A Taste of Andalusia at Salt Yard

Having spent an idyllic year in the intoxicating city of Granada in Andalusia, when an invite to a long, lazy, “Taste of Andalusia” lunch  from Goodge Street-based Spanish restaurant Salt Yard pinged in my inbox, I speedily rsvp’d. Salt Yard makes up one third of Simon Mullins and Sanja Morris’ Spanish restaurant empire, with Dehesa in Oxford Circus and Opera Tavern in Covent Garden completing the trilogy. A quick chat with Mullins on arrival at Salt Yard on a drizzly Sunday afternoon confirms that the pair are seeking to expand their empire with two new sites in the London district du jour, Soho, though not before the launch of their forthcoming Spanish cookbook.

Entering the buzzing upper deck of the restaurant, a glass of Mas Macia Cava is thrust into my hand. Made in Penedès rather than Andalusia, it serves as an ideal palate cleanser. The most populous of Spain’s autonomous communities, Andalusia is divided into eight provinces: Almería, Cádiz, Córdoba, Granada, Huelva, Jaén, Málaga and its capital, Seville. As varied in its terrain as it is in its cultural history, Andalusia boasts snow-capped mountains, verdant wetlands, an arid desert and miles of manicured coastline. The Andalusia we know today has been molded and influenced by everyone from the Phoenicians and the Carthaginians to the Vandals and Byzantines via the Greeks and Romans. The region’s most famous rulers were the Moors, who presided over Al-Andalus from 711 until the reconquest of Granada in 1492. Having ruled the roost for almost 800 years, the Moorish stamp will be forever imprinted on Andalusia’s collective cultural psyche.

Al-Andalus, as it was then known, was the power centre of a Muslim empire that stretched its tentacles across most of Spain and Portugal, and as far south as Nigeria in West Africa. Under Muslim rule, the Moors brought new thinking to Andalusia, and reforms in architecture, philosophy, astronomy and most enduringly, gastronomy, introducing exotic ingredients such as saffron, almonds, cumin, pimentón and pomegranate from Africa and the Middle East, which still inspire and inform Andalusian cuisine. To illustrate this interweaving of cultures, Mullins and head chef Andrew Clark – a towering figure with a sailor’s beard, heavily inked arms and a smile that stretches all the way to Gibraltar, had devised an eight-course menu highlighting Andalusia’s rich culinary history, including numerous hat tips to the Moors.

Before we’re allowed to dive into our first dish: grilled baby leeks, quail eggs, beetroot and ajo blanco, Mullins mulls over a brief culinary history of Andalusia, paying homage to the Phoenicians for passing on the skill of salting fish, and the Greeks for planting the first grape vines. Made beautiful by the raspberry ripple-like whirls in the beetroot, the dish delivers a pleasing variety of textures, from the crunch of the leek to the creaminess of the garlic sauce and the soft centres of the quail eggs. Almost audaciously, the dish is matched with a nutty Sanchez Romate Amontillado, its sweet nose of toffee, almonds and hazelnuts balanced by a surprisingly dry, saline palate.

Dish two, though not immediately recognisable as Andalusian, was the most delightful of the line-up. Borrowing from fashionable Peru, it consisted of a simple bream ceviche with coriander oil topped with a scoop of tangerine-coloured gazpacho sorbet hovering atop the dish like a frozen egg yolk. The lime fuelled, lip-smackingly fresh ceviche was complimented by the brave flavours of the icy gazpacho, with tomato, pepper and garlic all present. It proved a wonderful match for the accompanying Bodegas Tierras Gauda Albariño 2011 – mirroring the ceviche in zippy citrus freshness, with lemon, lime and apricot all in the mix, wrapped around a flinty mineral core.

Dish three – roast scallops with plum tomatoes and cumin salt – was slight in size but mighty in flavour, the ruby red tomatoes sweetening the meaty scallops, while the cumin salt added a welcome kick of spice. Peering through the kitchen window, I noticed our ebullient, well-inked chef taking a well-earned swig from his Sherry glass while we moved on to our first “natural” wine of the feast from the Alpujarras. Cloudy and rust-coloured, its nose was oxidized and Sherry-like, and any terroir expression that may have existed on the palate was masked a musky, cider-like cloak. After an increasingly heated debate about the merits and malpractice of natural wine, we moved swiftly on to dish four: calamari, soft shell crab and prawns with saffron aioli. Served on a black slate painted yellow by the saffron, the crab danced in mid air atop the squid rings, spindly legs splayed. Lightly fried in an incredibly delicate batter, the crunchy exteriors and soft interiors were lifted by a disc of cooked orange, which added an exotic Moorish twist, while the accompanying Bodegas Hidalgo La Pastrana Manzanilla delivered an invigorating, tangy, sea air kick.

Perhaps the most Moorish of the octet was dish five: chargrilled quail with pomegranate molasses and smoked almond puree. Glinting like rubies, the juicy pomegranate pips were assuaged by the sweet, grainy molasses, both of which enhanced the tender, juicy bird in a dish you could easily encounter in Marrakech or Algiers. Our second natural wine of the lunch – a Tempranillo, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot and Granacha mash up, was a slight improvement on the natural white offering, but still too barnyard-like to yield true enjoyment from. Before dish six, our trusty chef leapt from the kitchen to explain the creation – we were about to be served Essex rabbit, though he assured us he’d removed the white stilettos before plating up. Rabbit is one of the few foods I feel guilty about eating, so it came as a relief when, on chomping, I encountered a taste akin to chicken breast. The accompanying red blend from Cadiz was a class act, showing elegance, finesse, structure and layers of spiced black fruit.

The penultimate plate reached a culinary crescendo: roast oxtail slow cooked for eight hours then soaked in lemon, served with green olives and a judion bean puree. The slow cooking showed in the super soft, achingly tender meat, enlivened and enhanced by the zing of the lemon and the purity of the buttery bean puree. An exquisite symbiosis of East and West, it served as proof that often the best dishes are the simplest. Our wine match – Tabener 2007 from Huerta de Albala in Cadiz, made from 80% Syrah and 20% Cabernet Sauvignon, shone. Dense and layered, it showed notes of blueberry, blackberry, smoke and spices, and proved a delicious companion for the oxtail.

Stuffed as a pillow and pink cheeked from the wine, we rounded off our epic Andalusian feast with a taste of heaven – tocino de cielo, literally meaning “bacon from heaven”, a decadent dish first developed by nuns made from egg yolks and sugar, served with a scoop of zesty blood orange sorbet to lift the tooth tinglingly sweet tocino. Sat opposite a Granadino in a striped shirt called Cayetano who worked as a photographer for National Geographic magazine, his deeply-felt visceral and emotional enjoyment of this rollercoaster of a meal proved the ultimate compliment. If a man born and bred in the majestic, once Moorish kingdom could find pleasure and points of reference in the dishes, from the cumin and the pomegranate to the ground almonds, sultanas and saffron, then both Mullins and our beautifully bearded chef had succeeded in brightening a dimly-lit London dining room with a kaleidoscope of Andalusian flavours.

Capote y Toros

Sherry is having a moment in London. No longer the preserve of grannies at Christmas, a slew of new bars is helping inject a dose of much-needed sex appeal into the category. This week, Capote y Toros – a small Sherry bar with big ambitions, opens on Old Brompton Road.

The Sherry boom can be traced back to last March when London got its first Sherry bar, Bar Pepito, a 30 square metre slice of Andalucía in King's Cross. First the wine industry came in their droves, but soon the general public, having heard the hearsay, arrived in search of a new drinking experience. With Sherry sales per square metre higher than at the adjoining Camino restaurant, pioneering Pepito was the litmus test, and its success seems to have spurred others to follow.

I broke the news of Capote y Toros on thedrinksbusiness.com, having found out about the venture, spearheaded by Spanish restaurateur Abel Lusa of Cambio de Tercio fame, while researching Sherry on the net. As a thank you for bringing the story to light, Lusa kindly invited me and my DB colleagues to try Capote y Toros for size last week, before the flock of enthusiastic wine scribblers descend upon the bar this week.

Taking the Sherry bars of Andalucía as his inspiration, Lusa has been so successful in his recreation, that after a Sherry or two you feel like you're in Jerez, from the flamenco music belting out of the speakers, to the bullfighting photos splashed across the walls, leaving little space for the saffron yellow paint (echoing the colour of the sand in Seville's Maestranza bullring) to poke through. Hanging from the ceiling are legs of Osborne Cinco Jotas ham – like Pepito's hook up with González Byass, Lusa has linked with Osborne, who ship him six hams a week.

The Sherry 'bar' takes up almost the entire main wall, full of small bottles standing to attention like soldiers. The list is ambitious – 100 Sherries, 50 of which are available by the glass, somewhat dwarfing Pepito's 15. "We already have the largest Spanish wine list in London at Cambio de Tercio, so why not have the largest Sherry list too," Lusa tells me by way of explanation. The bar also offers a selection of fine and rare Sherries bottled exclusively for Capote y Toros from specially selected butts through a link up with Erhmann's owner Peter Dauthieu.

Aside from single copas, Sherries are served in flights of five 50ml glasses covering the entire flavour spectrum from bone dry Fino to tooth-tinglingly sweet PX, to introduce novices to the puzzling array of styles. On our visit, we began with Osborne Fino Quinta, served in an elegant, Champagne-like flute glass with salted almonds and Manzanilla olives – a simple but incredibly effective match. We moved on to La Goya Manzanilla, which was paired with traditional pan con tomate, salty sardines and a refreshing goat's cheese salad.

Tasting the Fino and Manzanilla side-by-side, I was struck by how strong and Marmitey the Fino seemed alongside the more elegant, refreshing Manzanilla. We then went nuts with Gutierrez Colosia Amontillado from San Lucar, which proved a perfect match for the pata negra Cinco Jotas ham, and the jerky-like cecina – salted, air-dried beef, served rustically on a piece of paper. Amontillado and good quality Spanish ham is one of the best food and wine matches imaginable – the Sherry bringing out the nuttiness of the ham and vice versa.

Our evening got ever-more indulgent with the next match, which proved the highlight of the night: Williams & Humbert Dos Cortados Wellington 20-year-old Palo Cortado with melt-in-the-mouth strips of foie gras drizzled with PX (pictured). When the waitress brought it over, we thought the chef had snuck it in from a nearby kebab shop, such was its striking resemblance to a Doner, but it tasted heavenly – possibly the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. We were all in raptures over the beauty of the dish, and the brilliance of the wine match.

The lamb sweetbreads that followed were equally intriguing. As soft as a cat's ear, they made a wonderful match for the Palo Cortado, universally voted the wine of the flight. Full by this point, we were further treated to a bowl of albondigas, which were charmingly referred to as 'meet balls' on the menu. The Gutierrez Colosia Oloroso failed to reach the heights of its predecessor, but the Oloroso and fig mousse complete with Uri Geller-like bendy spoons kept us amused.

I'm both delighted and excited to see London embracing Andalucía's Sherry culture and becoming the Sherry capital of the world outside Jerez. If any city has the power to give the most unhip of drinks categories a makeover then London has. It's at the centre of the vortex. So many of my friends in the wine trade adore Sherry with a fervor rarely bestowed upon other wine styles. It's our hidden gem, but it seems that the secret is now well and truly out of Granny's cupboard.

El Cantara Soho

It's a crisp autumn evening and I'm out on the shisha terrace of the newly launched Spanish /Moroccan restaurant El Cantara Soho. The small outdoor space is effortlessly cool, and feels more SoHo New York than Soho London.

As I puff away willfully on my watermelon-flavoured shisha pipe, making patterns in the air from the resulting smoke, a woman emerges wearing a yellow snake and very little else.

The five-year-old snake – as long as the length of the smoking den – is called Sheba. 'She doesn't prey on humans', her owner assures me, as Sheba's head darts towards mine, her black, unblinking eyes fixed forward. I stroke her surprisingly soft yellow skin. Detecting some sort of bond forming, Sheba's owner impulsively wraps the snake around my shoulders. I'm terrified. Luckily, she only accessorizes my dress for a moment, before taking residence on other revelers' shoulders.

Inside I'm offered the house cocktail - Champagne and rose water, with a tiny chunk of pink Turkish delight at the bottom. The Moorish interiors are part Andalucían tea house, part Marrakesh harem. The small, arched, basement space is decorated with lanterns and paintings of flamenco dancers and bull fighters. When placed side by side, I'm struck by how similar their movements are.

Upstairs, the restaurant is heaving. Huge silver trays of chorizo, lamb kofte and pigeon pastilla are passed round, before a banquet of paella, and lamb tagine with cinnamon cous cous. Amidst the throng, a belly dancer emerges, nonchalantly twirling a pair of fire sticks. I scramble out of singeing distance and for a minute I'm mesmerized.

In the far corner a brunette couple are in full flamenco flow – she clicking furiously on castenets, he making dramatic sweeps with an invisible cape. A crowd forms around them and starts clapping in time to the wailing woman keeping the tune. I head back up to the terrace for another go of the shisha pipe. The evening is winding down, so I switch to mint tea and sticky baclava. El Cantara Soho, with its fusing of Moroccan and Spanish cuisines, seems a logical step for London, which is now, undoubtedly, the most cosmopolitan city in the world.

Tales from Jerez

Last week I spent a couple of glorious days in Jerez with Gonzalez Byass. I was particularly excited about going as I lived in Granada whilst at university and haven't revisited Andalucía in six years.

After checking in, I head out with team GB for tapas at the very Spanish hour of 10pm. Striking upon an gem – honest and unpretentious, we sit outside on plastic chairs, drink copious amounts of Tio Pepe and eat the charmingly titled 'Scrambled to the Boots'.

Our boots filled, we stop by bar Kapote for an Amontillado before bed, and host Jeremy Rockett regales me with stories of Times food critic Giles Coren's outrageous exploits on a recent press trip to Portugal, which end in Charles Campion putting him in a headlock.

Before going to sleep, I open the door to my balcony and sit, soothed by the cool night air, watching the stars and listening to the trilling of the cidadas. Luxuriating in the moment, I feel totally transported – a rainy gray London sky to a blanket of stars in a matter of hours.

Shortly after sunrise, we troop onto a bus and are driven out to the Gonzalez Byass vineyards, just outside the Sherry triangle. Disembarking, we're given a few minutes to roam. The morning light over the vineyard is haunting. A layer of mist hangs on the horizon, and spreads across the vines like gauze. The sun is still low in the sky, and everything seems so fresh and full of hope.

Our next stop is the Gonzalez Byass bodega, complete with a fire engine red Tio Pepe train, which looks like it arrived in Jerez by way of the Magic Kingdom. The tour begins in La Concha, a shell-shaped room designed by Gustav Eiffel before he transformed the Parisian skyline, built in honour of la Infanta Isabella, the 'nymphomaniac' queen.

We shuffle on to the barrel room, and I go off in search of artists and writers. French poet Jean Cocteau describes Sherry as 'the blood of Kings' on his barrel, while Picasso illustrates his with a raging bull. In the far corner of the room is a Sherry glass with a tiny ladder leading up to it, set up for the infamous Tio Pepe mouse I'd heard so much about. He makes an appearance one in every five visits. We wait patiently, holding our breath. Nothing. The group moves on but I'm determined to catch a glimpse of the elusive rodent, certain he is close by.

I stand in the doorway in silence and wait, camera poised, finger on the button. After a minute or two, a tiny figure emerges from under the barrel and scurries across the sand. I frantically focus the camera and take a few snap shots of my brief encounter. A second later, he's gone.

After an epic lunch at Juanitos that includes chocos (fried cuttlefish), langoustines and the house speciality – scrambled egg and crisps, Jeremy and I take a detour to Bodegas Tradición to check out their impressive art collection, which includes works by Goya, Velazquez, Murillo and El Greco.

But the painting that will stay with me is that of a cocky bullfighter with a missing front tooth and a black pirate hat, leaning against a wall, cigar nonchalantly in mouth, a dagger ready for action in his blood red cummerband. His robes are so richly rendered, from the regal purple cape he's wrapped in, to the soft brown embroidered jacket and ornate floral waistcoat. It's such a vivid image he seems utterly alive, as if he could leap out of the frame at any moment and ask for a light.

Bar Pepito: London's first Sherry bar

It’s a drizzly Thursday night, but inside Bar Pepito it’s as hot as pimiento. Opening the door of the tiny bodega in King’s Cross, I’m whacked with the intoxicating smell of jamón.

The bar sweats Andalusian charm – a slice of Jerez squeezed into 30 square feet, from the floor covered with azulejos (traditional Spanish tiles), to the flamenco posters and esparto-grass mats lining the walls, it’s easy to feel transported to Southern Spain; it even comes complete with an authentic Spanish racket.

I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with friends around a Tio Pepe barrel table dotted with brightly-coloured bowls of kikos (fried corn) and habas fritas (fried broad beans). Plates of pan con tomate, jamón ibérico and sheep’s cheese emerge from the miniscule kitchen and four small glasses of Tio Pepe Fino are brought over to our barrel.

It’s the launch night of Bar Peptio; London’s first Sherry bar. The tiny bar, a converted storage shed, lies a few Spanish steps away from sister restaurant Camino in Varnisher’s Yard.

Keen to shake off Sherry’s grandma image is Pepito’s hispanophile owner Richard Bigg. He’s on a mission to convert London into a city of Sherry sippers and give Sherry the makeover it desperately deserves. Once described as the grand druid of hip hangouts, Bigg has a bloodhound nose for the next big bar, having started up Cantaloupe in Shoreditch years before the cool kids invaded.

‘Sherry is druggingly deliciously and the public are ready for it’, Bigg begins with brio. ‘Wine knowledge is going through the roof – people are becoming more confident and want to experiment with new styles. It’s a risk’, Bigg concedes, ‘but I like taking risks. It would have been riskier if I’d opened a stand-alone bar, but I think it would still work.’

Bigg has collaborated with Gonzáles Byass, whose wines make up nine of the 15 Sherries on offer, along with one beer and a seasonal Sherry-based cocktail. The list is deliberately short, so as not to intimidate novices, but Bigg already plans to edit the offering and include a different 'wild card' wine each month.

Team GB are out in full force – managing director Martin Skelton and marketing director Jeremy Rockett flock to our barrel, armed with a bottle of Gonzáles Byass 1968 Oloroso. It’s outstanding, with a nose of varnish, walnut skins and mahogany. On the palate is sweet spice, orange peel, dried figs and hazelnuts. It’s deliciously long and amazingly vibrant for its years.

Accompanying the wines is a well thought out tapas menu including venison carpaccio and devon crab salad. Each dish comes with a Sherry recommendation. ‘Sherry has to be drunk with food – it’s the best food matching wine there is’, says Bigg. ‘It’s all about serving fresh styles at the right temperature in the right glasses’, he adds.

Written on mini blackboards is a selection of six wine flights (three 50ml measures), including the Oloroso-based ‘Glorioso’ and the PX-fuelled ‘Decadencia’. A cage-like cellar lines the back wall, and next to it, a single Enomatic machine. Bigg is offering Bar Pepito cards, which you can load up with credit to buy 25, 50 and 75ml Sherry shots starting at 95p and going up to £4.50 for the ‘68 Oloroso.

Sherry has always been the wine world’s best kept secret, but it looks like the secret is out. I woke up with a head thicker than peasant bread, but it was worth it. Pepito looks set to change London’s wine drinking landscape – make the detour while you still can.