a wedge of strong or mild cheese. Stilton works. Baked camembert is a hit. Or just the bottle and a glass will do nicely.
Air sets oloroso apart from its fino and manzanilla cousins. They share the same Palomino grapes, but they have been aged differently through the solera system. Finos enter the solera fortified to 15% and subsequently age under a layer of flor, a crust of yeast cells that prevents contact with air (biological ageing). Oloroso, however, is fortified to 17% before ageing, curtailing biological activity and the flor from growing, enabling air to oxidate the sherry which can be seen in a gradual darkening of the wine (oxidative ageing).
In a hit parade of generosos (dry sherries) there is amontillado that starts ageing as a fino before being increasingly fortified to kill off the flor. Then there’s Palo Cortado that also starts life under flor, but biological ageing mysteriously fails leaving the wine to mature oxidatively. These sherries, unsurprisingly, sit between a fino and oloroso in a marriage of the two styles.
Sherry shelves have now been replenished after the spike in festive sales. Perhaps half-drunk bottles will be forgotten in the fridge or in drinks cabinets for four seasons, to be returned to next year (or thrown out on finding that dry sherries do not keep well). Sweet sherries will, however, remain faithful; the dried figs and raisins found in an oloroso combine with notes of orange peel and spice creating a heady, syrupy potion that goes down like cough medicine—if cough medicine was complex and delicious.
Dulces naturales, or naturally sweet wines, are arrived at by late-harvesting grapes, notably Pedro Ximénez (PX) or Moscatel, they are subsequently dried in the sun before being pressed. Leaving the grapes on the vine increases the natural sugars, the drying will reduce the water content and further concentrate the sugars. Keeping it sweet, there is also generosos de licor; these are blended sherries that start out as dry Palomino wines, to which PX or Moscatel wine is added.
Mid-morning boxing day, the sherry of the night before still flowing in my blood, I was fortunate enough to try a glass of Matusalem from Gonzalez Byass. Aged for more than 30 years, this oloroso and PX blend offers up a touch of maraschino cherry on the tongue, the nose is that of sugar being burnt atop a crème brûlée. A wonder in a glass. It is in this category of sweet wines where you also find pale cream, medium and cream sherries. For those still with me and wanting to sherry out some more on the nuances of sweeter styles, here’s a link.
I’m restless to capture the sun before it sets; the frost has remained in the shade throughout the day, jet-streams line the sparse sky above St. Saviour’s Church, smoke rises from a few chimneys and the city steadies itself for another frigid night. We’ll get home from our walk and remove our coats, V will warm herself by the radiator and I’ll no doubt ask the question, “Sherry, Chérie?”
