Just a decade ago, “sherry vermouth” could have easily been dismissed as a copy editing error—a missing conjunction, perhaps? But in the intervening years, sherry producers have taken to reviving a tradition that is actually older than one might think.
Some background: From the late 1800s through the mid-20th century, the Sherry Triangle’s bodegas used sherry as a base for a range of aromatized products, from vermouth to quinquina wines (Jerez Quinado), to compete not just with homegrown Catalonian vermouth, but the already well-established vermouth di Torino and the myriad quinine-based aperitif wines that France was (and still is) busy churning out. This subset of sherry production continued apace until the 1960s, when these products (and sherry itself) began their slow decline. Fast-forward to today, and Vermut de Jerez is not only amid a revival, but it’s beginning to look as variable and diverse as the wines that it is based upon.
While many producers rely on historic recipes or approximations of them (Valdespino, Barbadillo), some have taken to riffing. Lustau, for instance, makes three vermouth expressions; its rosado is based on palomino fino and moscatel grapes, with a touch of tintilla de rota (a rare local red grape) to achieve its pink hue. González Byass recently released its La Copa Extra Seco, which is an answer to the dry vermouths of Chambéry or Marseille. This expression, however, achieves a profile that’s wholly unique, combining the yeasty, saline flavors of biologically aged, non-oxidative sherry—that is, fino or manzanilla—with aromatics and the slightly higher alcoholic backbone that defines vermouth.
The latest entry into the canon, Barbadillo’s Atamán, finds a middle way, threading between the sweet vermouth bottlings that are more closely aligned with the region’s past and the inimitable biologically aged sherry profile that González Byass is trying to channel with its extra dry. Barbadillo hails from Sanlúcar de Barrameda, the sherry town responsible for manzanilla, which Atamán uses as its base. It’s a leaner, slightly more bitter, and drier take on sweet vermouth.
It and its brethren are carving out an identity for a Spanish vermouth that feels distinct from the French and the Italians, but still draws on a long history of production and base wines that are in a category all their own. So, while the Catalonians may continue to lay claim to the culture of vermouth consumption in Spain, it may be the Andalucians that end up supplying it.
