Thursday, May 28, 2015

Not Too Soft Southern Touch....

Been five days now. Okay, that’s a lie, it has been only four but for the sake of argument, (and not making me sound like a total junkie) let’s just say it has been five. Five days since I walked those bending and narrow streets, your weight buoyant and springy beneath each one of my steps. Five-ish days since I felt the salt on my lips and took deep pant inducing breaths of a memory so powerful and specific that the very idea it could be recreated seemed impossibly laughable, until I had you in my mouth again….

“I’ll work the class. Please” My voice over my shoulder, outwardly nonchalant in the direction of the coworker that is kind enough to have removed scheduling shifts from my plate. When I printed out the monthly schedule I was elated to find that my blithely tossed out request had been heard, I was to be working the now annual Sherry tasting at the shop with Lucia Ramos Perez, our California ambassador for Lustau, the Sherry bodega that is so deeply tucked into my soul that it is more a tattoo or bumpy scar than a memory. 

I poured the wines while Lucia spoke. Listened as her rolling tongue spread information and flicked at the lobes of those that had, as of yet, not been privy to the heart thumping pulse of that not too soft, southern Spanish touch. Walked about on my tippy toes, my eyes falling upon the faces….the ones wincing right before they let the, “what’s that?” spill down their throats. Before they let the majesty of one of the longest lived and coveted, underappreciated and misunderstood wines leave their footprint, deeply ingrained upon their palates. My greedy fingers fumbling to drop the just poured bottles on the tasting bar before I could, hopefully, scurry off to tuck my elongated sniffer into my awaiting glass, the rolling Spanish tongue like a curved finger, pulling me back in.

“I forgot the potato chips” a snap of my pudgy fingers and stomp of my work weary feet the day after our Sherry tasting. As successful as the event had been I felt that “you twat” lump in the pit of my tummy as I pictured those winching faces being soothed by the ever-so-sultry stroke, and toothsome crunch of perfectly fried potatoes. I went ahead and sold a bottle of Fino the next morning, (the fourth day) with a puffy bag of Jose Andres potato chips swearing it was to be the mind bending combination I had lustfully envisioned in my still spinning head. Still not sure if it was a sense of accountability, responsibility or sheer jealousy that sent me to the back kitchen of the shop, swollen bag of chips, cold bottle of Lustau  En Rama Fino de Jerez de la Frontera Sherry twisted between my fingers, raw need gnawing at my insides…doesn’t matter, it was there that I felt the scrape, the tension of my flesh, the reopening of the vein that had gone too dry waiting for this exact kind of moment. 









That 3 En Rama Fino, rare as it is aged just a little longer than most Fino and is a blend of about 350 casks, is one of three "En Rama" that are aged in each one of the three towns of the Sherry triangle, not to mention it is bottle un-filtered, (or very minimal filtration) it spoke of the inland property from once it came, full and sturdy marching across my salt and potato stained tongue, well if felt like I had just folded my bare frame into the body of a lover it had been far too long since I’d touched. The wine growing and unfolding to proportions almost too immense for my mouth to contain. Almost…  


My heart racing and craving, needing and aching for that one, more, not, too, soft touch I rummaged through the half-full bottles from the night before, the salinity of the last indulgence still lilting about on my breath as I picked up this bottle and that before finding just the wine I was aching for. 

A sweaty piece of raw milk Manchego washed away on a river of Lustau N.V. Almacenista “Vides” Palo Cortado de Jerez Sherry and my day, while still morning of the “day after” was irreproachably ruined in the most insatiable way, ever. 

The Almacenista line from Lustau is a very cool project that involves Lustau buying aged Sherries from independent, home winemakers that have full time jobs not in the wine business. They makes these wines for the sheer love, history and absolute passion of producing cool is that? Salty, oily, slightly waxy cheese melting along the sides of my tongue and the warm, charred, layered and soup cube, (that's Samantha for bouillon) scented wine drug its curves around my mouth and took me for a ride that I find myself, here at well past midnight, five days later, fucking wanting more than I could possibly articulate.  


I there anything more crazy making than wines that make you








Touch me again
and again
with your 


Dale Dimas said...

You had me at the Flamenco photo. :)

Winey The Elder said...

It is so delightful to learn of another soul who is so moved by the pure sensual delight of sherry(ies). Once upon a time (that I'd mostly soon forget), I salvaged the wreckage of a failed vacation by slipping away to Jerez for a day. The sultry heat, the dusty salt laden air, the perfect foil to my funk. A few copitas of fino while watching sultry, haughty and hauntingly beautiful damas stroll the avenues...restoration complete. I thought then that sherry embodied their unique feminine charm: breathtaking and foreboding, alluring and inviting but elusive in a taunting sort of way. Fino indeed. Potato chips? Huh..I can't wait to try combo....crisp lingual saltiness being 'chased' by taut yet supple liquid bliss. Thanks for the visuals, the reminiscence and the ache.


Samantha Dugan said...

That made me grin. You and I, we have that dancing thing very much in common. Have you been to Spain and seen the Flamenco? If I close my eyes real tight I swear I can still detect the scent of the woman that snapped her heels and pounded her feet before me. One of the single most thrilling feelings I can recall from any wine trip, the feeling the thunder of the music from the way her feet, snaps, rolling neck and fierce stare vibrated, from my insides out.

You sir, might just be one of the handful of men that understands me completely. How one woman has been so very lucky I will never know. Please, find your most beloved Fino and taste it with some simple potato chips. Just salt, shattering crunch and the intensity of potato flavor that sits upon the lap on the wine and takes you for a ride. Not sure you can find the Jose Andres but there is also Torres, but you want this, trust me....

montse reece said...

Just want to say that you are probably one of the best wine writers out there. You just don't describe a wine, you make that wine come alive. As a Spaniard, you took me home with your post.Thank you.I'll be waiting for your next one.

Samantha Dugan said...

What a wonderfully kind comment. Thanks so much! I hope to be back up and running/writing soon...

Valerie said...

The only reason I have potato chips in the house, really. It was such a treat to check in and find this delicious piece of wine writing ... as usual. How I miss this... Cheers, Sam!

Samantha Dugan said...

Wow, blast from the past seeing you here! Sherry and chips is only matched in pleasure by Champagne and chips, and hour long touch fests for me. Just my happiest and most aroused of places. So wonderful to see you here again lady, was wondering if anyone was still checking, kinda nice to know at least a couple are! xoxoxox