Richard Mayson introduces the first, Iberian installment of a two-part tasting of global sweet fortified wines shared with Simon Field MW and Andrew Jefford.
This is an extract from an article first published in WFW90. For full tasting notes and scores for all the wines tasted by the panel, subscribe to The World of Fine Wine.
The world of fortified wines is one that looks increasingly rarefied these days. Port, Sherry, and Madeira have been steadily sidelined from the vinous mainstream, and Iberian fortifieds like Málaga, Setúbal, and Carcavelos have nearly been extinguished in the process. Crucially, though, fortified wines have carved out a singular and important niche over recent years. Overall sales may have fallen; Port and Sherry no longer enjoy the mass-market appeal that they did when they were represented by multinational brands in the 1960s and ’70s. But what about 80-year-old Tawny Port, 50-year-old white Port, single-harvest Port (colheita), single-cask Frasqueira Madeira, VORS Sherry, old Pedro Ximénez from Montilla-Moriles, and finally Carcavelos? All these wines were submitted for this tasting. Some may have been there in embryo 50 years ago, but there certainly weren’t available in bottle then in the way that they are today.
Most of the great fortified wines of the world came about by happy accident. Someone stabilized a barrel of white wine by adding brandy; someone else added the brandy to red wine during the fermentation; on an island in the Atlantic, someone found that the wine tasted better after being stowed in the bow of a ship that has crossed the tropics. Very few names are recorded, but if they had been, those “someones” would deserve to be as famous as Dom Pérignon, the monk who did so much to develop Champagne. The fact is that the fortified-wine industry evolved over centuries. Jerez dates back to the Phoenicians (Xera), more than a millennium before Madeira was discovered and colonized by the Portuguese, yet the two share a parallel history, both prospering from wines made from white grapes but with very different techniques and traditions. Geoffrey Chaucer (c.1340–1400) records the wines of Lepe (a village near Huelva) and remarks on their “fumositee,” an evocative word that could easily be applied to some of the wonderful Andalusian fortifieds we encountered in this tasting. The history of fortified winemaking is so fundamental that it forms the basis of international trade and long predates the global trade in wine that we take for granted today.
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Fortified wines in general have experienced some extreme ups-and-downs over the centuries. Some were nearly wiped out altogether by oidium and phylloxera in the mid-to-late 19th century, and Málaga and Carcavelos never fully recovered. Since then, fortified wines have been buffeted by fashion. The advent of the cocktail in the USA in the 1920s caused Madeira to suffer at the same time that Port and Lemon (Ruby Port let out with lemonade) in the UK became a boon to the Port trade. That fashion lasted into the 1960s, when Cream Sherry became a staple in many UK households and Port became the apéritif of choice for the French. But since the boom years began to peter out in the 1980s, fortified wines have been on a steady downward trajectory in volume terms. Consumers are increasingly alcohol-conscious. Port briefly bucked the trend, but since the start of the new century, sales have fallen by around 25%.
Perhaps it is due to their heritage and long history of global interconnection that fortified wines have been so good at reinventing themselves. The Port trade especially, shaped by so many different nationalities, is always coming up with new and innovative styles of wine. Late Bottled Vintage was devised in the 1970s and the latest category to receive official approval is 80-year-old Tawny. Sherry has been less successful, handicapped all along by the lack of a Vintage category that continues to fuel sales of Port and Madeira. The medium-term trend for all fortified wines has been “less but better,” coaxing and educating opinion formers and consumers into paying more for something of higher quality that they might not have considered before. Tapas, almost unheard of outside Spain when I went there for my Vintner’s Scholarship in 1987, have helped to match Sherry to food. Pedro Ximénez and vanilla ice cream—who would have thought it? At the present time, the Port shippers are busy reinventing the cocktail, turning Port from a post- to a preprandial drink, with “Portonic” and inventive mixology.
Like other members of the WFW fortified-wine panel, I suspect I am not alone in being something of a purist when it comes to wine. The fact that a wine has a sense of place is critically important, and this is lost when a wine is blended or diluted. Take this to its logical extreme, and you can argue that a single-quinta Vintage Port like Quinta do Noval Nacional has much more of a sense of place than, say, a VORS Oloroso Sherry from González Byass. But both of these glorious wines have their own distinct traditions that give them their heritage and identity. I was sorry we didn’t get to sample a Málaga or Setúbal but pleased to find Carcavelos, which is fighting its way back to life through local enthusiasm and public subsidy. (See my “Carcavelos Comeback” in WFW 87, pp.66–68.)
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The selection for a “global sweet fortified wines” tasting was inevitably something of a challenge, given the huge array of wines and the fact that this was only the first part of a much broader tasting. The necessary pre-selection took account of historic importance, absolute quality, producers with the best reputations, current market importance, and—to an extent— availability. Some of the Spanish wines requested weren’t received as the producers explained that they had no UK market representation and no way of sending samples. For some styles, such as Vintage and Tawny Port, we were highly selective and asked producers to send us the best example they were able and willing to supply. The WFW editorial team consulted specialists in their field (myself included), but the wines were all served blind as usual, so apart from knowing the category, the tasting panel had no way of knowing specific wines or producers.
The purpose of the tasting was to illustrate the sheer quality and thrilling variety of this underappreciated category rather than to search for the absolute “best.” Andrew Jefford reflected this in his comment that “this small tasting was a privilege and a challenge.” The privilege came from both the number and quality of top wines that we received, while the challenge was to give each one due respect, considering the diversity of styles. Respect, as it turns out, is quite easy when you are tasting wines that have been aged for decades and you can taste this in their power, breadth, and concentration. But I have to say that I came down rather hard on wines that I felt had lost their sense of balance and proportion in the process. I just about coped with a Jerez Moscatel from Valdespino but felt rather differently about Pedro Ximénez from Montilla-Moriles, of which we had three: black, viscous, unctuous, but, to my way of thinking, cloying. Just a little drop would go a long way in an Oloroso blend, but are wines like this really bottled to drink and above all enjoy? I thought not, but others felt differently. How do you award a mark to a wine that you utterly respect but don’t really like? That’s a challenge in itself. There was diversity of opinion over white Port, too, with Andrew Jefford questioning whether it merits half a century of storage, whereas Simon Field MW counted it as one of the most interesting wines in the tasting. Long aging of Tinta Negra—promoted to the top rank of Madeira grapes as recently as 2015—is “an act of folly” for Andrew, whereas I felt that “Tinta Negra can indeed be up there with the gods.” Our Madeira god was Boal/Bual, whereas Malmsey/Malvasia was, in Andrew’s words, “something of a disappointment,” and I readily agree. With the name Malvasia appended to different grapes, there is still no clear definition of what true Malmsey really is.
It is fair to say that some fortified wines flatter with their sweetness more than others. Our top scorer, Graham’s 80-year-old, was both an easy and a magnificent wine to taste (and drink, as a little just had to slip down). Matusalem Oloroso, an equally magnificent wine from González Byass, needs a little more work to appreciate, with its volume and quiet intensity yet awesome depth. I hoped that we might have had a few more sweet Olorosos in the tasting against which to compare it. There were also young wines here—one or two still too young to drink—yet we all shared our admiration for (in Simon’s words) “their youthful brilliance.” But “young” is relative when it comes to fortified wines. For Madeira, anything this side of 1950 can be considered “young,” when wines made in the 19th century have a constitution that means they are still tasting fresh well over a century after they were made.
There were no winners in this tasting: All the wine regions, distinctive as they are, scored highly. But if I could single out just one winning wine to symbolize the resilience of fortified wine, it would be the Quinta do Corrieira 2012 Carcavelos. This small property just outside the Lisbon suburbs, belonging to Jorg Lewerenz, is about as obscure as it gets, producing a wine that Simon Field thought was “exceptional” and that was marked highly by all our tasters. It bodes well for the future of the category that there are passionate followers out there, determined to keep the fortified flame burning. Having written books on Port and on Madeira, I count myself among them. Encouraged by this and Part II of our global fortifed tasting, I vow to do my bit to keep these exceptional fortified wines in the limelight.
The top five: The best of Iberian sweet fortified wines
Graham’s 80-Year-Old Tawny Port Portugal (21.5% ABV; miniature) | 96
SF | A rare beast indeed—rare in the sense that the 80-Year-Old category has only recently been formalized, even if it has now been picked up by several of the usual suspects at the top of the qualitative tree. No matter; this wine dates from the environs of the auspicious 1945 vintage, therefore deserves a victory notched before we have even started. It is crepuscular of hue, somehow “meaty”; battered and bruised meat for sure, fading to amber and beyond. The nose recalls Oxbridge libraries, the Ancient of Days, and the sense of an ending… of an evening spent in cerebral indiscretion. For all that, it is marked by a robust structure, finely balanced acidity, and a core of savory harmony that defies its age and category alike. An elixir that resounds over the palate and the memory for quite some time… a privilege. 2025–50. | 97
AJ | Paler than its 1975 peer, but the color that remains is clearly ebony. I was expecting to smell a medicinal or apothecary extract, but the aromas are much more graceful and alluring than that: raisins with a fine smolder to them, prunes, toffee, vanilla, unlike Virginia tobacco and other cured leaves. Very attractive and compelling, and forceful and insistent by dint of its age, without being extract-like. Ditto on the palate: still a fresh, lively wine and not a carbon-dated relic. Great harmony and poise, and all the notes evident on the aroma are there on the palate, with a little extra smolder for luck. The acidity has the upper hand over sweetness now, and it is dense and deft rather than expansive, so I wouldn’t keep the wine indefinitely. Splendid for the next decade, though. 2025–35. | 95
RM | Lovely amber-red color showing considerable age. Gently lifted dried-fig character on the nose, with savory-sweet richness and great elegance and persistence on the palate, syrup-of-figs richness mid-palate (verging on unctuous), offset by a streak of acidity and a long, much drier and beautifully poised finish. Outstanding. 2025–30. | 97
Blandy’s 1994 Bual Medium Rich Madeira Portugal (20% ABV) | 95
SF | If the 2000 Boal was far too young, this one is only too young—though given its deep color, persuasive umami aromatic, and exceptionally rich mid-palate orthodoxy, one cannot fail but to discern an outstretched line of beauty. Time will not wither it. Exceptionally powerful, resourceful, and persistent, this is an outstanding example, demonstrating once again why so many connoisseurs might select this particular variety over the other “noble” grapes, to champion the woefully undersubscribed cause of this magnificent category. 2025–50. | 95
AJ | Pale russet/walnut. Very harmonious already. Lifted fruits, wildflowers, menthol, and camphor: impressive and arresting, yet all achieved with restrained finesse. Benchmark satisfaction. Dense, full, lively, and athletic, a true island wine of purity and drive, though relatively youthful. Given that youth (30 years is young for Vintage Madeira), it acquits itself very well and will take further years effortlessly. Splendid acidity, with the authentic fruit density to it, and extract to drive and charge. I wouldn’t serve this at the end of the meal except with cheese; otherwise, it is perfect for meditative isolation or as a statement-of-intent apéro. A young, deft classic, rather on the dry side. 2025–45. | 93
RM | Mid-deep amber, with a green glint on the rim. More heavenly aromas, gentle woodsmoke, slightly lifted, with a green-leaf character reflected on the palate, with its wonderful tension between the freshness of youth and the pungency and complexity of age. Long and mouth-filling, with a streak of green acidity that will keep this fresh, alive, and kicking forever. Thrilling wine! 2025–50. | 98
González Byass Matusalem Oloroso Cream VORS Jerez de la Frontera Spain (20.5% ABV; 37.5cl) | 95
SF | Dense matted color and aroma, caramel and molasses, figs, plums, and hints of spice and licorice. Layered and richly contoured without becoming cloying; a slightly unusual Oloroso style, to be sure… A treat, too. Balanced acidity, plenty of tertiary personality; chocolate, figs, (very) ripe plums, and dried fruit and spice. Nicely tapered on the finish and very complete. After such a gush, I suppose I had better reiterate that it is slightly unusual as an Oloroso! 2025–45. | 92
AJ | Astonishingly dark: ebony at the core, to walnut at the rim. Quite a quiet, restrained, almost subterranean aroma: a gentle, susurrating brood that brings cream and polish and old nuts and historic houses into its frame. Few top notes: ginger? saffron? Too quiet to be sure. But the ensemble is softly magnetic and impressively complex. Intense, deep, and driving on the palate. This is a sweetened Oloroso and a magnificent success as such: a liner freighted down with ballrooms and dining rooms, smoking rooms and billiard rooms, sailing its brightly lit way across a silent ocean. It’s wide, deep, broad, challenging, scouring, driving; and the “quietness” of the aromas is suddenly amplified on the palate to orchestral-climax levels. Splendid extract and density; almost a substitute for tannins. Whatever has gone into this wonderful liquid deserves to be there. Huge volume and presence in the mouth—and in the tasting brain. But it’s fully ready, and there is no point in waiting. 2025–30. | 96
RM | Deep nut brown to mahogany, with a thin, olive-green rim. Deep, rich, and powerful, with a black hole of concentration and a touch of molasses. Gloriously rich and smooth in the mouth; textural richness, with a touch of treacle mid-palate, offset by a beautifully poised, balanced finish that sets density against the acidity. A very beautiful wine. 2025–40. | 97
Quinta do Noval 50-Year-Old Tawny Port Portugal (22% ABV) | 95
SF | Dense, almost opaque, raven black—almost sinister. The nose recalls the barrel itself: its storage in a slightly damp cellar and the slow passing of time. The elements of volatility are more evident and eat a little into the capacity to please. Dried fruit, herbs, and noble bitterness all inform a palate that is still incredibly fresh and assertive: Havana cigar, dried mandarin, even a hint of Périgord truffle (and no reason not to bring out any of these to provide pleasing accompaniment). A nostalgic experience will be sure to ensue in the company of such a rare and proud beast! 2025–50. | 94
AJ | Very dark, though still translucent; walnut and ebony. Sweet, warm, and dark, with some treacle, as well as dry cask tones and bitter herbs. Clearly very old and commanding; generous too. A very complete and arresting aromatic profile, though one with more power and heft than lift. Or at least that is what seems to be the case to begin with. Give it ten minutes in the glass, though, and it has a 50-floor lift. Gosh: ultra-dense on the palate. If [the Sandeman Old Tawny] was 50 years old, this tastes like 100 years old: intensely concentrated, driving, and long, with a very fine core of acidity that means that the taster almost overlooks the wine’s no-less-dramatic sweetness. There are other wonderful essences in here, too, to hold your attention: dried thyme, bay, and lavender; lemon peel and orange peel; gentian and orris root, cistus, treacle, burned raisin, Latakia tobacco. So concentrated, it’s almost salty. Totally splendid, and a grand aged Tawny that almost has the force to step into the ring with a young Vintage Port. 2025–50. | 97
RM | Mid-deep red/mahogany, with a thin amber rim. Wonderfully lifted and high-toned in character, showing its age on the nose, which is quite rich, with dried-fruit compote and a hint of woodsmoke. Similarly rich and complex on the palate, with considerable depth, power, and spice, rising on to the finish. I am not sure that this is what I expect from a 50-year-old Tawny, but I rather like the wine, so this is a bit difficult to mark. 2025–30. | 93
Taylor’s 1975 Very Old Single Harvest Port Portugal 1975 (20% ABV) | 95
SF | Vintage-dated, unlike its peers in this tasting, a child of 1975, a vintage of mixed reputation, and certainly not in the league of, say, 1970 or 1977. No matter. This one flies under a different color, and its selection will have been on a barrel-by-barrel basis, itself dependent on so many variables that the effrontery to presume by the nature of the vintage itself is far from appropriate. The wine has a mahogany hue and fades to amber as it approaches the rim, itself quite watery. Quite a gradation, therefore, but not necessarily a degradation! Both the nose and palate are marked by pleasing citric elements, orange peel, crystallized lemon, and the like, the palate marked by its delicate and very refined nature: cigar box, iodine, thyme, and dried fruit. Joyous and perfectly integrated, with no burn from the alcohol and no distracting volatility. Very harmonious, in other words, and if it lacks the complexity of a Multi-Vintage blend, it more than makes up for it with an elegant, balanced attack. 2025–45. | 93
AJ | Dark, deep russet-walnut, with garnet glints. A magnificent nose here: splendid aromatic power, the vault of age, but at the same time an almost truffley richness. Chocolate truffle as well as black truffle. And a smoky allure in the finish, too. Fruit survival rates in this wine are very good; clearly it must have been quite something in its youth, but age has left it with a wealth of carvings, inlays, and finials. On the palate, it is very rich, too: long, sweet, time-burnished, and concentrated. It’s very harmonious, and you can also find all the aromatic notes on the palate, though harmonized and synthesized by time and, note, cocooned in sweet, figgy sugars. The acidity is nonetheless splendid, and there is almost a green vegetal freshness on the finish—where on Earth does that come from? A wonderfully managed success from a single vintage, and astonishing that it should still have so much to give 50 years later. 2025–50. | 96
RM | This was the “hot summer” of the Portuguese revolution, but it really doesn’t show in this wine: lovely copper-hued red, with a tawny rim. Super-suave and beautifully melded on the nose, with gently lifted fragrance, and similarly seamless on the palate, still combining the freshness of youth with the complexity of age on a long, lithe finish. Not oversweet: perfect poise at 50 years of age. 2025–40. | 96
