Jerez
03 May 2025
The weather remains stubbornly cold and rainy as the UK basks in record May Day temperatures. Yesterday, after the late start, it was a long, fast slog down the Autovía against that wind again. So today, we take an entirely pointless and highly entertaining detour west.
I would tell you about the roads as it’s a wonderful route - full of variety - but local numbering systems always seem maddeningly inconsistent, with Spain’s being amongst the worst. For two hours, it dinks this way and that, occasionally sodden by rain, before spitting us out on the motorway west of Seville. Leaving aside that it goes from nowhere to nowhere, it’s worth seeking out. Just go to Fuentes de León and head south on the only significant road.
I’ve only been to Seville once previously, for a two-day break, so I thought it to be a tiny, preserved gem. While the centre is, if you only take a taxi from the airport on the north-east fringes into the centre, you won’t see the miles of freight companies and industrial parks that lie to the west or the pounding six-lane traffic, even on a Saturday afternoon in a country famous for doing very little between 12:00 and 18:00. More like Southern California than Southern Spain, but it dissolves a few miles out as we head south to our overnight stop at Jerez.
Famous for sherry, it would be rude not to try a few, and in the cool of the evening by the steps of the cathedral, being fussed over by the staff at El Molino, is the place to do it. Now I love sherry, even park-bench, tramp-sherry like supermarket own-brand Pale Cream - and particularly with toasted pitta, hummus, and pine nuts on a Sunday at about five or possibly a few minutes before - but this stuff has a length, depth, and intensity that took us both by surprise. Stupidly, we did not think to ask how much these prime examples would be, so we prepared for the worst. €14 it was, for all four glasses. Brutalised by UK restaurant wine prices, we shake our heads in disbelief, while meandering the narrow streets of the historic centre to find Restaurant Mantua.
A week previously, they had been in touch to see if we would like the fifteen-dish ‘Clay’ selection or the twenty that comprise the ‘Arbequina’ menu. Despite the complexity of even the shorter option, service is non-stop, synchronised Busby Berkeley style, and comes complete with detailed English explanations of each intricately assembled dish. I’ve forgotten most but one detail: an atomiser used to spray a mist of Macallan Scotch whisky over the first of two desserts gives you an idea of what to expect and if it’s for you or not.
Inevitably, Mantua is not a budget choice at €370 for two including paired wines, sherry (natch) as an apéritif, and a thumping great brandy for me to round things off. But quite why the Cardinals of Clermont-Ferrand have denied it a second Michelin star is beyond me as it has the perfectly calibrated flavours and precision of the very best addresses. Go before it gets one as it surely will, along with an inevitable, significant and deserved price hike. The nearest UK reference point is the eponymous Sat Baines’ in Nottingham. It really is that good.
