“Wine,” wrote Ernest Hemingway, “is one of the most civilized things in the world.” He spent a good portion of four decades, from the 1920s through the ’50s, living and writing in Spain; it’s easy to guess the origin of his choice elixirs. Whatever Hemingway was drinking, I’m channelling his sentiment while sipping a cocktail mixed with cava in Valencia, the country’s third-largest city.