Tag Archives: sherry
A Savage Land
During the typical grim commute home I witness a hit-and-run at the intersection of Woodward Ave. and 12 Mile Road. A cargo van plows over a minivan and then upon swift egress swipes an SUV. I am too far back to get a license plate number and although I want to chase the fiend down, the two cars ahead of me feel obligated to crawl along and stare at an incredulous old man as he inspects what remains of his vehicle’s rear. Shattered plastic litters the road.
The scene plays out in my mind over and over again, only I am the incredulous old man and there is beloved human cargo in the seat next to me. I attempt to shed these thoughts at the library. Fortunately, it is Audra’s violin lesson night – a.k.a. pints at Berkley Front that is next door to the music place night – and midway through a glass of Two Hearted Ale on the hand pull I begin to think of other things slightly less miserable.
After violin lessons I perk up in anticipation of the near perfect guacamole that I know is waiting for me at home. We stop at Trader Joe’s for corn chips and peppermint bark. I pick up a bottle of Real Tesoro Amontillado sherry for $5 thinking that the worst thing that can happen is that I will now have a bottle of cooking sherry in my fridge.
I now have a bottle of cooking sherry in my fridge. It seems that grace escapes me.
Dry Sherry Amor
“Enough,” he said; “the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.”
“True — true,” I replied; “and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily — but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.”
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
“Drink,” I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
“I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.”
“And I to your long life.”
Until a few years ago my sole exposure to sherry came via the pages of an Edgar Allan Poe short story wherein Montresor lures his fellow noblemen Fortunato into the catacombs of his palazzo with the promise of sampling from a rare cask of Amontillado. It’s a story of revenge, memorable for a tight, driven plot and insights into character rarely found in the short fiction genre. Though I have always wondered what that cask might have contained.
It was at lakeside gathering of friends that I had my first taste. Putnam Weekley passed around appetizers of sardines and almonds to pair with tastes of Tio Pepe Fino. He offered it again once at his house. I admit I wasn’t impressed. It tasted narrow and odd but not forgettable.
Months later it came to me suddenly. At Michael Symon’s Roast Restaurant in downtown Detroit where the clouds parted and heavenly light shone on a post-meal Palo Cortado. The seal was broken. I purchased several bottles of Tio Pepe in the summer months with a newfound appreciation and subsequently pushed full glasses towards my closest friends. I’ve heard that Fino is an even better match for raw oysters than Muscadet. I look forward to testing this for myself.
As the days shorten I’ve turned to bottles of Lustau Los Arcos dry Amontillado. I buy this brand mainly because the wine stores I frequent don’t offer much else in the way of sherry. The others are either cheap swill for $5.99, or semi-dry, or both. I’m not complaining. Lustau is a fine drink of sherry. With a nose of raisins and dried leaves and a rich, nutty flavor tempered by a bracing acidity it pairs well with everything from nuts and cheese to root vegetable stew. It is a most food-friendly wine. I could drink a bottle in a sitting though 17%ABV tends to make me feel a little funny. But I generally throw the bottle in the refrigerator, where it keeps, opened, for weeks. I occasionally take a nip while cooking dinner. Plus, it makes a fantastic pan sauce and works well in Asian stir-fry gravies and various soups beyond the classic French onion.
Evidently, there’s a marketing plan in the works to get folks drinking sherry again. But as Dr. Vino describes, considering its reputation and the sort of intense flavors that are alien to most wine drinkers, it’ll be an uphill push. It is said that it takes a full ten tries before one acquires a taste for olives. Yet you’ll find that just about every decent market now offers a self-serve olive bar with several varieties these days. If my own experience is any measure, it should only take a few drinks in the right setting to grow a sherry drinker.
My own humble palace has no catacombs nor a rare cask of Amontillado, and I don’t want to kill you (probably). But follow me inside anyway, there might be a glass of sherry waiting for you.
