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Spanish Wines Indeed, ever since the death of General Franco in 1975 and the establishment of a parliamentary democracy in 1978, Spain’s wine industry has benefited from the country’s new economic freedoms. And, as with other wine producing countries, membership in the European Union has contributed much to improving the quality of the country’s wines. Old methods have given way to new; careless viticulture and shoddy wine production have been replaced with more meticulous and regulated counterparts. And the expanding markets for fine wine, both at home and abroad, have fanned the fires of Spain’s wine revolution: Cooperatives have been taken over by private estates; native grapes have been complemented by international varieties; and tannins have been better balanced with fruit. Spain is the second largest western European country and has the second highest average height above sea level, after Switzerland. Away from the much frequented costas and outside the large towns it is a sparsely populated, widely infertile and generally dry land. The Spanish people love to live on top of each other. They leave their flats to stroll, to drink, to eat at horribly late hours - and to noisily socialize. As well as a generous allocation of national holidays they enjoy a host of local ones which at times, makes doing business with them infuriatingly difficult. They are a warm, tactile, family loving, loyal, hotpot of races.
Throughout the kingdom, agriculture is important and in many areas, the olive and vine are about all will grow. The grape is harvested and some sort of wine made in almost every corner of the country. local consumption, especially of inexpensive table wine, is falling but more quality wines such as those of Priorato, Ribera del Duero and the Rioja are being drunk. Spain is booming. The Spanish economy boasts the second fastest growth rate - after that of Ireland - in the European Community and that is the major reason why Spanish wines prices have risen so much over the last couple of years. Spain's share of the UK wine market is down to just over 7% and export sales have fallen elsewhere. But it is the supermarket, price-point wine sales which have suffered severely and the better wines available in this catalogue have risen less and remain good value for money. Ideally, the wines of Spain are the best accompaniments to the regional dishes. Rioja wines from north-central Spain are considered premium in quality. Another area that makes top-notch wines is Penedes, near Barcelona. All regions, however, have vines under cultivation. The making of wine in Spain dates back over 2000 years, but the production of quality wines is a more recent development, dating back to the last century. Enterprising Frenchman came to Spain to renew their wine production when Phylloxera hit the French vineyards. They found these areas met their requirements and as the French prospered, the Spanish learned new wine-making techniques. Climate and grape variety are two of the components that make Rioja wines unique. The third is the laborious process of barrel aging, and the wines spend many years in bottles in the bodegas before being released for sale. A third region is Valladolid, where Vega Scilia produces the most expensive Spanish wine on the market today. Sherry takes its name from its place of origin, Jerez, in southwest Spain. Its history goes back thousands of years, when Phoenician settlers introduced grape vines to the area. Only Jerez has all the optimum conditions for sherry production with the complex interplay of air, sun, soil, aging and tradition. Sherries are blended and fortified wines and fall into several styles: Fino -- very dry or dry; Manzanilla -- very dry; Amontillado -- medium dry; Oloroso -- medium sweet; and Cream -- sweet. Spanish brandies made by the French Cognac process are of exceptionally fine quality. Most come from Jerez, although the Torres company in Cataluna is producing excellent ones for export. Sparkling Spanish wines are also made by French methods, developed in Champagne. Codorniu is the top name in the field; another firm, Freixenet, is widely distributed. The image of Spain and Spanish wines is often of one color. Maybe it’s the conventional images of a bullfighter’s cape and a flamenco dancer’s dress from old Life magazines or retro travel posters that make many of us, at least of a certain age, “see red” when we think about Spain. Similarly, when we consider our list of select Spanish wines, red almost immediately comes to mind, perhaps due to the popularity of Rioja and, yes, even of Sangria. But just as a few vivid images do not entirely capture the vast spectrum of Spain’s culture, fashionable Riojas and other classic and modern tintos do not totally represent the breadth and quality of its wines. Recommended
Spanish Wine List: Mediterranean Spanish Reds: These
wines are like the sea itself: warm, inviting and full of character.
The style is definitely fruit driven, full bodied and warm with
plenty of spices. They range from fun and playful in young reds,
to complex in longer aged wines, ALMANSA
JUMILLA
PRIORAT
MONTSANT
TARRAGONA Falset
TERRA ALTA
SPANISH REDS WITH FRENCH INFLUENCE: The influence of French varietals is represented in Spain with superb results. Often blended with local grapes, the wines acquire a different dimension: expect the familiar varietal character with a warm twist. NAVARRA
SOMONATANO
PENEDÉS
THE AWAKENING OF THE ATLANTIC REDS BIERZO is a newly re discovered region in Northwest Spain. The original MENCIA grape (possibly an ancient clone of Cabernet Franc) grows at high altitude in steep slopes. The wines produce d are dark in color, with an extraordinary balance of freshness and ripe fruit.
THE NORTHAMERICAN PIONEERS: It is surprising to us that it took so long for wine producers to realize the incredible potential of Spanish varietals in American soil. Climate and overall terroir conditions could not be any better and the results are spectacular:
RIOJA RIOJAS TRADICIONALES
RIOJAS MODERNOS
CIGALES
Castilla y León
TORO
White Wines RIAS
BAIXAS–ALBARIñO
RIBEIRO
VALDEORRAS
RUEDA
PENEDÉS
COSTERS DEL SEGRE
TERRA ALTA
RIOJA
SPANISH WHITES with OAK NAVARRA
RIOJA
PENEDÉS
Conca de Barberà
RUEDA
PRIORAT - TERRA ALTA
SPANISH Dessert Wines Casta Diva 2000 Muscat – D.O. Alicante Olivares Dulce Monastrell 1998 – D.O. Jumilla Don PX Toro Albalá Pedro Ximénez – D.O. Montilla
- Moriles SPANISH Cavas
SPANISH Rosés
Sherries
Ports
Below are various Spanish wine news articles: Drop by Drop, Savoring a Spanish Wine Region By DAISANN McLANEFor years I've been a fan of a particular kind of Spanish wine, a dark, intensely rich red called Ribera del Duero. I remember the first time I tasted it, in a tapas bar in Manhattan where a friend had ordered it to go along with our lunch of little dishes of shrimp swimming in a sea of olive oil and garlic; dry, salty air-cured jamón serrano; and wedges of pungent sheep's-milk cheese. Most wines would wilt in the company of such aggressive flavors — but the Ribera del Duero not only stood its ground, it added a missing element. Before my first sip, I had not really understood why Spaniards were so fond of snacking on strong, salty, garlicky and moldy foods, all at once. Drinking Ribera del Duero, I realized that these extreme tastes could actually harmonize, mediated by this wine that blended the cacophony of shouting flavors into a Spanish chorus. Because Ribera del Duero tasted almost medieval to me, I wasn't surprised to find it is made from grapes grown along the River Duero, which cuts from west to east across the dry, high plano of the Spanish province of Old Castile about two hours' drive north of Madrid. Along the banks of the Duero is a string of medieval Spanish villages and the huge, hulking ruins of castles — fortifications that formed a defense against the Moors during the Spanish reconquista. Along the Duero are also more than a hundred vineyards, all dedicated to the cultivation and production of my favorite wine. This attracted me like a candy store, since many of the vineyards do not export much, if any, of their wine to the United States. Intrigued, I resolved to visit there someday, and in late April I did, for four days. The Ribera del Duero region, which overlaps the Spanish provinces of Valladolid and Burgos, is somewhat off the tourist track for Americans, but I found plenty of information about the area on the Internet, most of it in Spanish, aimed at wine enthusiasts and Spanish domestic travelers. I learned that to visit a Spanish winery it is customary to make an appointment, so I phoned down the various Web site lists until I found two that had time for me to visit. The two principal towns along the Duero, Peñafiel and Aranda de Duero, also had helpful Web sites with lists of hotels and telephone numbers. I called to make reservations in each town, and was thrilled by the modest prices — $53 and $33 respectively. My main trip expense would be a rental car — I don't drive a stick shift, and an automatic transmission comes with a lofty price tag in Europe. But I was able to soften the blow by renting through an American-based company, Auto Europe, which got me a Chrysler compact from Avis for three days for around $320 including insurance and all taxes. I arranged to pick it up in Valladolid, on my second day in Spain, both to avoid dealing with Madrid's traffic and to give myself a day to get over jet lag. The idea was to spend my first night on the way in Ávila, the medieval town a short train ride from Madrid that is famous as the birthplace of the Roman Catholic mystic St. Teresa of Ávila. I arrived on the express train around noon on a brilliantly sunny,
cool spring day. Inspired by the blue sky and crisp air, I decided
to walk the mile or so from the station to my hotel, the Hostería
de Bracamonte. Halfway up to the hotel, which is inside the remains
of Ávila's old stone walls, I got discouraged, and not just
from fatigue. It seemed as if half the city was under scaffolding,
including the Cathedral, where most of the interior had been blocked
off to visitors. My room at the Hostería de Bracamonte, a medieval-themed hotel in a historic stone building, was dominated by a four-poster canopy double bed with red curtains, and a plaster cherub dancing on the wall. After a rest, I went out that evening and found a convivial wine bar, the Bodeguita de San Segundo, that was well stocked with Riberas. Sampling a crianza and a reserva (in Spain, the wines are graded, in ascending order, joven, crianza, reserva and gran reserva), I called it a night — better to warm up slowly for the coming marathon. The next morning I took a train to Valladolid, about an hour away, and picked up my car at the station. Soon I was driving the straight two-lane highway that parallels the Duero, passing through acre after acre of vineyards. In spring the vines are gnarly and leafless; by September those twisted April branches will boast abundant leaves and heavy bunches of deep purple grapes. Such a transformation seemed fantastic. Soon I was staring at something even more so: a huge fortress on the horizon, shaped like a ship, perched on the only hill for miles around — the Castillo de Peñafiel. On the outskirts of the village, where 5,000 people live in the shadow of the castle, I checked into the Hotel Ribera del Duero, a boxy faux mansion (actually a converted wheat granary) apparently geared to a clientele of wine importers and distributors (on the night table of my twin-bedded room were copies of Spanish wine trade magazines). Then I headed on foot into the village's narrow, labyrinthine streets. In early afternoon, the smell of roasting meat and wood fires hung in the air. Peñafiel, besides being the center of a wine industry, is also well known to Spaniards for its asadores, restaurants that specialize in lechazo, roast suckling lamb. Seated at a simple, white-draped table at Asador Mauro, which has been serving meats prepared in its wood-fired oven for more than 70 years, I explored the region's two specialties together. With one hand on the stem of my glass of the house Ribera and another on my fork — no knife was needed to eat the tender, perfectly grilled, garlicky baby lamb chops, with meat the size of a quarter attached to twiglike bones — I figured I'd come as close to foodie nirvana as it gets. The price of heaven was a down-to-earth $15 for the meal, including flan, wine and coffee. The Castillo, which I visited after recovering from lunch, had once protected the surrounding area from the advance of the Moors, then served as home to competing local princes. Now it houses a brand-new, ambitious museum of wine, operated by the municipality of Valladolid. The excellent museum is well worth the trek up the hill. Occupying two floors, it covers everything from the fine points of grape growing to the intricacies of production to the various ways of opening a bottle. Even better was my peek inside the Alejandro Fernández winery later that afternoon, guided by Lucía Fernández, who manages the day-to-day operations of the famous bodega founded by her father in the 70's. Ms. Fernández led me through the bodega's cool cellars, where the wine (sold under the label Pesquera) ages in oak before being bottled. Along the way, she explained some of the history of this wine, which wasn't recognized by Spanish wine growers as a distinct denomination until 1972, even though viniculture was introduced to the region in Roman times. I learned that the area's weather is severe, with hot summers and cold winters, and that the local vines that produce the dark purple tempranillo grape thrive in the extreme climate. The winter chills that occasionally dip as low as 28 degrees, Ms. Fernández said, kill off the parasites and pests that might attack the plants in growing season. That evening, sampling the products of yet more bodegas while sitting at a cafe table out in the main square of Peñafiel, I imagined I could taste rugged, stubborn survival in each full, fruity mouthful. In Peñafiel, besides learning how wine is produced, I learned how it is consumed — not, as in the Napa Valley, in hops between the tasting rooms of the vineyards (local vineyards are reluctant to offer tasting's for groups of fewer than four people, and many provide only tours), but in the many bars specializing in the local product. Here it's common for 15 or more wines to be sold by the glass; if something you want to sample isn't open, the bartender will usually open a bottle for you, charging you only for the glass. Thus I worked my way through crianzas from the vineyards Pago de Carroviejas, Teófilo Reyes and Hacienda Monasterio, through Cachopa and Casajús and the marvelous, velvety Valtravieso. (The price of a glass was typically $1.50 to $5.) Thanks to the restorative powers of strong Spanish coffee, I was able to continue exploring even deeper into Ribera del Duero wine country the next morning. From Peñafiel, it is a 50-minute drive west to Aranda de Duero, a small town of 30,000. After tiny Peñafiel, it feels like a city, especially as you approach on the highway, which runs through a dismal-looking industrial park. But inside the old walls, Aranda revealed hidden charms, with a
central district of medieval buildings, a leafy park filled with
cypress trees lining the banks of the Duero and an early-16th-century
church, the Iglesia de Santa María. I sat down and ordered my last meal in Old Castile: roast suckling lamb, Spanish sheep's-milk cheese, crusty local torta bread. And to go with it, of course, a half bottle of Ribera del Duero. Underneath helmets, hanging haunches of jamón serrano and assorted medieval relics, I savored my journey, drop by rich red drop. WINES OF THE TIMES The Iberian Nights: A Light, Breezy Tale Between the blooms of mid-April and the usual summer sweatbox, a narrow window opens for outdoor dining in New York. Whether in restaurant, yard or park, this is the opportunity to soak in the seaside breezes, to bathe in the whitewashed light, to fantasize about an indolent life where decisions come no harder than whether to turn over or sit up. These moments call for the sort of crisp, lively white wines that give a bracing lift to shellfish and light seafood dishes or at least pave the way for the reds to follow. No shortage of these types of wines, luckily. Sancerre is a natural, its chilled bottle sweating in the sunlight, and so is its pungent sauvignon blanc cousin from New Zealand. There is tocai Friuliano and roussanne and muscadet, of course, and any number of wines from all over Italy. Not least among this group is the Iberian wine known as albariño in the tiny Rías Baixas region of Galicia in northwestern Spain and as alvarinho across the border to the south in northwestern Portugal. "They're Iberia's answer to muscadet," said Florence Fabricant, my colleague on the Dining section's wine panel, which tasted 24 albariños, as I will arbitrarily call the collection. I knew exactly what she meant in her comparison. But while good muscadet has a deliciously yeasty quality, it is neutral-smelling. Albariño, by contrast, can be explosively aromatic, full of easily detectable floral, mineral and citrus scents. It can be both creamy in texture and highly acidic, which gives it the vibrant freshness to match, say, ceviche, or grilled octopus. Yet that acidity can also make albariño seem a little harsh as an aperitif. As Amanda Hesser, my other colleague on the panel, put it, "they're built for food." We were joined by a guest, Tarcisio Costa, the wine director at Alfama, a Portuguese restaurant in Greenwich Village. Mr. Costa was disappointed that 19 of our bottles were Spanish, but we are bound by what we find in retail shops, and the Portuguese alvarinhos are much rarer. Nonetheless, our top wine was Portuguese, the 2002 Portal do Fidalgo, an exceptionally pure, light-bodied and delicious wine. At $10 a bottle, it was also our best value. To me, the Portal do Fidalgo was a consummate outdoor wine, which refreshes and whets the appetite. One other Portuguese bottle made our list, the 2001 Quinta do Dorado at No. 9, and we liked it despite what it represented. Most albariños, in both Spain and Portugal, are fermented and stored briefly in stainless steel tanks, which preserve the freshness and fruitiness of the grape. A small percentage of winemakers, though, have experimented with aging albariño in small barrels made of new oak, a procedure evident in a glass of Quinta do Dorado. There, the winemakers have done it skillfully. The oak treatment adds a sort of creamy cushion to the wine that is not disagreeable, yet it is a softer, less lively wine, perhaps more suited for indoors or for winter. Paradoxically, the wine is labeled vinho verde, or green wine, referring not to color but to youth. Vinhos verdes are meant to be zesty and inconsequential, not like the Quinta do Dorado, which at $20 was the most expensive of our top 10. Apart from this one oak-scented bottle, I divided the wines into two categories. Some, like the Portal do Fidalgo, were as light and fine as summer sun dresses. Others were more robust, like our No. 2 bottle, the 2002 Laxas from Rías Baixas (pronounced REE-ez BUY-shez), and especially our No. 3, the 2002 Casal Caeiro. These were more substantial wines, filled with lush aromas, yet they retained their lively acidity and never tasted hot or alcoholic. Most of these wines were around 12 percent alcohol, quite a bit lighter than, say, California chardonnays, which these days are rarely less than 14 percent. One of the more slender albariños, the 2002 Granbazan, did strike me as a good aperitif, perhaps because it did not seem quite so bone dry as some of the others, which helped to balance the acidity. The Napa-fication of an Ancient Spanish Wine
Region Heading east from Santo Domingo de la Calzada, south of Bilbao, the landscape of the Rioja is covered in grape vines. There are poppies in bloom, 14th- and 15th-century towns along the way, small tractors zipping through the fields, men in white shirts bent over, tending rows, and vines planted unevenly on every available patch of land. At a Cepsa gas station just outside Logroño, the region's capital, the convenience store is stocked - not with Twix bars and Diet Coke - but with vintage Rioja wines, baguettes, chorizo, cheeses and artichoke hearts. This is a place that takes its wine and food seriously. The Rioja is known for its wines - the world-famous reds and, increasingly, its crisp, modern and oak-aged whites - and has had a long time to build its reputation. Grapes were introduced by the Romans, and export to France and Italy began in the 16th century. But now some ripples of change are spreading across this small autonomous region just below the northern coast of Spain. Native chefs who have been toiling in kitchens across Europe are coming home; established wineries (or bodegas, in Spanish) experiment with new technologies, while new ones are winning awards; and some distinctly progressive architects are leaving their mark among the countryside's many church steeples, ancient ruins, sudden cliffs and rolling valleys. Next summer, the Marqués de Riscal, the 150-year-old winery in Elciego, will open what it calls a city of wine. The bodega has managed to redirect the street through the small town so it doesn't cut through its property anymore. And now the original stone buildings (dating back to 1860) surround a pedestrian area, above which hovers a stunning stone and titanium hotel by Frank Gehry, whose gleaming Guggenheim Museum transformed the industrial city of Bilbao. Inspired by the vines growing all around, the building sprouts from the soil; three columns support the metal canopies that spread out like grape leaves at harvest time. The titanium of the canopies is tinted to symbolize the bodega: pink for red wine, gold for the wire netting around the bottle, and silver for the capsule. When it opens, the hotel will have 14 rooms in the main building and 29 more in an annex, a wine library, tasting rooms, a Caudalie Vinotherapie spa (where guests can literally soak in a vat of wine in the name of health), meeting rooms, a cooking school and two restaurants, one of which will be overseen by Francis Paniego, the young chef at El Portal in Ezcaray, who has won the first Michelin star in the region. Guests will be able to wander around the ivy-covered complex to visit all aspects of the winery (which produces 4.5 million bottles in the Rioja every year), from the "cathedral" - an ancient subterranean vault that stores one of every bottle Marqués de Riscal has ever produced since the first in 1862 - to the vast modern fermentation hall, with its polished wood beams, huge stainless-steel tanks and imposing computer terminal that controls the process. Though the region is small and easily covered in a few days by car, it's a good idea to enlist the help of a local guide, because a tour requires some planning. Roads are circuitous; the hours of operation at wineries, churches and museums can be sporadic (many places require appointments); some doors will open only when strings are pulled; and while you'll find some Riojans who can converse in a charmingly approximate English, the locals generally speak only Spanish. A good place to start is Santo Domingo de la Calzada, a quiet town in the northwestern corner of the region; it was named for an 11th-century hermit who took part in building a bridge over the Oja River to help pilgrims on their way along the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. (A tributary of the Ebro, the Rio Oja is the river from which the Rioja takes its name.) These days, Santo Domingo de la Calzada is full of agricultural workers, wine people and storks. There is a huge population of storks in the northern part of the Rioja, and their awkward prehistoric gait looks like some fantastic link to the age of the dinosaur. About 12 miles north in Haro, popularly known as the capital of Rioja wine, there are more than 20 wineries clustered together in town, many of them (Muga, C.V.N.E, Martínez Lacuesta) open for tours and tastings. In their midst, there are two renegades. The chef Juan Nales has opened Las Duelas, a remarkably sleek blond, beige and steel restaurant across from a former monastery on Monseñor Florentino Rodriguez Square. He serves sophisticated dishes based on the culinary traditions of the region. "Believe me," said Mr. Nales, "to make a good and tasteful traditional dish is not so easy for many young chefs." The food in the Rioja is hearty - morcilla (blood sausage) at breakfast, beef stew at night, fish and game in season, and plenty of recipes made with ham, chorizo, beans, artichokes, white asparagus and red peppers in between. At Las Duelas, Mr. Nales (who cooked at Akelarre in San Sebastian where Pedro Subijana has earned two Michelin stars) takes the same local ingredients, refines them and combines them into nueva Riojan dishes like roast pigeon with new peas and Iberian ham. The other upstart in Haro is Bodegas Roda, a modern winery started in 1987 by Mario Rollant and Carmen Daurella, a couple of successful wine importers from Barcelona. "They wanted their own vineyard," said the manager, Gonzalo Lainez Gutierrez, as we stood among the vines, none less than 30 years old, that grow the local grape varieties tempranillo, garnacha and graciano. "And they didn't mind to spend money." Indeed, the pristine malo-lactic fermentation lounge (with a wall of windows, a catwalk and a climate that is controlled by radiant heat from the floor) looks a bit like a modern art gallery, except that it's filled with 1,000 barrels made of French oak. The winery has already made itself known, with high marks from the wine critic Robert Parker for its 100 percent tempranillo, Cirsion, 2001; five stars from Decanter magazine for Roda I, 2001; and "best olive oil in Spain" from Gourmet magazine for its extra-virgin Dauro Emporda. A tour of Roda, by appointment, is a good lesson in contemporary winemaking and an interesting contrast to the more traditional practices at Marqués de Riscal. You also get to taste their outstanding reds, which are currently hard to find in the States. En route east is the Bronze Age village of La Hoya. First occupied 3,400 years ago (archaeologists didn't begin to excavate until 1973), the settlement is a remarkable remnant, with houses arranged in blocks in the plain below the medieval city of Laguardia. Perched high on a hill in the Rioja Alavesa, Laguardia was originally built as fortification against the Castilian aggression in the 12th century; its walls, towers and gates are still intact. Within the town, narrow streets are lined with little stalls and barn doors; strings of red peppers hang from the balconies of the houses above. Calle Paganos opens onto a lovely square by the bishop's tower. On one corner of the main square (Plaza Mayor) is La Vinoteca, a sister wine shop to the restaurant Marixa, just outside the Puerta San Juan, where excellent grilled meats are served in a dining room overlooking the lagoons, or salt lakes, that give way to the Sierra Cantabria mountains in the distance. In the old section of Logroño - on the southern banks of the Ebro, where a big square is home to a Baroque cathedral, a 16th-century Parliament building that's still in use and cafes filled with townspeople drinking aperitifs - there are several narrow streets lined with bars serving tapas and smooth crianzas by the glass. La Gota de Vino at the top of Calle Traversia de Laurel is a cool new spot with white rubber chairs and a zinc bar where you can get a little bite of spinach with anchovy or a red pepper stuffed with meat and spicy tomato sauce. Farther along is Bar Soriano, a small, skinny, more traditional place that specializes in mushrooms. The tapas to choose is the tiny tower of three champiñones, sautéed in garlic, topped with a grilled shrimp and pierced through by a toothpick. Keeping with tradition in Spanish bars, when you're finished, you just crumple up your napkin and throw it on the floor, an expanding sea of napkins, toothpicks and cigarette butts. An hour's drive southwest, the landscape changes dramatically in Ezcaray, a modest skiing and hiking village at the foot of the Sierra de la Demanda mountain range. There are stone and wood porticoes around the main town square; a 15th-century Gothic church with a balcony over the entrance and bells that call the townsfolk to Mass at all kinds of unpredictable hours; and a blanket-maker, Hijos de Cecilio Valgañón, where you can buy the same cashmere shawls that are sold at Carolina Herrera and Loewe, only for a fraction of the price. Across from the church sits Echaurren, an enchanted country inn, owned and run by a local family, that's housed in a 400-year-old former postal stop. While it has just 25 rooms, it has two restaurants. One is the famous Echaurren, the main dining room overseen by the matriarch Marisa Sánchez, which serves traditional food, such as croquettes and artichokes with ham. On the other side of the shared stainless-steel kitchen is El Portal, the stylish new restaurant overseen by Francis Paniego. He studied cooking at school in France and has done apprenticeships at the Michelin three-star restaurants Arzak in San Sebastian and El Bulli in Rosas. Mr. Paniego came home in 1994 with ideas about updating his mother's recipes and finally opened El Portal to show them off. On the strength of his pork snout on cabbage, with a cream of foie gras, and coffee couscous with a Coca Cola reduction (and other successful inventions), he won a Michelin star in November 2004 and, in turn, the top job at the new restaurant in the Gehry hotel at the Marqués de Riscal winery. His appointment is a perfect example of the mood in the region: focused on local resource and loyal to its traditions but, finally, with an eye to the future. "I'm proud to be from the Rioja," said Mr. Paniego. "I consider it another ingredient in my food." Spanish Wines Emerge from the Shadows Spanish wines are rapidly emerging from the long shadow cast by their neighbors to the north. La Rioja is justly considered Spain's finest winegrowing region. The deep, woody flavor of its celebrated reds comes from up to eight years of aging in casks of American oak, usually preferred over French oak for its superior porosity and faster oxidating properties. This aging technique was introduced by French vintners from Bordeaux and Burgundy who moved to the Rioja in the 19th century to escape a phylloxera epidemic that was destroying the vines in their own country. Among the better Rioja labels are Rioja Alta, Viña Ardanza, Imperial, Muga, Marqués de Murrieta, Pomal, Ramón Bilbao, Marqués de Riscal, and Viña Tondonia. Southwest of Valladolid, the Rueda wine growing district produces some of Spain's most distinguished white wines, and Huesca's Somontano wines, especially the Enate and Señorío de Lazán labels, are rapidly gaining respect. The Valdepeñas wine country, 200 km (120 mi) south of Madrid, remains Spain's prime producer of simple table wines in unabashedly greater quantity than quality. That said, a pitcher of Valdepeñas with a meal or a round of tapas in and around Castile is never disappointing. Catalonia's Penedès region specializes in cava (sparkling white wine). The most famous cavas are Codorniu and Freixenet, but many smaller outfits, such as Juvé i Camps, Augustí Torelló, Mascaró, and Gramona, actually produce better bubbly. Along with the Torres reds and whites and the Raventós cavas and whites, the Penedès produces Spain's greatest variety of wines overall. New artisanal wines, however, are steadily emerging from such unlikely places as the rugged hills of the Priorat area, west of Tarragona; the Costers de Siurana labels Clos de l'Obac and Miserere are standouts. The Raimat wines from Costers del Segre are excellent, as are the Gran Caus, the Castillo Perelada, and the exciting new Oliver Conti wines from northern Catalonia's Ampurdán region. Many Spanish oenophiles favor wines from La Ribera del Duero, north of Madrid. This increasingly prestigious region produces excellent bottles of both young wine and wine that will improve with age. Vega Sicilia is the most famous winery in La Ribera del Duero; Pesquera, Protos, and Viña Pedrosa are other reputable labels. Galicia's Ribeiro and Rías Baixas wines, especially the young green Albariños, are increasingly served in top restaurants throughout Spain with appetizers and fish courses. The Basque country's txakolí, an even greener young white with a slight effervescence, has always been popular locally but is now gaining a real following as Basque restaurants and tapas bars flourish all over Spain. Sherry has always been popular abroad, especially with the British, who have dominated the sherry trade in Jerez de la Frontera since the 16th century. Indeed, many of the most famous labels are foreign -- Domecq, Harvey, Sandeman. The classic dry sherry is the fino.Amontillado is deeper in color and flavor, and oloroso is really a sweet dessert wine, as are the even-sweeter creams. Another fortified Andalusian wine, often difficult for the inexperienced palate to distinguish from sherry, is manzanilla, from the coastal town of Sanlúcar de Barrameda. Manzanilla has a tangy, saline savor that comes from the cool Atlantic breezes at the mouth of the Guadalquívir River. With its faint taste of the sea, this wine does not travel well; there are even those who believe it tastes better in the lower part of Sanlúcar than in the upper town. Sherry and manzanilla are generally thought of as aperitif wines and are ideal with tapas. A Sanlúcar prawn with a glass of manzanilla is many a Spanish epicurean's idea of paradise. In England, sherry still has the genteel associations of an Oxbridge college, but Spain has a more robust attitude toward the beverage, especially during Sevilla's Feria de Abril, where more sherry and manzanilla are reputedly drunk in a week than in the whole of Spain the rest of the year. Some of Spain's finest brandies, such as Osborne, Terry, Duque de Alba, and Carlos III, also come from Jerez. Málaga makes a sweet dessert wine that enjoyed a vogue with the English in the l9th century; look for the label Scholtz. Aguardientes (aquavits) are manufactured throughout Spain, with the most famous brands coming from Chinchón, near Madrid. A sweet and popular Jerez brandy, Ponche Caballero, is easy to identify by its silver-coated bottle, which looks like an amateur explosive. Sangría, a tourist potion imported from Mexico, is generally composed of cheap liquors and bad wine and should be avoided at all costs by those in search of Spanish delicacies. Spain's gourmet restaurants offer a selection of postprandial cheeses, but most meals end with dessert. Standard enticements are fresh fruit, such as strawberries with orange juice or vanilla ice cream, and flan, a caramel cream that comes close to being Spain's national dessert. In Catalonia, look for the ubiquitous crema catalana, a sort of crème brûlée, or the honey-and-fresh-cheese combination known as mel i mató. The main problem with food and wine in Spain -- perhaps an ironic one, in light of Spain's not-so-distant past -- may be their very abundance. Dining heartily twice a day and taking full advantage of the tapas hour requires some management. The Spanish, looking forward to a substantial midday meal after having finished dinner late the previous night, breakfast on little more than coffee and a roll. Lunch, served between 2 and 4 in the afternoon -- preceded by an aperitivo -- is generally considered the main meal of the day. The workday lasts until at least 8, after which it's time for the itinerant tapeo. Finally, often after 10, comes dinner, which is often festive and can last until the wee hours. The traveler's key to surviving this delicious but demanding regimen is to partake zestily of tapas in the early evening -- roam freely and you'll soon fill up on cleverly arrayed items from all four food groups. After all, Spain is the ultimate moveable feast.
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Maybe
it’s the conventional images of a bullfighter’s cape
and a flamenco dancer’s dress from old Life magazines or retro
travel posters that make many of us, at least of a certain age,
“see red” when we think about Spain. Similarly, when
we consider Spanish wine, red almost immediately comes to mind,
perhaps due to the popularity of Rioja and, yes, even of Sangria.
But just as a few vivid images do not entirely capture the vast
spectrum of Spain’s culture, fashionable Riojas and other
classic and modern tintos do not totally represent the breadth and
quality of its wines.
Spanish Wine and Food Pairings 101
Pairing foods with wines is very much like discovering wonderful new Spanish Mediterranean recipes. Just as the right combination of ingredients complements and highlights each other to create a gourmet dish, pairing the right wine with a meal in Spain creates a combination that celebrates and enhances the experience of both Spanish food and wine.
And, just as a recipe doesn’t have to be complex to be mouth-wateringly good, you don’t have to be a wine connoisseur or gourmet cook to enjoy the benefits of the right wine pairing.
A basic understanding of the food, the wine and how the components and flavors in each interact can make it easy to find a successful pairing on a daily basis, and can greatly increase the chances of finding an exciting synergy between wine and food.
Start with the Wine
When you’re first trying your hand at pairing, we recommend starting
with a wine and then selecting and creating the food around it. The
simple reason for this is that it’s much easier to tweak a food
recipe to make it more compatible with the wine, than it is to start
blending your own wines.
Pick a wine you know a love already. This way, you’ll have a sense of its flavors already, which you can use as a starting point to experiment with food pairings. Plus, if the recipe doesn’t work, at the very least you’ll be able to enjoy a nice bottle of wine!
Be ‘Prepared’ With The Food
Forget the white wine with white meat and red with red meats. The best
place to begin your food selection is with an understanding of how the
food is being prepared – the components and flavors in the dish
that are integral to pairing it with wine. This is why food and wine
pairing in restaurants can be challenging. You think that everything
will be fine and then discover that the dish has a different flavor
(Why did the chef add olives, they didn’t mention them on the
menu?), texture (Wow, I didn’t know that the sea scallops and
bay scallops are so different!) or cooking method (I expected the chicken
to be grilled, but it is poached.).
The three key points
To keep in mind when selecting the food are
1. The food item being paired;
2. The cooking method of that item; and
3. The additional flavors or sauces
The fundamental rule is to begin by pairing delicate wines with delicate flavors, medium-bodied wines with medium-weight or intensity flavors, and strongly flavored foods with wines that will stand up to their pungency. To help keep things simple as you get started, we’ve put together the following guide. Like anything, these are not absolute rules, but good guidelines to follow to help create the most successful and interesting pairings.
Mourvedre ( Monastrell in Spain)
| FLAVORS | Crisp - Tangy | Earthy - Hearty | Intense - Spicy |
| WINE TYPE | Albariño Verdejo Viura Riesling Sauvignon Blanc Palomino |
Tempranillo joven Pinot Noir Tinto del Toro Cariñena |
Tempranillo reserva Syrah Monastrell-Mourvedre Garnacha Graciano |
| FOODS | Salads/Vegetables Fish | Poultry, Game Birds, Pork, Veal | Beef, Offal |
| SAUCES | Lemon based | Butter; Cream | Meat Wine Demiglace |
| PREPARATION | Poached/Steamed | Sautéed Baked Roasted | Grilled Braised |
To make the wine even more compatible you can use the sauce to try to imitate flavors in the wine. For instance, mushrooms work well with Pinot Noir, tomatoes with Sangiovese, herbs and mint with Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, and dark berries with Shiraz.
As we noted, it’s not critical that you memorize this guide and follow it to the letter. The important point is to use this to help learn how the different types of flavors pair with different wines. This understanding of food components and wine flavors is actually much more helpful that simply matching a food to a wine and the basic chicken breast is a great example of why.
Imagine a chicken breast poached (i.e. cooked in water) with a light lemon herb sauce. This might be a dish that could be friendly with light to medium bodied white wines like Pinot Gris and Sauvignon Blanc. Now add a cream sauce and you can move up in body to a fuller bodied wine, maybe a Chardonnay. Or try it roasted and suddenly the flavors are such that it can marry with light to medium bodied reds, like Pinot Noir or Sangiovese. Grill it and it becomes great with fuller bodied reds, even Zinfandel or Shiraz (Syrah).
On The Contrary
In addition to marrying foods with complementary wines, many people
like to create a contrast between various components in the dish and
the wine in much the same way that you would balance sweet dessert recipe
with a tangy sauce. This is as simple as enjoying a crisp acidic wine
like a Sauvignon Blanc to cut through a very buttery sauce, or possibly
a more oaky Chardonnay with a very tart or sweet dish.
The result is different, but the approach remains the same – consider the flavor of both the wind and food to create a specific taste experience.
Dining Out
You can see why our point about the difficulty of pairing a wine with
a meal can be rather tricky when you’re dining at a restaurant.
That’s why it can also be more fun. Sometimes those surprises
can open your palate to wonderful new experiences.
Of course, don’t ever be shy about asking how a food is prepared or requesting help from the sommelier. Be sure they explain how the preparation of the food pairs nicely with the wine. You’ll be more assured of enjoying your meal and will learn some good lessons for your next adventure in your own kitchen.
Cheese, Wine and Fruit
Any simple gathering can become a tasting event with the classic combination
of wine, cheese, and fruit.
An Iberian Couple: Spanish Wine and Cheese
By Jim Clarke
Like sparkling wine kept under pressure and then released, Spanish food and wine is suddenly exploding past the country's borders. In addition to several big-name chefs, the wines and cheeses of the country are becoming popular, and not just in Spanish restaurants. Among cheeses, Manchego has spearheaded the attack into American restaurants, and there are several others trailing in its wake - with many more waiting to be discovered, for that matter. Similarly Spanish wine isn't limited to Rioja anymore; Priorat and Rias Baixas and Penedés and many other quality wines with distinctive personalities are being brought over by enthusiastic and informed importers.
As with France's vinous and dairy products, Spanish wine and cheese make great companions, so I set out to play matchmaker. I was fortunate to visit Spain recently and try a number of wines - inevitably accompanied by cheese - and decided to supplement my education with some research here in New York City. Murray's Cheese Shop in Greenwich Village generously provided me with several great cheeses from their immense selection, and I took them over to see my friends at Union Square Wines to pull some bottles from their shelves that seemed like promising partners.
I began with a creamy mild cheese called Tetilla, which brought back fond memories. The cheese comes from Galicia, in the northwest of Spain above Portugal, and was the first piece of food I put in my mouth when I visited the region last December (The second was some wonderful grilled octopus, a traditional Galician preparation; wonderful, but it made an odd breakfast for me, still on East Coast time). Tetilla is a soft, creamy, mild cow's milk cheese; in Spain, these are less common than those made from sheep or goat's milk, but Galicia's green hills make it the Spanish leader in cow's milk production - cows being pickier eaters than sheep or goats. The cheese's name, which means "nipple," comes from the fact that the cheese is molded into a shape that is said resemble a breast. If so, they must have had Madonna's get-up from the early nineties in mind; the shape is on the cone-like, Hershey Kiss side.
Its risque shape aside, this cheese followed a classic rule of wine and cheese pairing: pair a cheese with a wine from the same region. Galicia is home to the Rias Baixas appellation which makes white wines from indigenous grapes: Albariño primarily, but also Treixadura and Loureira; these are the wines that brought me to visit Galicia. On this occasion I tried the tetilla with the Nora 2002 Albariño, which shows an aromatic nose of peach, apple, and melon with a minerally finish. Paired, it passed its fruity qualities over to the cheese, lightening it, and took on a more Chablis-like character itself. San Simón is Tetilla's alter-ego, a smoked version that's a bit meatier. It also works with Albariño, but preferably something with a brioche edge that will blend well with the smokiness like the Condes de Albarei 2002. If you like cheese croissants it's the match for you.
Cabrales has already made waves in the U.S. among lovers of blue cheeses, but for a blue that's a little tamer (i.e. one that non-blue fans might forgive you for serving) but still creamy, piquant, and flavorful, try Valdeon. It's also the only other cheese we tried that is made with cow's milk, albeit usually mixed with goat's milk depending on seasonal availability. Traditionally it is wrapped in leaves and aged in caves for two or three months, where it develops its blue veins.
Like many blues, Valdeon calls for a sweet wine. Alvear's 2000 Pedro Ximenez Añada worked well, adding a fullness and roundness to the cheese. In this case the wine may be the real winner; the Pedro Ximenez can be a bit too syrupy, and the cheese toned this down and allowed me to concentrate on the figs, dates, and caramel of the wine without being overwhelmed by its texture and mouthfeel. A 2001 Altos de Luzon Jumilla from Finca Luzon also profited from being paired with the Valdeon. The wine's tannins cut through the fat in the cheese, while the slate and other earthy notes emerged from the wine, toning down the fruit.
However, the Jumilla's best match was an Idiazabal, made from sheep's milk in the Pyrenees. Traditionally this cheese was smoked; my sample represented a growing trend away from that treatment, allowing it's buttery and nutty flavors to stand on their own. Together with the cheese, the wine retained all its aromas of blackberry, plum, and slate, and its tannins once more addressed the fat of the cheese to clear the palate. The cheese seemed creamier and smoother in the company of this wine, and they both share an up-and-coming status. The Jumilla DO in Murcia, near Alicante, allows the use of Garnacha, Tempranillo, and Mourvedre (called Monastrell in Spain); it has long been an area of great potential, and the winemakers here have begun applying modern craft to creating more dynamic wines than they have in the past.
The seriously intense Monte Enebro is a cheese that benefits from aging and mold without developing blue veins. A coat of ash and mold forms on the outside of this creamy, spreadable goat's milk cheese, and its tanginess is buttressed by a walnutty base. A Cava like the Marques de Gelida NV Brut brings forth a wonderful smokiness from the cheese, whose nuttiness, in turn, brings out yeasty, bready notes to accompany the sparkling wine's citrus and green apple aromas. Both wine and cheese gain smoothness from the pairing as well. If you've been overindulging in sparkling wines and would like something still, try a sherry like the Delgado Zuleta Manzanilla; there's enough acidity in this wine to keep the cheese's tang in control, and they both possess a complementary nutty element.
A goat's milk cheese with a decidedly different style is Garrotxa, from Catalonia. It's firm, with notes of chalk, wild herbs, and brine as well as a touch of nuts to it. The 2002 Naia is also from Catalonia, in this case from the Rueda DO. The primary grape here is the indigenous Verdejo, and the Naia displays lots of floral aromas which are typical to the grape, along with touches of peach and melon. The herbal scents of the cheese together with the wine's floral qualities bring to mind wind-blown Spanish hills, and the texture and acidity of both partners balance quite well.
Torta de la Serena is a cheese I make a beeline for every time I see it served. Seriously rich and creamy, this soft cheese from Extremadura owes its distinctive, somewhat stinky character to the Merino sheep of the region and the thistle rennet used in making the cheese. Its bold style needs a big red wine to stand up to it. I've enjoyed this cheese on occasion with the 2001 Condado de Haza from the Ribera del Duero, a wine made from 100% Tempranillo grapes; it's dark berries, licorice, and chocolate wraps around the cheese like some yet-to-be-invented bon-bon. An earthier wine also does great things with this cheese; the 2000 Blecua from the Somontano DO is an international blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot together with Spanish natives Garnacha and Tempranillo. Earth, slate and forest floor aromas are layered with black fruits and a clear balsam note from oak-aging; it smooths the more aggressive aromas in the cheese and readies the palate for another bite.
The last successful pairing I tried brought together what may be the two Spanish products most well-known in the U.S.: Rioja and Manchego. 1994 was a special vintage in Rioja and prompted many winemakers to lay down some of their wine according to the special aging requirements to create a Gran Reserva. The Ramirez de la Piscina 1994 Gran Reserva still shows all the character of the tempranillo grape set among the aromas of extended aging: red fruits like cherries and dried cranberries floating over earth, smoke, and barnyard aromas. Meanwhile Manchego is a rich sheep's milk cheese with a mild nutty character and sometimes a pepperiness that increases with aging. In this case my semi-aged Manchego brought new life to the wine, obscuring the barnyard character and filling out the fruitiness. There was just enough tannin left in the wine to balance with the fat of the cheese, and the smoke of the wine blended well with the cheese's nutty touch. Manchego comes from La Mancha, the land of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; literature's classic pair meets its match on the Spanish table with wine and cheese pairings that ride together just as well.
My thanks to Liz Thorpe at Murray's Cheese and Alexis Beltrami at Union Square Wines for their help in preparing this article.
The Happy Couples: Spanish Wines and Cheeses Together
| Cheese: | Wines: |
| Tetilla | Nora 2002 Albariño, Rias Baixas |
| San Simón | Condes de Albarei 2002 Albariño,
Rias Baixas |
| Valdeon | Alvear 2000 Pedro Ximenez Añada Finca Luzon 2001 Altos de Luzon, Jumilla |
| Idiazabal | Finca Luzon 2001 Altos de Luzon, Jumilla |
| Monte Enebro | Marques de Gelida NV Brut Cava Delgado Zuleta Manzanilla |
| Garrotxa | Naia 2002, Rueda |
| Torta de la Serena | Condado de Haza 2001, Ribera del Duero Blecua 2000, Somontano |
| Manchego |
Ramirez de la Piscina 1994
Gran Reserva, |
SPANISH WHITES: Can You Name One?
By Al Dereu
When you consider Spanish wines, what usually comes to mind are the reds from the Rioja and Ribera del Duero areas, the sweet and dry sherries from Jerez (the word sherry itself is a vulgarization of the word Jerez), and the sparkling wine called cava from the Penedés area south of Barcelona. Ernest Hemingway, no stranger to a mellowing beverage, mentioned Spain’s excellent and inexpensive dry rosés on and off in his works, but by and large rosés are under the radar In the United States. Rarely does white wine come to mind – and that’s a shame. Spain, as the country with the world’s most total acreage devoted to vineyards, is home to an array of white wines ranging from the exotic, food-friendly albariño to the more neutral, clean, crisp viura and verdejo to the more familiar chardonnay and sauvignon blanc.
Albariño
Albariño, Spain’s signature white wine, is named for
a grape grown in Galicia. It is to Spain what sauvignon blanc is to
New Zealand and pinot grigio is to Italy, even more so in that almost
nowhere else in the world is this grape grown. Almost exclusively
bottled as a varietal (that is, with 100 percent albariño and
no other grapes blended in), it is as unique as it is food-friendly.
It unquestionably ranks as one of the world’s finest, albeit
underappreciated, white wine varieties. It literally has no equal,
although if asked to name one I would suggest New Zealand’s
ripe yet racy sauvignon blanc. Or course albariño does not
show the same herbal/grassy aromas and flavors, but in terms of being
relatively light in body and displaying forward fruit as well as assertive,
palate-cleansing acidity, New Zealand sauvignon blanc is probably
albariño’s closest stylistic cousin
These qualities — light body, searing acidity, and intense
minerality — make you think of bottling an ocean breeze. They
allow albariño to pair brilliantly with a plate of seafood,
shellfish, or, more specifically, paella. Spain’s take on a
rice dish, paella is typically studded with scallops, mussels, shrimp,
chorizo, and/or chicken. It is finished with sherry and traditionally
served in enormous pans designed to serve a dozen or even more at
a time. Personally, I wouldn’t dream of eating paella without
some albariño on hand. In my mind it certainly ranks as one
of the greatest and most natural of food-and-wine pairings around.
Albariño will also pair well with any seafood rich in mineral
or slate qualities (think oysters), though a lobster drenched in butter
would be better served alongside your favorite chardonnay, be it Californian
or French white Burgundy.
Albariño’s home is in Galicia, just north of Portugal,
and clearly it enjoys its dominating maritime influence. Galicia is
lush and verdant, the landscape more reminiscent of Scotland or Ireland
than the rest of the Iberian Peninsula. Given the grape’s undeniable
success here, it’s hard to fathom why no one has tried to grow
it elsewhere. I can’t recall having tried an albariño
from any other country. While some experimentation with oak barrel
fermentation has yielded modest success, it is the grape’s primary
qualities that set it apart. For the most part, I don’t see
how barrel fermentation (versus the normal stainless-steel tank) or
any degree of aging can improve upon something that is so unique and
so good as it is.
Albariño’s Portuguese genetic cousin, alvarinho, is used to make vinho verde. The latter cannot match the former’s exotic nature and in general pales, not only in color, but also in depth and intensity. Vinho verde on the whole is far more neutral in flavor despite its genetic similarity and geographic proximity to albariño.
There is also less variation vintage-to-vintage in the overall quality of albariños than there is with, for instance, wines from Burgundy or Bordeaux in France, where the whims of Mother Nature can wreak havoc on the grapes and resultant wines. Another consequence of this is price fluctuations, as demand for a “good vintage’s” wines inflate its cost to the consumer. Albariño’s prices remain consistent year to year. And its relative obscurity in this country also helps keep down the price tag. A few albariño producers to look for include Martin Codax, Pazo de Señorans, Burgans, and Fillaboa. Some friends and I recently enjoyed a bottle of this last one with tapas at Café Iberico on the near north side of Chicago.
Viura and Verdejo
Viura is the most important white grape of the Rioja area in north-central
Spain. Rioja is an area far more renowned for its tempranillo-based
reds than its whites; some people even think the Spanish word Rioja
means red, but it is actually a contraction of “Rio Oja,”
a tributary to the Ebro River that runs through the region. Viura
makes a far more neutral wine than the aforementioned albariño,
lacking the latter’s exotic aromas, flavors, and overall complexity.
It has its place, however; if you consider the scorchingly high temperatures
typical of the Iberian inland during the summer months, you can readily
appreciate its uses. A lighter-bodied, lower-alcohol wine is much
easier to drink in unbearable heat – a big, buttery, 14 percent
alcohol chardonnay doesn’t quite quench the thirst as well.
I’ve heard some suggest that the full potential of viura has yet to be realized. While I’m not wholly convinced of this, I’d be thrilled to someday learn that there is more to this pleasant little white. Spain is still breaking out of the isolation that gripped the country during the long rule of Francisco Franco, who only passed away 30 years ago. The modernization of the country’s winemaking, investment in new equipment, and total commitment to cleanliness are relatively recent phenomena. For literally centuries, much of Spain “crafted” and drank an oxidized white of little character. So it’s not far-fetched to think there might be uncharted waters even for a grape they’ve grown for hundreds of years.
There has been some experimentation with oak barrel fermentation with mixed results. The Rioja bodega (winery) Conde de Valdemar offers a decent, well-made white, in addition to a stainless-steel tank fermented one. The unoaked white is a great warm-weather quaffer and pairs well with lighter (white) fish and perhaps a simple herb accent – nothing too heavy. An oaky one would seem more suited for scallops with garlic pan-fried in butter.
Verdejo is another indigenous Spanish grape not really cultivated elsewhere. It is grown in Rueda, northwest of Madrid and near the world-class red wine region of Ribera del Duero. Verdejo reminds me most of sauvignon blanc. In fact, sauvignon blanc is also grown in Rueda, and you can find varietal bottlings of both grapes as well as blends of the two together. Light in body and crisply refreshing (noticing a pattern yet?), verdejo can be called upon to quench your summer thirst and complement a salad or herb-seasoned fish or chicken dish.
Even more so than viura-based wines, you’ll rarely if ever encounter much oak influence with Verdejo. One benefit of this is the price – utilizing oak barrels for fermenting or aging wine inherently increases the price of the finished product. While viura and verdejo-based wines may not be the best white wines you’ll ever have, the flip side is that they won’t bleed your wallet dry either. Even $8-15 a pop will get you a good, genuine example of these wines, and that’s really not much to ask for something distinct, food-friendly, clean and easy. Really good albariños cost more along the lines of $13-20 a bottle, which is still relatively inexpensive. A high-quality chardonnay, be it from California or France, could easily cost twice that and more.
Other Spanish Whites
Some other Spanish whites that don’t fit into the above categories
warrant mentioning. The Huguet family, longtime makers of the Spanish
sparkling wine cava, make a “still” (nonsparkling) white
called can feixes. It is blended mostly from grapes used for cava:
xarello, parellada, and macabeo (the regional clone of viura), with
a splash of chardonnay. Xarello has various “correct”
spellings, so if you see any word close to this, it’s probably
the same grape. This blend displays restrained flavors of lemon and
unabashed minerality; this would serve as a good intro to Spanish
whites for Pinot grigio fans. It’s available in Chicago, where
I live; and I recently found it being poured at a small wine store
in Leesburg, Virginia, when I was there for a wedding. The friendly
and knowledgeable saleswoman and I agreed that it is definitely different,
consistently good, and begging for a plate of oysters or shellfish.
Marqués de Cáceres, a Rioja winery, makes a white rioja called satinela. It is made mostly from late-harvest viura, with some malvasia filling out the blend. It is fairly sweet, hinting at apricots, white peaches, and even white flowers. Unlike some dessert wines, though, this finishes with good palate-cleansing acidity. The winery’s data sheet calls this “a very original wine in Rioja” and recommends having it with “foie gras, curry dishes, [and] sweet and sour dishes,” but I tend to think peach cobbler or poached pears. To offer both the forward fruit flavors and a crisp finish is no small feat in winemaking, especially considering its $10 price tag. In comparison, the world’s most esteemed dessert wines can cost $40 to $100 for a half bottle and much, much more.
Marqués de Alella, in the tiny area of Alella, makes a spritzy white called clasico that is another pleasant pairing with seafood. The area itself is near Barcelona and the Mediterranean so this is far from surprising. It is made from the local grape pansa blanca, which is their variety of the xarello grown nearby for the production of cava.
The winery Gramona makes a blend called gessami from muscat and sauvignon blanc that drinks like an Alsatian gewurztraminer. It is even sold in a tall, thin bottle like the wines from Alsace, France. It is fragrant, fruity, and even a tiny bit sweet. The muscat grape gives it an apricot/ripe peach quality, and the sauvignon blanc lends a floral note to it.
An important rule of thumb when buying Spanish white wines is that they are almost without exception meant to be drunk young. Stick with recent vintages, and if you can, hold up the bottle (if it’s clear glass) to any light: a young, acidic white wine should show a greenish tinge, and anything brownish should be shunned. If it doesn’t look fresh, it’s not likely to taste that way. This holds true for most less-expensive whites, not just Spanish white wines. I’ve heard some talk that albariño’s acidity is intense enough to merit some aging, but I’m unconvinced. I don’t understand why you would try. Exploit its intrinsic qualities: buy and drink them young, young, young. If five or 10 years from now we learn that they do age well, then all the better. For now I’ll stick with what I do know. On that note my thoughts are turning towards how to work some paella into my dinner plans sometime soon.
