This is probably one of the top three sherries I’ve ever drunk in my life. It blew me away. I tried quite hard with this note, to give an indication of just how much I was tasting and feeling while drinking it. I think where I fall short is the sense of energy in every sip, on the nose. The idea that this wine is almost alive in the glass. That it’s positively charged.
Salted oats, hay, straw drying in the sun. The sea takes some coaxing and it isn't wet when it comes. Crispy seaweed, a touch of malt. A clean beach at low tide. Just a bit of lemon zest. Focused. Powerful. Makes you blink the water from your eyes after you sniff it.
It starts at the sides of the tongue, like contact points on either side of a battery, with a zap, or a jolt. From there it consumes the mouth as you consume it, delivering a charge that wakes everything. Salt crusted hay and lemons, the beginnings of richness, the barest hint of creaminess. Grist. Green leaf and ash. Freshly sawed wood. Beeswax and salt crystals. There's a sharpness, freshness and bracing acidity that is balanced by a textured, oaty mouthfeel. It tugs and gives. This is like the Grand Cru Chablis of sherry. But better. That rigid, underlying structure that draws everything inward then releases more and more back. It's not just layers, it's a wave. It keeps going. As it starts at the sides of the tongue, it's like a droplet in a pool of still water. It bounces back and forth, echoing. Every sip brings something you didn’t notice before, but never at the expense of what you’re loving, what you’re tugging your tongue along the roof of your mouth for, already.
Tasted at Miller’s Court, 16 November 2013