I grew up with those famous Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry commercials in the ‘70s.

You remember them: A stylish, clearly executive woman with lush raven hair invites a

man back to her apartment for, gasp, a Harvey’s on the rocks. The brilliantly suggestive

marketing ploy established sherry as an adult, even naughty drink, a far cry from the

civilized swill usually associated with clerics and maiden aunts.

And in truth, sherry is hardly a light-bodied lightweight, but rather a fortified wine to be

savored and respected. After all, it originated in Andalucía, the lusty land that gave us

such passionate pursuits as flamenco and bullfighting. True sherry can only be made

within the golden triangle described by three sun-drenched towns: Jerez de la Frontera, El

Puerto de Santa María, and Sanlúcar de Barrameda. There sherry is treated like the wine

that it is, drunk throughout the meal as a fitting complement to the briniest creatures

coaxed from the deep, particularly shellfish and crustaceans, like the plump pink prawns

called langostinos.

The word sherry is an English corruption of Jerez, but in Spain, the golden elixir is

ordered by type: fino, manzanilla, amontillado, oloroso and palo cortado.  Read more



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