It’s a corner of Spain that remains well off the main tourist track, nowhere near the popular cities of Madrid, Barcelona, or Málaga. Set on an Andalusian islet in the southwest corner of the country, the port city of Cádiz has been welcoming ships from around the world since ancient times—and they’ve all left their mark.
It’s a beautiful place, girded by baroque walls and guarded by more than 100 watchtowers, surrounded by the sparkling sea on every side. Residents bask in the sunshine for more than 300 days a year. Arriving in the morning by ship, I embarked on a day-long trip, during which my guide noted that this is one of the oldest cities on the continent. “It was founded more than 3,000 years ago by the Phoenicians,” he said, as we rolled by the main cathedral, an ancient Roman theater, and a long sea wall where walkers, joggers, and cyclists were enjoying the Saturday morning sun.
But while I was there for history, yes, and plenty of sightseeing, that wasn’t the main goal of this little trip. Mostly I was there to taste, shop, and eat—exactly in that order. Climbing away from the coast, we made our way toward the provincial capital, Jerez. As is often the case with foreign place names, its pronunciation is far different than what I expected when I first saw it on the page, with that sometimes slightly incomprehensible Spanish accent. “Yare-eth” is how you say it, or at least something along those lines. (Full name: Jerez de la Frontera.)
Fountainheads and Fish Markets
On the half-hour drive up, we passed orange groves, olive trees, and vineyards, arriving at one of the 100 “bodegas” in town—wine cellars that are open for tastings. Like Champagne, or Parmigiano Reggiano, sherry is protected as a DOP (Protected Designation of Origin) within the European Union; if the bottle says “sherry,” by law, it must come from the so-called Sherry Triangle. The privateer Sir Francis Drake is credited with bringing sherry to England after he plundered Cádiz in the 16th century and carried off thousands of barrels. (It remains very popular there today.)Passing the walls of a 13th-century Moorish castle, and ducking a horse-drawn carriage, we entered González Byass, home to Tío Pepe. In 1835, a man named Manuel María González founded this winery and named it after his uncle and winemaking mentor. Five generations later, and now a huge company, it’s still in family hands. It has a rather jaunty logo—a bottle dressed in a jacket and broad-brimmed hat, with a Spanish guitar.
In addition to their 650 hectares (1,606 acres) under vine, the bodegas are part of what was once a company town, complete with its own school, hotel, and restaurants. We entered a massive bodega built in 1859, which houses 4,000 barrels, with wines dating back as much as 30 years. A company tour guide explained the sherry-making process, how juice (mostly from palomino grapes) is added to connected casks and then slowly extracted over many months, about a third at a time. “This way, the barrels are never empty,” she said. “You maintain the consistency and taste.”
I tried three sherries, all pleasant, dry, and sweet without being cloying. And then our small group walked a short distance to the center of the city to make a brief visit to the main covered market. Inside, the crush and cacophony were fairly exhilarating. Some stands sell a colorful array of veggies and fruit, others sell flowers. But the real action was at the fish market.
Dozens of sellers called out discounts on the catch of the day, with so much delicious marine life lying on ice before them. Almost every single one had a customer, and some, a crowd of hungry shoppers buying something special to take home and cook up for dinner.
I could’ve spent the whole day there, just soaking up the energy. But lunch awaited. We proceeded to a quiet neighborhood, just outside the city center. The entrance to La Carboná is simple and unassuming, but inside I found a huge space with looping archways and soaring ceilings. It was once—what else?—a sherry bodega, and is now a Michelin-rated restaurant.
Head Chef Javier Muñoz took our small group back to the kitchen. Sherry is at the heart of the operation, he told us, the fortified wine inspiring all the dishes and even Muñoz’s title—which is Chef del Sherry.
“I will show you every dish you will eat later,” he said as we crowded around his stove. And then all of a sudden, he was doing it: stirring, frying, boiling, and plating, even a little razzle-dazzle when he added wine and the flame jumped from the pan—always a crowd-pleaser.
A six-course lunch followed, with wine pairings, langoustine, sea bass, risotto, and duck. Everything was balanced, delicate, and delicious. I downed one last glass of sherry and then boarded the coach back to Cádiz.
As my afternoon siesta began in earnest, my head swam with visions of casks and busy fishmongers. And, of course, bottles outfitted in big hats, holding guitars. Sweet dreams indeed, Spanish style.
