In a park in Jerez, Spain, there’s a statue of Shakespeare —  a token of appreciation for the Bard who, 400 years ago, was extolling the pleasures and benefits of the region’s most famous product, Sherry.

Then, as now, the British have been fans of Sherry, a word that evolved from the original Phoenician name for this area of southwestern Spain where Sherry is produced. When the Phoenicians arrived in 1100 B.C. they planted grapes in the land they named Sherish. The Moors, arriving in 711 A.D., renamed it Jerez, and the British made their own version of the word when they discovered the wines of Jerez, and they called them Sherry.

It’s a misfortune, to say the least, that over the intervening centuries the image of Sherry has become the drink tippled by Miss Marple at the Vicarage, quaffed after a fox hunt or sprinkled on a Christmas trifle.

To reintroduce  the true, fabled wines of Spain, last summer the Center for Wine Origins, invited a group of wine writers from around the country to visit the Jerez region, the “Sherry triangle” that can be drawn from the towns of Jerez de la Frontera to El Puerto de Santa Maria to Sanlucar de Barrameda.

The motto of the Center for Wine Origins, based in Washington, D.C., is “location matters,” and its mission is to protect legendary wine regions for whom “what’s in a name” is a wine’s identity: A sparkling wine labeled “Champagne” must come from the Champagne region of France, and  a wine labeled “Napa” must be from Napa Valley. Likewise Sherry can only be made in this magnificent, sun-drenched region with its chalky white albariza soil and its fierce winds, where only three varietals of grapes — palomino, Pedro Ximénez and, to a lesser extent, moscatel — are grown, farmed by  methods that allow no irrigation (“What we have comes from God,” Beltan Domecq, a Jerez vintner,  told us), and produced by the solera blending method of aging.    

Sherry wines were fortified with alcohol for stability as they were shipped around the world, but what gives them their unique character is the flor, an oxygen-proof, protective layer of yeast that grows spontaneously in the Jerez region and develops on the surface of the wine after fermentation. Wine aged under an undisturbed, unbroken flor becomes the pale, ultra dry fino, (and the manzanilla made in Sanlucar) but with varying degrees of flor, the palomino grape also produces amontillado, olorosa and the more rare paola cortado sherries that range in color and degrees of sweetness. In a class of its own are the dessert Pedro Ximénez wines and blends.

We spent a week exploring Jerez, not only the vineyards and the bodegas where Sherry is aged but its restaurants where Sherry is served with everything from bull’s tail stew to its seafood rich paellas. To get the full flavor of this vibrant land, we saw   Gyspy flamenco dancers perform their passionate dances and watched the famed Andalusian horses perform at the equestrian school in Jerez. We did pass on bull fights.

 The heritage of Sherry is laced throughout the area: A giant statue of Tio Pepe, the popular González-Byass fino, greets passengers arriving at the Jerez airport. In the center of Jerez is  a  monument to early vintners, a wagon filled with the distinctive black Sherry barrels. Even the clock in the town center pays tribute to the wine-making Domecq family tradition.

Some of the most famous bodegas, like historic González-Byass, are in town center,  are places to explore, with their intriguing collections of signed barrels, their cool walkways (even in July) shaded by lofty-growing grapevines. González-Byass is walking distance from Bar Juanito, where we sampled plate after plate of tapas — peppers stuffed with cheese, Russian potato salad, fried cheese nuggets — all extremely compatible with the dry sherries we were served.

Others, like Bodegas Williams & Humbert, are on the outskirts of Jerez. Its stark modern exterior conceals fascinating exhibits inside that underscore the enduring links to Great Britain, not the least of which are the framed letters from British royals thanking them for this cask or that, the casks signed by John, Paul, George and Ringo. No notes, alas, from Shakespeare.

 One evening we took the ferry to the ancient city of Cadiz, the first town settled in Europe, our hosts told us, and after wandering down the narrow streets, we stopped at an outdoor cafe in one of these sidestreets for late-night dinner of fried fish and peppers, almonds, olives and more Sherry while listening to guitar music. Another night we ended sipping Sherry with fried shark and fried cheese at El Lagá de Tió Parilla, a hidden away, rough and tumble establishment, where some of Jerez’s best flamenco dancers perform. Our last night in Spain, we stayed up all night — we had to catch a 5 a.m flight out of Jerez — dining at La Mesa Ronda, an elegant old house converted to a restaurant, drinking the full range of Sherries from fino to the decadently rich Pedro Ximénez (a dessert all by itself)  with an equally superb progression of courses. Apologetically, I can’t recall exactly what we ate, but I do remember it was awfully good.  

Undoubtedly the best way to explore Sherry is to visit this region so rich in history and tradition and so gracious is its hospitality. The message, conveyed in such a clear but pleasurable way, is that nowhere else on the planet could be home to this remarkable product, Sherry.

On the other hand, you might want to check it out here. We liked it on the 100-plus degree days of July, but on one of these upcoming cold winter nights, it just might be the thing to remind you that it comes from a place that has 300 days of sunshine a year.

W. Shakespeare, wine writer, on Sherry:

“A good sherris sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and curdy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes, which, delivered o’er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit.

“The second property of your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme:

“It illumineth the face, which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris.

“So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act and use.

“Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, manured, husbanded and tilled with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant.

“If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.”

                    —  Shakespeare, “Henry IV,” Part II, Act 4, Scene 3