A benefit for Lydia Tillman

Some readers of my blog may be aware that I have a friend who was brutally and sickeningly attacked on the 4th of July in Colorado. He tried to murder her, and it was only by the strength of her spirit that she was able to escape the fire he set in her apartment to erase the "evidence".

Lydia lived in NY prior to moving to Colorado, and was a sommelier and wine buyer at Casamono. She championed Spanish wines, especially sherry. Fittingly, then, there will be a Spanish wine tasting at Terroir Tribeca on Saturday, August 20th, from noon to 3pm. The minimum donation is $20 and all proceeds will benefit Lydia directly.

Lydia was without health insurance at the time of the attack. She was in the ICU for a full month and still remains in the hospital. She also lost all of her possessions in the fire.

Even if you are unable to make it to the benefit, please do consider donating. Her family has set up a Facebook page where you can donate via PayPal. Your donation will make Lydia's long and arduous recovery financially possible.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Sherry: From Spain to Japan

Jerez is the Spain of legend. It's the Spain of flamenco, of horses, of bullfights, of shellfish, of wine. Of sherry.

The name "Jerez" refers both to the region and its wine. It came originally from the Phoenecian "Seres". The Phoenecians settled in the southern-Spanish region around 1100 BC.

Jerez the city is in the region of Andalucia, in the province of Cadiz. The capital of the Cadiz province is the most ancient city still standing in western Europe-- older than Rome, older than Paris.

Cadiz the city is a narrow spit of land in the Mediterranean, whose white-washed buildings shore up to the sea, and whose winding streets transport one back to the time of the Moors, who ruled southern Spain for over 400 years, from 711 to 1492.

The Arabic name for Jerez was Sherish, which became Xeres, and then, finally, the Castilian Jerez.

Jerez the drink, known to us anglophones as sherry, possesses a flavor that speaks of the terroir, the history, and the drama of the region.

Sherry is a fortified wine: its alcohol content is between 15.5 and 22% (standard table wine is usually 12-14%). Sherries are also oxidized-- they are, in a controlled manner, exposed to oxygen to varying degrees, a process that contributes to a flavor unlike any other wine. This oxidation is what gives sherry its nuttiness and, in heavier sherries, its brown color.

Sherry comes in many different types. From the lightest and most dry, to the heaviest and sweetest, these are: manzanillo, fino, amontillado, palo cortado, oloroso, cream, and Pedro Ximenez (named for the grape). The making of sherry involves two major elements: flor, the strange and unpredictable yellow foam of yeasts that forms on the surface, and solera, the complex stacked-barrel method of aging where newer vintages are progressively combined with older vintages until you could end up drinking a sherry that could partially be over a hundred years old.

Lighter sherries develop a thicker flor and are thus less oxidized. Heavier sherries develop a thinner flor, or no flor at all (alternatively, their flor may be removed). Flor is unpredictable, and a sherry maker has no idea if the wine he is making, if left alone, will become a fino or an amontillado. This mystery adds a whole extra dimension of romantic drama to sherry.

I've been obsessed with sherry for a while, but have more recently become so with sherry-based cocktails. All of the things I adore about sherry-- its dryness, its nuttiness-- have made it, for me, a very difficult base to work with. A lot of cocktails I blend with sherry end up tasting flat.

A happy coincidence led to my perfect sherry cocktail. Through a friend (whose blog I HIGHLY recommend), I signed on to design a cocktail for a blog called RecipeRelay. The premise is to use an ingredient from the last week's recipe, incorporate local ingredients, and develop something brand new. The recipe before me incorporated green tea. It turned out that simple syrup infused with Gyokuro green tea provided a perfect balance to a cocktail I'd been working on. The result was The Spanish Jade (click that link to read more about the cocktail and my progress developing it.)

The first sherry cocktail I tasted (or, rather, remembered and cared about tasting) was a concoction called the Bamboo Cocktail, first developed in Japan in the 19th century. NY bartender extraordinaire Kelly Slagle whipped this baby up during a cocktail class at Astor Center. I fell hard and fast.

The Bamboo Cocktail has a lovely, semi-sweet taste, with a dry finish. It's great for wine drinkers and works well as an apertif.

Adapted from the wondrous David Wondrich's book Imbibe!, with input from Kelly (who recommended Lillet in place of vermouth), I present the Bamboo Cocktail:

1.5 oz. dry (fino or manzanillo, inexpensive) sherry

1.5 oz. Lillet or Cocchi Americano (I prefer the latter)

2 dashes orange bitters

2 drops angostura bitters

Stir and serve up in a cocktail glass

Garnish with a lemon twist

Close your eyes and dream of flamenco, bullfighters and the hot sun of a Spanish sky.

* Most of my wine knowledge comes from the glorious Karen MacNeil's Wine Bible. I cannot recommend this book enough.

White Bandol: Zest in a bottle

When I was 20, I ran around the south of France in glorified hotpants, subsisted entirely on banana and nutella crepes and took lots of pictures of window flowerboxes.

I had absolutely no concept of the utterly beautiful wine being produced in the region.

Located in Provence, Bandol is easily my favorite, and go-to, region in the summertime for rose wines. Take a bit of funky earth and combine it with a bit of strawberry and watermelon, make it pink and cold and you have happiness, right there in a bottle, at least for me.

Bandol is a small seaside fishing town, located between Marseille and Cannes. It's known mainly for the aforementioned ravishing roses, and even more so for its wild and leathery reds. The spicy and structured red mourvedre grape dominates the region, and must make up at least 50% of red Bandol wines by law. Other red grapes include grenache and cinsault, with a sprinkling of syrah and carignan. Roses from Bandol are produced via skin contact from these red grapes.

White wines from Bandol are lesser known. Produced from ugni blanc, clairette, bourboulenc and sometimes sauvignon blanc, these wines tend to be light and zesty, and pair well with artichokes, seafood and, apparently, veal brains.

Tonight I decided to give one of these unheralded white Bandols a try.

My darling friend Ilissa, who, by a happy twist of fate, works at my local natural wine store, Wine Therapy, helped me choose the 2009 Domaine Le Galantin ugni blanc and clairette blend.

A female winemaker is apparently at the helm of Domaine Le Galantin. She took over winemaking from her father. While Ilissa and I suspect lees contact, I couldn't find vinification specifics. Its website does indicate that grapes are grown on terraced vineyards with low yields, and the soils are a mixture of clay and limestone.

Translation: The grapes are probably hand-harvested, as terraced vineyards usually can't accommodate machine harvesters. Low yields generally translate into a wine with higher character and concentration of flavor. Clay and limestone soils typically produce grapes that are higher in acidity.

Here is what my palate told me:

• A nose of white pepper
• Lemon curd as the wine hits the palate
• A zestiness from high acidity
• Light in weight, though with a creaminess in the midpalate (perhaps from lees contact?)
• Juicy and crisp, with a short finish

This wine would be lovely on its own or as an apertif, and would be a fantastic accompaniment to seafood.

Now, who would like to come with me to Provence for some Bandol blanc and bouillebaisse?