One of my favorite things to do when we travel is to explore the local drinks (alcoholic and not) situation. I could spend hours in the local grocery/wine/liquor store just studying the shelves. Ken is not as enthusiastic about this activity, so I usually send him off to climb a mountain or something.

When we’re traveling, I post my little travelogues on the go and off the cuff. Instagram only allows 2,200 characters per post, so I have to be stingy with words. Maybe that’s a good thing. 😉 One of the reasons I started this blog is so I could take a pause after our trips, and look at something(s) more in depth.Like the local drinks situation.

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Without further delay, here is my local drinks report from Seville & Azuaga:

Sherry

The world-famous Sherry Triangle, the region in southwestern Spain known for producing sherry, is located just an hour and a half south of Seville. Of course I went on a pilgrimage.

The first sherry I ever tried was over two decades ago, at a sherry bar called La Venencia in Madrid.  La Venencia was a famous haunt of Ernest Hemingway, so naturally, I had to visit (I’m a Hemingway fan-girl). It was kind of like stepping into a 1930s time capsule, which incidentally, is probably the last time anyone dusted anything in there.  It’s part of the charm. Having absolutely zero experience with sherry back then, I chose one at random.  A very pale colored glass of wine arrived, along with a plate of bright green olives that would probably glow in the dark, given the opportunity.

And when I took that first sip of Sherry, I was pretty sure the waiter was playing a well-executed game of let’s mess with the tourists.  There’s something wrong with this wine.  Is it supposed to taste like angry olive water??

The short answer is yes. Sherry is an incredibly unique wine, made by an incredibly unique process called, solera. (Way too much to go into in this space, but worth reading about if you’re unfamiliar).

This is a great little graphic that shows the range of styles of Sherry. From left to right: Manzanilla to Palo Cortado are dry; Pale Cream to Pedro Ximenez are varying degrees of sweet.

Here’s the thing about sherry – it’s an under-appreciated, and somewhat polarizing, wine. You can’t expect it to taste like Chardonnay.  If you do, you’re in for both surprise and disappointment.  Sherry isn’t just for brooding authors or blue-haired old ladies. It’s a thinking wine — you have to be patient with it.  

Sherry offers a huge range of styles — from bone-sucking dry finos to diabetes-inducing sweet Pedro Ximenez (PX).  There’s a Sherry for everyone.  Myself, I’m partial to the dark and nutty dry Olorosos. And my guilty pleasure is cream sherry. And, lucky me – the shooting estancia in Azuaga kept us primed with Lustau East India Solera Sherry (a medium cream).

Miura Licor de Guindas

The estancia had this curious red liquor on a table with the cream sherry. Color me curious. A liquor I’ve never heard of? Sign me up. Miura is made from sour cherries and anise. It’s been made since 1879 at a Franciscan Monastery in the mountains north of Seville. Quite good, but not good enough to make me turn my back on that cream sherry.

Wine

I couldn’t begin to cover Spanish wine as a subject in this space. Spain makes some of the best wines in the world. It’s subjective, of course, but I believe Spain represents some of the best quality to price ratio for wines. I’m particularly fond of wines from the Rioja region in northern Spain, renowned for its spectacular red wines made from the Tempranillo grape, which might just be my spirit animal.

That said, I don’t think we drank any wine on this trip. Unless you count Tinto de Verano.

Tinto de Verano

Tinto de Verano originated in the early 20th century in Córdoba. It’s a mix of one part red wine and one part lemon soda. The Spanish tend to use La Casera soda, but you can use Sprite, 7-Up, or Fanta Lemon(!!). Serve it over ice with a slice of lemon or orange. Super easy, super delicious. Tinto de Verano means summer red wine and is usually a summertime drink. Usually. When I’m in Spain in the middle of winter, it’s a wintertime drink.

We were told the Spanish don’t really drink sangria, favoring TdV instead. Only tourists drink sangria. Duly noted. Making sangria is time consuming (although I do have a great recipe). Making TdV is quick, cheap, and easy. And will now replace sangria for me.

Kalimotxo (Calimocho)

Kalimotxo is red wine mixed with Coca-Cola. I can feel your disdain. But don’t turn your nose up until you try it.

Sidebar: No one is mixing Vega Sicilia Unico with Coke. No sane person, anyway. But Two Buck Chuck (or are we at Six Buck Chuck now?) has a purpose in life: spritzing.

Kalimotxo has its origins in the Basque Region of Spain. Sometime in 1972, organizers of a celebration in the port city of Algorta found themselves with thousands of liters of bad (probably heat damaged) wine, and they needed to find a way mitigate the taste. Someone had a Coca-Cola nearby and desperate-dumped it into the wine. Voila! Not only drinkable, but delicious.

Myself, given the choice I’ll take Tinto de Verano over Kalimotxo all day. But once in a while, it really does hit the spot.

Vermouth

Vermouth is an important part of Spanish drinking culture. Spain has an entire hour of the day devoted to Vermouth – La Hora del Vermut, or the Vermouth Hour, where people gather before lunch to enjoy some vermouth and conversation.

Vermouth starts out as a neutral base wine, and then it’s fortified with a distilled spirit, usually brandy. After that, vermouth is flavored with different (always proprietary) blends of herbs and spices. There are two styles of vermouth: white (dry) and red (sweet). In Spain, vermouth is served as an aperitif, neat or on the rocks, garnished with an orange slice.

In the US, we relegate vermouth to cocktails (think manhattan & martini). Unless you are lucky enough to have a specialty Spanish wine store near you, usually the only bottles of vermouth we can find in the US aren’t worth drinking solo.

Pro Tip: If you’re in the DC area, check out La Grand Cata (locations in Shaw or the Mosaic in Virginia). Great selection of Spanish wines and vermouth.

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know I’m a big fan of the German drink called, Radler. Imagine my joy when I discovered that Spain, too, is a Radler country. Happy dance!

In Bavarian (German) dialect, Radler means cyclist, and a Radler is the Bavarian version of a sports drink.  It’s an extremely refreshing, low-alcohol drink made with beer and limonada (a German lemon lime-soda with less sugar than American Sprite). It’s usually a 50/50 mix of beer and soda, but the proportions vary according to who’s making it. I’m starting to see more and more bottled/canned versions of Radlers here and there, and while they are good, they are not the same as a Radler mixed at the tap.

Still, the Cruzcampo Radler was damn refreshing.

Orange Juice

A moment, please, for the fresh squeezed orange juice in Sevilla. Incredible. I would drink orange juice every day if it tasted like this. Alas, orange juice in the US is concentrated and pasteurized into something that only vaguely tastes like an orange.

Fanta Lemon

I love Fanta Lemon almost as much as I love a good Radler. We cannot get Fanta Lemon in the US, so when I’m in Europe, I seek it out. After striking out on my search for Fanta Lemon in Portugal (they only had orange and pineapple), I did find some in Seville. And they had cases of it at our guest house in Azuaga. Huzzah!

That’s a wrap on the drinks situation in Seville and Azuaga. Until next trip.

Salud!