Believe me, you've never tasted the like of this.
Alberto Orte, Atlántida Blanco, 2019
Made of a grape that has long been extinct in Alberto Orte's homeland Cádiz. Vijiriega Blanca was never a proliferous grape to being with, and it has been sighted mostly in Tenerife and Malaga (where it's always blended). In 2013, Orte replanted the grape in a parcel of albariza soil (chalk and clay) by the sea called Pago Añina. The secret to the freshness of a wine made in the southern heat of Cádiz is that the dense albariza soil retains plentiful moisture from the heavy rainfalls in autumn and winter and helps the vines survive the ravages of summer.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm a sucker for Sherry. But this wasn't why I bought this. It was a whim purchase. I bought this because I had a craving for a Spanish white. I only read up on the wine later. You probably don't recognize Vijiriega as a Jerez grape. As I wrote above, it died out, a century ago, actually, due to phyloxera. The Jerez houses did not replant it, because Palomino was the mainstay of Sherry, so why bother. Orte recognized that what was good for Jerez' golden goose was also good for the gander and managed to revive the grape.
The result evokes a lot of sensations and thoughts, for me. It reminds me of Manzanilla, albeit devoid of the medicinal aspects wrought by the flor. It reminds me of Tenerife whites - just as salty, but lower on body fluids. It reminds me of Bairrada, oddly enough, as I spot a family resemblance in the aromas of shells, sweet rouge and echoes of pineapples. The acidity is better than in any of those, balancing well the fat in mid-palate. Let's see, it's three years old and doesn't feel like a DYA - I'd say it will live at least three years more.
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