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.

New Tio Pepe En Rama most “intense” yet

Tio Pepe Fino En Rama is to return for a third year, and is set to be the most intense bottling yet, having been made from the best barrel from González Byass’ four ancient Tio Pepe soleras. As reported on thedrinksbusiness.com, production will be up slightly on last year’s 300 cases and will include a number of half bottles designed exclusively for the on-trade. The company decided to make the wine from its best four Tio Pepe barrels in homage to the 200th anniversary of founder Manuel María Gonzalez on 26 May.

The intensity of flavour is a result of a mild winter in Jerez, which has lead to the development of an extra thick protective veil of flor in the casks. “We’ll have an especially intense En Rama this year due to the mild winter and warm spring temperatures, and the special cask selection,” said winemaker Antonio Flores. “Despite racking off the wine a couple of weeks prior to bottling, the wine may have a stronger “haze” than the last edition,” he added.  

Described as “turbo-charged Tio Pepe” by González Byass’ marketing manager Jeremy Rockett, En Rama, loosely meaning “in its unrefined state”, is made from unfiltered Tio Pepe taken from the cask in spring when the flor is at its thickest. Without stabilisation, En Rama has a lifespan of just three months, and a mere three days after opening.

This year’s hand-drawn label, taken from the González Byass archives, is an old Sherry label from 1857 featuring a stylised grapevine surrounded by a red ribbon. Rockett believes the vintage labels have been a big contributing factor to the wine’s success: “The labels have almost become the message of the wine. “Our customers eagerly await the next release to see what we’ve dug up from the archive. Changing the label each year is part of its charm,” he said.

“At the niche end of the market you can get away with being less traditional and have some fun with your label designs, because consumers are buying on name,” he added. Tio Pepe En Rama will be available to taste at the London International Wine Fair at 11am on 22 May. UK deliveries will start on the same day. The wine is set to be bottled next week and will be priced at £13.99 a bottle.

Jerez Feria in pictures

For three days in mid May, I was lucky enough to experience the unbridled madness of the Feria de Jerez first hand. During a year abroad in Spain, I'd made it to both the Seville and Granada ferias, but they pale in comparison to Jerez. The Jerezanos live and breathe the feria each night as if the world were about to explode. Following the bright lights, on arrival you're greeted with a cacophony of Spanish sounds, as Sevillanas flamenco music blasts from the hundreds of casetas lining the sand-filled main stretch.

The party lasts a week. By the end, everyone seems to have lost something – Gonzalez Byass GB head Martin Skelton lost his voice, John Chapman of The Oxford Wine Company his passport – and me, my Jerez feria virginity. But perhaps it's in pictures that the feria can best be captured. Below are the edited highlights from three intoxicating days under the Spanish sun. Hemingway would be proud...

The sea of lights make the night appear day, illuminating the casetas
Lanterns adorning the ceiling in the Gonzalez Byass caseta
GB's Andrew Sinclair initiating me in the ways of the Rebujito (Tio Pepe & Sprite), and incredibly popular and refreshing feria drink
In the early hours of the morning, a señorita belts out a flamenco tune
A lady in traditional flamenco dress takes time out from dancing
A galleon full of prawns at the Gonzalez Byass winery, where we ate our way around the world
Caviar canapés in engagement ring boxes - a quirky touch during a curious culinary adventure
I got two proposals that night!
Gonzalez Byass GB head honcho Martin Skelton enjoying the puds
Toothpaste tubes filled with chocolate begging to be squeezed...
A señor enjoys a Cuban cigar while awaiting entry into the bullfight
With the sun high in the sky, the seats quickly fill up and the flags come out in anticipation of the matadors
Dressed in their trajes de luz (suits of light) the matadors file out and do a pre-fight glory lap of the ring
A pair of señoritas dressed in opposing orange and green make their way to the feria through the sun drenched streets of Jerez
A besuited caballero takes a break from parading through the feria
At night the feria comes to life, when the lights look almost lace-like
Soaking up the experience: my Shawshank Redemption moment

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.

Gonzalez Byass: tales from the barrel room

I've just got back from an amazing couple of days in Jerez, where I learnt, amongst other things, how to pour Sherry into a tasting glass from a venencia. Check out the video of my first (and only) attempt as a venenciadora...

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.