Scotland,
the Helderberg and vintages of Hell
27 June 2008
It
seems as if the mountain on which I live (well, a slope does
count as a mountain even if I am rather low down on that slope)
attracts inclement weather regardless of what is happening in
the rest of the Helderberg Basin formed by the Helderberg and
the Hottentots Holland range. The sun can be shining over the
town and False Bay as storms abate but not-so-wispy clouds will
continue to swirl around the mountain’s western peak, and the
north-westerly wind will ensure they release their moisture
intermittently during the day and night. The dogs and I don’t
mind, actually. We think it’s rather dramatic and interesting,
and are wondering if it could be anything like Scotland, a place
neither they nor I have visited.
We’re basing our assumptions
on another passage from ‘Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell’ by
Susanna Clarke. In this section, the Fairy King is interacting
with Stephen Black, a man servant who fascinates him and whom he
regularly transports to fairy balls and fairy lands for his
entertainment and amusement.
When
he woke it was dawn. Or something like dawn. The light was
watery, dim and incomparably sad. Vast, grey gloomy hills rose
up all around them and in between the hills there was a wide
expanse of black bog. Stephen had never seen such a landscape
calculated to reduce the onlooker to utter despair in an
instant. ‘This is one of your kingdoms, I suppose, sir?’ he
said. ‘My kingdoms?’ explained the gentleman [Stephen doesn’t
know his identity] in surprise. ‘Oh no! This is Scotland!’
Just before the Fairy King
transported Stephen to Scotland, he had poured him a glass of
wine which he referred to as ‘one of the vintages of Hell’.
'I dare say you have heard of
Tantalus? The wicked king who baked his little son in a pie and
ate him? He has been condemned to stand up to his chin in a pool
of water he cannot drink, beneath a vine laden with grapes he
cannot eat. This wine was made from those grapes. And, since the
vine was planted for the sole purpose of tormenting Tantalus,
you may be sure the grapes have an excellent flavour and aroma –
and so does the wine.'
And Stephen’s verdict? 'It is
altogether excellent, sir!'
I guess there are more than a few tantalised winemakers
worldwide who can attest to at least one Vintage of Hell, but
would their wines have turned out as fine without the Fairy
King’s intervention?
First is first, and second is second?
24 June 2008
I must have changed my mind
five times about what to present to a wine club last week.
Eventually, I sourced eight wines from just four producers. Can
you deduce what my theme was? After tasting all eight in the
line-up and knowing exactly what you know, the members of the
club had a go. It wasn’t different vintages, it wasn’t
(strictly) different cultivars, it was – as one taster pointed
out – price. Or (strictly) a tasting of first and second wines.
As you all know, second wines
are a completely different kettle of fish to second labels.
These are the same wine bottled under two or more different
labels to disguise that fact. Except for the name, and often the
price, wine A is exactly the same as wine B, and wine C, if the
producer or retailer so desires.
Second labels – and they do
exist in South Africa – are regarded by some as a valuable, cost
effective tool enabling a retailer, for example, to appeal to
different market segments using packaging and image without
going to the trouble of sourcing from different producers, or
requiring a favoured producer to make different wines (that
costs). There are many producers that will quite happily label
their wines to suit a retailer’s requirements as well as – if
the order is large enough – those of an individual customer.
Think ‘personalised label’ for a company conference, 21st
birthday, corporate gift, and so on. And does it really matter
if the consumer isn’t really being given choice, just duped into
thinking she is?
By contrast, second wines
originated in Bordeaux to utilise the crop from vineyards that
were not delivering grapes of sufficient quality for the grand
vin. The reasons for this could be that the vineyards are deemed
too young and their crop does not have the concentration and
aging ability; or vintage conditions negatively impact fruit
quality, or perhaps even mature vines might not produce wine
that fits the style of the chateau.
Well-known second wines from
Bordeaux include Château Leoville-Las-Cases’ Clos du Marquis
(first bottled in 1904), Pichon-Longueville-Lalande’s Reserve de
la Comtesse and Cos d'Estournel’s Marbuzet. In Spain, there’s
Vega Sicilia’s Valbuena and in Italy Ornellaia has its Le Serre
Nuove.
Last
week’s line-up included Waterford’s Pecan Stream Sauvignon Blanc
2007 and Waterford Sauvignon Blanc 2007, Rupert & Rothschild’s
Classique 2006 and Baron Edmund 2003, Saronsberg’s Provenance
Rooi 2005 and Seismic 2005, and Boekenhoutskloof’s Porcupine
Ridge Syrah 2007 and Boekenhoutskloof Syrah 2004. (You’ll recall
that Saronsberg's Provenance Rooi fared better at this year’s
Old Mutual Trophy Wine Show than did its ‘grown up’ wines.)
Before the tasters learnt what
the wines were, they debated quality, and I have to admit the
scores and comments did not reflect the same degree of variance
that the prices did. In fact using a median score (very crude, I
know but this was not a show, rather a gathering of enthusiasts)
five of the wines scored 15 points, including both Waterfords
and both Saronsbergs, and the Porcupine Ridge while both R&Rs
scored below 15 and the BHK Syrah above.
After revealing what the wines
were, some tasters were thrilled that their palates actually
preferred the less expensive wines, and others a little bemused
that their ‘champagne’ tastes had been confirmed.
And one sighed in frustration at the fact that he loved the
evolved character of the 2003 Baron Edmund but couldn’t find any
enthusiasm for the younger red vintages. A relative newcomer to
this country, he doesn’t have a cellar of South African aged
wines. We pointed him in the direction of Mooiberge Farm Stall,
which does.
What’s
cool, and what will be cool
18 June 2008
Earlier this week, wearing my
working hat, I was tasked by a client, Affinity Publishing, to
write a media release based on research conducted on its behalf
by Dr Carla Enslin of Vega The Brand Communications School.
Affinity publishes The
Encyclopaedia of Brands & Branding in South Africa, and had
asked Dr Enslin to poll students – aka ‘the youth’ – at Vega
about ‘cool’ because it thought an analysis of the responses
would make for an interesting chapter in the 2008 edition.
The expression ‘cool’ has been
around for a long time. It was first popularised in 1933 in jazz
circles by tenor saxophonist Lester Young as a characterisation
of excellence, being highly skilled, or socially adept. Today,
according to Dr Enslin, it has become part of everyday language
and enjoys an enviably – or frustratingly – fuzzy range of
meanings.
I found reading the answers to
the questions she’d posed interesting. There was the:
comedian: ‘Cool is a
temperature.’
egotist: ‘I am cool.’
non-conformist: ‘Smoking is
cool.’
the other non-conformist: ‘Not
smoking is cool.’
poet: ‘Cool is the breeze that
blows in between still and a gust.’
ageist: ‘Cool is anything that
appeals to the youth.’
capitalist: ‘Cool is GAP,
Lacoste, Hugo Boss.’
socialist: ‘Cool is something
that appeals to the vast majority and is socially acceptable.’
intellectual: ‘Cool is a
social construct, a celebration of vanity.’
cynic: ‘Sliced bread is cool.’
the other cynic: ‘Cool is
Black Cat Peanut Butter.’
Of course, there was also
evidence that the youth is aware of and concerned with social
and environmental issues, for example global warming and
sustainability. According to them, ‘What’s going to be cool?’ is
‘hydrogen powered cars’, ‘bicycles’, ‘green’, second-hand
clothing’, ‘social awareness, organic products and global
responsibility’, making something, not buying it’, ‘being
environmentally friendly’, and ‘jerseys home-made by your
granny’. (Yes, granny’s not cool but the fruits of her labour
are. Typical.)
However, within all this,
there’s also the future of the wine industry. Someone answered
‘Cool is property, wine and fashion.’ And, another someone – I
hope it was another someone because then the industry would have
two potential customers out there in marketing school land –
answered the question ‘What’s going to be cool?’ with two words:
‘Allan Grey’.
That’s the investment company. And that respondent gets an ‘A’
from me.
Too Salty
for my taste
13 June 2008
I read Nic Dawes’ comment on
Melvyn Minnaar’s rather nicely written (well, I think so) 'tale
of four restaurants and their winelists' with interest
because, I too, when reading it initially, had wondered why
Melvyn had not mentioned the restaurants concerned in his text.
Perhaps it was because he is
not a recognised professional restaurant critic, perhaps it was
because he just didn’t feel like dealing with the angst and
recriminations that were bound to be forthcoming if he had,
perhaps … whatever Melvyn’s reasons, they’re mine too, for only
alluding to the establishment where I suffered bad wine service.
Yesterday
was my turn to buy lunch for two ladies whose company I enjoy
immensely. As one had just tied the proverbial knot, I wanted to
mark the occasion with a bubbly. Despite the fact that I’d
chosen an upmarket restaurant in an upmarket Cape Town suburb
(and I’m all too conscious these days of interest rate hikes,
high unemployment, and the fact that charities are being forced
to close their doors because our national lottery can’t get its
financial aid delivery systems running smoothly), I just
couldn’t see my way to splash out with R700-odd for the least
expensive Champagne.
So, I settled for a local
bubbly at just half that, knowing full well that it retails for
far less but reminding myself that restaurants need to charge
high prices for wines and spirits because they use beautiful
stemware, keep pallets of stock and spend a fortune training
their staff.
And, for a while, when our
waitron brought us elegant flutes, I bought into the argument.
Pity she then proceeded to fill them to the brim with the
faintly pink effervescent liquid so that we were forced to sip
furiously if we wanted to enjoy it chilled. And, I also really
liked the large glasses she returned to the table with when we
ordered an Ataraxia Chardonnay to accompany our food (the wine
costing more than our three mains together). Pity we later found
it necessary to fetch the bottle from the ice bucket ourselves
when our glasses needed refilling.
As the afternoon wore on and
the restaurant emptied (it was never full), the service waned
even more. Finally, our asking if the bar had any Armagnac was
met with a fully blank stare. Not even the explanation, ‘a
French brandy’, elicited a glimmer of even Cognac-like
recognition.
So, we left; impressed with the food, in love with the view, but
feeling that our waitron was certainly not worth her salt, and
decidedly ‘ripped off’ by the lack of the very service
restaurateurs claim high wine prices buy.
Comment
from Emile Joubert:
Pray, Cathy and Melvyn, what on earth is the use of
employing your journalistic rapiers without letting the
readers know who your targets are? Whining – in writing –
about substandard eateries without naming these places is
not really going to contribute towards rectifying the
situations so bemoaned in these missives. It's like bitching
about a movie without letting the readers know who the
actors are, or what the title is. So why should we care?
Literary endorsements
11 June 2008
Where was I the other day when
I happened to read a review of the movie ‘Sex in the City’,
named for the television programme that seems to have achieved
almost cult status worldwide? I can’t recall, and it doesn’t
really matter. What piqued my interest was that the reviewer
mentioned, quite indignantly, that the ‘plot’ appears to play
second fiddle to the glamorous and expensive products that are
placed centre screen in almost every scene.
I seem to recall that this
very fact – product placement – was one of the major gripes the
association of screenwriters put on the table during their
negotiations with Hollywood some years ago. Big brand names
continue to be written into the script left right and centre,
James Bond’s cars being one of the most obvious examples. Could
you ever have imagined Q handing over the keys to a brand other
than Aston Martin? I couldn’t, but it has happened … and can bet
your last tank of petrol for a pretty hefty price.
But I’m certain that our wines
are not paying for their appearances – albeit brief – on the
pages of current top selling novels. In just one week, I came
across two mentions. In fact, I’m certain I’ve come across a
South African wine in one of John Connolly’s books before – I
suspect in one of his other tales about hit men, Angel and
Louis.
So it felt a bit like déjà vu
when I read The Reapers on the plane recently for there,
on page 202, was yet another mention. This time, the passage
went ‘The men sat at a circular table, dining on red meat –
venison and fillet steak – and drinking Dark Horse shiraz from
South Africa.’
Dark Horse is one of Bruce
Jack’s Flagstone labels; I wonder if he even knows that it gets
a ‘literary’ mention. And I wonder, too, if the Constantia
vintners know about their mention in the New York Times
bestseller and Time magazine’s Book of the Year,
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke?
Set in the early 1800s in
England, this states, on page 318, ‘She offered him
Constantia-wine, marmalade, an old-fashioned wigg bun – all
sorts of delicacies – but he refused them all.’
This reference certainly makes sense, for at that time, sweet
wines from Constantia were all the rage. But still, it was a
pleasant surprise, for no other ‘product’ has been detailed yet
in 318 pages; I’ll let you know if another is by the time I get
to the end on page 1006.
‘Real’ riesling and ‘real’ ice wine
5 June 2008
The deadline for submissions
regarding the Paarl Riesling-Crouchen Blanc-Weisser
Riesling-real Riesling showdown was May 31 and, in the run-up to
my recent trip, I forgot all about it until I received a
reminder from Angela Lloyd, on the side of the ‘real’ riesling
producers, urging me to read the proposal. So, from my hotel
room in Seville, I emailed my two cents’ worth to
André Matthee, director of regulatory services at the
Wine & Spirit Board.
As you know, our wine law
currently allows for ‘Cape riesling to be called Paarl riesling
or crouchen’, according to the proposal André was circulating (I
would have said ‘allows for crouchen to be called crouchen or
Cape riesling or Paarl riesling) when it comes to the local
market. At the same time, ‘weisser/Rhine riesling must be
indicated as such, and may not be labelled as riesling’ (again,
my choice of words would have been ‘riesling must be indicated
as weisser riesling or Rhine riesling). However, for most
exports, the exact opposite applies – crouchen can only be shown
as crouchen and riesling can’t be labelled as Rhine or weisser.
The proposal on the table is
that, at some future date that takes into account existing stock
levels, the international situation prevails, and that crouchen
must be labelled as such on the local market, and that riesling
may be labelled as riesling, or weisser or Rhine depending on
the producer’s desire. Well, that’s how I understood it.
But
having sent off that email made me think, as I approached the
Canadian Eiswein (ice wine) stand at Vinoble, what the producers
of ‘real’ ice wine – that is made from grapes – thought about
sharing the stand with apple ice wine. Needing a break from
unctuous PX sherries (the very sweet ones from Pedro Ximenez
grapes) I decided to find out, of course under the guise of
tasting the wines – I mean, ciders.
The two producers on show took
their apples very seriously indeed. It takes upwards of 50
apples to make just one 375ml bottle of the Leduc-Piedmonte
Reserve, which is vintage-dated, and retails at €60 after
fermentation and spending 12 to 18 months in French oak.
At Domaine Pinnacle, they use
six different varieties and around 80 apples to make just one
375ml bottle of Sparkling Ice Cider. It’s one of a kind in
Canada, and is made according to the charmat method – undergoing
a secondary fermentation in tank rather than in the bottle.
The alcohol of both these
wines was around 10%; they were slightly nutty and very spicy,
quite like an apple and cinnamon pie without the cream. And,
very refreshing. I was glad I’d bumped into them but didn’t want
to waste too much time on apples, when grapes were being
offered. (In the pic that’s Charles
Crawford of Domaine Pinnacle with bottles from both producers.)
The next stand offered wines
from three different VQAs – Vintners Quality Alliance – a wine
of origin system: Pelee Island Winery (VQA Pelee Island),
Pillitteri Estates (VQA Niagra Peninsula) and Colio Estate (VQA
Lake Erie North Shore). Alcohols ranged between 9% and 11% and
the grapes used were vidal (not a vinifera grape, but the
hybrid of a ‘proper’ wine grape and a native American grape at
all) and riesling. I preferred those from riesling, the acidity
of this grape being far brighter than that of vidal. That said,
the vidal has a foxy, floral character, which is nice for a
change.
Animosity? None that I could discern and probably because the
cider makers didn’t want to masquerade as an ice wine, they far
prefer to be called Cidre de Glace. And who wouldn’t? When
Domaine Pinnacle started making sparkling ice cider in 2000, the
market was worth barely Canadian $100 000; today it tops
$8-million.
The challenge – my final wine in Spain
30 May 2008
What to do, what to taste when
you look at the Vinoble directory and realise you’ve not
experienced even half of what the fair has to offer and you have
just a few hours left? Of course, I couldn’t miss Madeira, and
also spent a happy 45 minutes tasting my way through some lovely
Marsalas (the 10-year old Martinez Vergine Soleras Stravecchio
was tasty) and a few older samples (the 50-year plus Baglio
Oneto) were stunning, as was a Passito de Pantelleria (a wine
from an island in between Sicily and Tunisia) called Kabir, from
the Donnafugata stable.
Then, armed with a list of
amontillados, olorosos and VORS to seek out, provided by the
British sherry expert Julian Jeffs, I made my way – again – to
possibly the most interesting room on the fair.
In this room (or rather two
inter-leading rooms), across the hall from where I’d had a
guided introduction to sherry and VORS sherries by Beltrán
Domecq of Beam Global Spirits & Wine (one of the world’s largest
spirits companies and which owns the brandy brand Fundador and
sherry brands Pedro Domecq, Terry and Harveys Bristol Cream
among many, many others), were several small serving counters,
each dedicated to a particular style of sherry. This made it
possible to try 15 or so manzanillas, for example, without
moving a inch, other than to lean over the spittoon, before
moving on to finos, olorosos and so on.
With barely 15 minutes before
closing time, and with exhibitors packing up around me, myself
and Czech writer, Helene Baker, and I reached the VORS stand
(very old rare sherry). We demanded, in quick succession, a
Tradición palo cortado (30 years old), one from Lustau, González
Byass’ Apostoles, another palo cortado from Wellington (20 years
old) and then a 30 year old Coliseo Amontillado from Valdespino.
(These stands, I must say, are
staffed by exceptionally knowledgeable people: at the
Oloroso-Palo-Corado-Amontillado stand, for example, the young
lady there knew her way intimately around about 70 wines.)
In
the dying moments of the fair, VORS caretaker, Salvador, didn’t
falter or give us the impression he’d rather be leaving. But I
knew it wouldn’t last. So I told him that I was on my way to the
airport (a little white lie), would he please choose my last
sherry from Jerez? Salvador chose the Amontillado Reliquia a
Barbadillo (I’d had the Palo Cortado Reliquia the day before in
the VORS tasting), and very nice it was too (as you can see
alongside).
Venerable
oldies
29 May 2008
Despite the fact that Vinoble
lasts four days, it is very difficult to taste even half the
wines on offer at the various stands, particularly if you’re
also interested in attending the tutored tastings. These include
presentations of most of the wine styles and countries or
regions represented at the fair, as well as several special
tastings.
Before I’d left for Spain, I
decided the two that were not to be missed at any cost were
‘Sherry wines – the oldest of the region’ and ‘Four vintages of
Chateau d’Yquem’. All of the tastings, these grand ones as well,
were unreserved – first come, first served. I was close to the
front of the queue for both, a reflection of my eagerness.
Fortunately for me, unlike my
Ferrán Adriá-designed ‘El Bulli’ lunch, I was not disappointed.
The
sherry tasting, presented by the director general of the Consejo
Regulador de Jerez, César Saldaña, was exceptional. He had
secured six very rare wines (the first two pictured here
alongside the blue spittoon) for us:
4 Palmas –
Bodegas González Byass: from a solera started in 1871; the
average age of the components of the current bottling is
estimated to be at least 50 years old
AOS
Amontillado – Bodegas Osborne: the solera was founded in
1903 to celebrate the birth of the owner’s son and the first
wines only drawn from it in 1924 for his 21st
‘coming of age’
Oloroso
Tradición VORS – Bodegas Tradición: this is a new bodega (10
years old) but has been a negociant business for many years;
the average age on this is 45 years
Oloroso Añada
1959 – Bodegas Williams & Humbert: from a static (and sealed
by the Consejo Regulador) crianza therefore the fino flor
dies out over the years and the wine ages oxidatively; this
retails at about €800 a bottle
Palo Cortado
Reliquia Barbadillo – Bodegas Barbadillo: apparently from
the ‘No’ butts; butts which the cellar master believes might
turn into palo cortado, or might turn into vinegar, are
marked with a big ‘No’ and left alone, and in this instance,
padlocked!
Viejo Cream –
Bodegas Valdespino: from oloroso and PX with a RS of 140g/l
Tasting
with me was the venerable Julian Jeffs (possibly the most
respected Englishman in Jerez and pictured here), who first
published Sherry in the Mitchell Beazley Classic Wine
Library series in 1961. It has been updated four times since. We
agreed that we had been spoilt indeed.
The next day, Pierre Lurton,
President of the LVMH-owned Chateau d'Yquem, and its maître de
chai, Sandrine Garbay, presented the 2004, 2003, 1998 and 1988
vintages to a room that also included Bordeaux legends John and
Petronella Salvi, and Le Pin and Vieux Chateau Certan’s Fiona
Morrison MW.
Although the room directed
questions to Pierre, he was quick to honour Sandrine (pictured
alongside him) who has made numerous vintages at Yquem after
being hired straight from university several years ago.
As much as I enjoy old wines,
I found myself drawn to the 2004. It was fresh and delicate with
considerable botrytis apricot and humbug on the nose and palate.
This was quite a difficult year – a dry September was followed
by a wet October and about half the crop was left out of the
wine despite rigorous selection during the six tries through the
vineyards – but I thought the wine had considerable balance.
By contrast, the 1988 was a wonderful vintage, if one that was
somewhat late – the harvest finished at the end of November.
This had a dried fruit complexity that I found lacking in the
other wines and was as smooth as silk; yet I found the finish a
little short. That said, I emptied all from my glass – indeed,
you can see the four from this tasting artfully arranged over my
notebook here.
Hanging out
in Jerez
27 May 2008
Seen at
Vinoble …
Russian wine journalist and
educator, Bisso Atanassov, who recently worked a vintage in
Robertson and
wrote about his
experiences for Grape, and Yoel Abarbanel, sommelier at Le
Gavroche.
Crème de Tête and Straw Wine
from Signal Hill’s Jean-Vincent Ridon, the only South African
wines on show. Also available to taste was Le Signal Muscat de
Rivesalte from Saint Paul de Fenouillet in the south of France;
I suspect made by J-V in his country of birth although no-one at
the stand could confirm it.
Heard at
Vinoble …
Vega Sicilia, arguably Spain’s
best-known prestige winery, plans to launch in South Africa
later this year and will bring its flagship wines, Vega Sicilia
‘Unico’ and Vega Sicilia ‘Valbuena’ as well as those from Alion
(both in the Ribera del Duero), Pintia (from Toro) and Oremus
(from Tokaji in Hungary) to the Cape.
‘My unofficial research into the seductive capacities of various
varieties shows that, if I can get a girl to drink viognier with
me, the success rate of me being able to convince her to stay
the night is 7 out of 10. That’s the highest so far.’ – a young
sommelier from Brussels.
A few
stars from TopWineSpain
25 May 2008
TopWineSpain
is a one-day fair held at the Hacienda Benazuza, a prestigious
hotel situated about half an hour from Seville. The exhibitor
tables are set up in the grounds, which are calming and
beautiful – little courtyards brimming with lavender beds and
lemon tree groves, water features, and nooks and crannies where
you can sit and digest, literally and figuratively, what you’ve
just tasted.
While the name implied that the wines on show represent the best
of what Spain has to offer, there is no formal selection
process, indeed any producer could exhibit if they so desired.
That said, most of what I tasted was of a high standard, and I
did find much to like. These are a few of my favourites:
The 2007 Xarel-lo from
Augustus Forum, a producer in the Penedes, is apparently one of
only a dozen or so bottled as a single variety. It is made from
40 year old vines, and I found it refreshing, nutty and gently
seasoned with oak.
I also liked the 2003 Reserva
from Fernando Remirez de Ganuza in Rioja. Tempranillo dominates
the blend (90% - the other grape being graciano), which is aged
in a mix of French (80%) and America oak. This was an
exceptionally warm vintage in Rioja but this wine has retained a
vibrant core, around which sweet – not over ripe – red cherry
fruit is wrapped.
Javier Alen from Viña Mein in
the Ribeiro makes both an unwooded and lightly wooded (5%)
version of the same blend from local Galician varieties. There’s
80% treixadura, 10% todello, 5% loureira and then a soupçon of
albarino, torrontes, albilla and caiño. Both wines were well
balanced and bright, with peaches and floral aromas, and palates
lightly dusted with white pepper.
Very interesting was a 100%
verdejo made at Ossian in Rueda but bottled as DO Tierra de
Castillia y Leon. The vineyards here are 900m above sea level
and have a very deep – 8m – sandy topsoil above clay. As a
consequence of this sand, phylloxera never reached these
vineyards and owner, Havier Zaccaguini, claims the vines are 150
years old, or older. He’s hired a Burgundian winemaker, Pierre
Milman, who is treating the wine as he does his chardonnay in
France – no destemming, no maceration, barrel fermented and aged
on lees for 9 months. The wine was quite exceptional – lemony
with hints of spices, well balanced and elegant.
I also spent a long time at
Pago de Los Capellanes, DO Ribera del Duero. Tempranillo is the
mainstay of the red blends here but I want to tell you about two
single vineyard wines being produced. The first is the 6 hectare
El Nogal (it means ‘tree’ and there’s a large tree in the
vineyard) which spends 24 months in French new barrels, which
are changed every six months (that is, the wine is put in new
barrels every six months, or four times). The oak did show on
the 2004 I tasted but was integrated; the fruit profile was soft
and vibrant, quite modern, I thought.
The two hectare El Picon (the
pinnacle of the triangle) is only made in very good years –
1988, 1989 and 2003, which I tasted. Here, the barrels are
changed every four months but the wine spends a total of 26
months in oak; so it sees new wood five times. Despite this, I
found this wine more classic and more perfumed, and delicately
balanced.
But my favourite wine was from
the producer called La Rioja Alta. As the rain started to fall,
I took the first sip of the 1995 Gran Reserva 904. With
licorice, cherry and ‘cellar notes’ on both nose and palate,
silky tannins and an endless finish, it was just heavenly. So, I
stood in the rain and finished a glass. The beautiful old
building, the dramatic grey skyline and the wonderful old wine
deserved it; I don’t melt.
PS: My El Bulli meal was super; not as innovative or as tricky
as I’d expected, but lovely just the same. The four courses
were:
Nuestro Salamorejo Cordobés (a tomato soup)
Rape al Pil-Pil con Verduritas (fish)
Entrecot de Ternrea al Pesto con Pasta Fresca (beef)
Pastel de Melocotón heladode Vainilla (peach and ice cream)
Crying
over spilt sherry
22 May 2008
As a reward for subjecting
myself to 23 hours of air travel to reach a destination which –
if there were a direct route from Cape Town – would take less
than 10 hours flying time, I promised myself a lunch of local
cured meats and a glass of La Ina (one of the excellent big fino
sherry brands, from Domecq) at the little tapas bar I found at
Madrid airport last year.
As I recall, it was at the end
of one the long T-sections of the terminal, about a 10 minute
walk from the hurly-burly of the major shopping zone. That
didn’t deter me, nor did the fact that I was wearing high-ish
heels and dragging my baggage, and nor did the possibility that
it could be in any one of the four terminals making up the
Madrid complex … I can’t recall exactly from which I’d departed
last year. I’ve always been a ‘glass half-full’ kind of girl.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t there – so, I determinedly set off for
the bar I’d spotted back where all the people were. Fortunately,
they had exactly what I was looking for but it was self-service
and, in-between guiding my luggage, trying to look sophisticated
in my heels and balancing the tray, my La Ina tipped over.
All that was left is that
small sip you can see in the photo alongside. And I couldn’t
even take a second to leave my table to buy another: it was
lunchtime and the queue never abated. Regardless of my
optimistic nature, it appears as if – today – my glass was
destined to be more than half empty!
• CvZ is on her way to Seville and Vinoble as a guest of
the organisers of Topwinespain and Vinoble to attend both shows
Bulli for
me
19 May 2008
I can’t recall when last I was
so excited – by the end of this week I will have eaten a meal
prepared for me by Ferrán Adriá, the legendary head chef of
Michelin three star restaurant, El Bulli, in Roses on the Costa
Brava. And, by the end of next week, I will have fully immersed
myself in one of my great wine loves, Spanish sherry.
To be honest, Adriá is not
going to be cooking just for me. He’s designed the meal that
will be served to guests attending Topwinespain, a celebration
of the best of Spanish wines being held at The Hacienda
Benazuza, a deluxe hotel which, in a previous life, was an 10th
century Arab farmhouse. After spending just over a day in
Sevilla, I’ll be journeying to Jerez de la Frontera and the 6th
International Exhibition of Noble Wines, Vinoble. Here, I’ll be
able to taste until my taste buds cry for mercy from the world’s
fortified, botrytised and natural sweet wines.
After thus being a guest of
Topwinespain and Vinoble, I’m staying on for a few days at my
own expense to enjoy the limestone buildings and Spanish sun
before heading home to the wake-up call that goes by the name of
Platter tastings.
But back to Adriá. He calls
his food ‘deconstructivist’, and it has inspired many in the
kitchen worldwide. Even in South Africa – my first deconstructed
meal was several Cape Wines’ ago when the restaurant Ginga
served ‘Bobotie with a contemporary perspective’. It was served
to accompany Pierre Jourdan Tranquille at the Celebration of
Cape Cuisine Wines of South Africa (WOSA) hosted in the Castle.
We can all make bobotie,
perhaps not as well as chef, Mike Bassett. So, courtesy of
www.starshefs.com, here’s Adriá’s ‘Apple Caviar’:
Ingredients:
Apple Juice - 1 ¼ pounds golden apples
Apple Reduction - ¾ pound Granny Smith
apples
Caviar - 8 ounces Apple Juice, ½ teaspoon
Alginato, 1/8 teaspoon citric acid
Calcium Chloride - 2 cups water, ½ teaspoon
calcium chloride
Garnish:
4 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and very
cold
½ teaspoon cinnamon
3/8 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
Method:
For Apple Juice: Wash and core apples and
cut into quarters. Purée apples and pour liquid into a tall and
narrow container. Freeze about 30 minutes so that the impurities
solidify and rise to the top. Remove from freezer and extract
impurities with a skimmer. Strain juice and reserve.
For Apple Reduction: Wash and core apples
and cut into quarters. Purée apples and pour liquid into a tall
and narrow container. Freeze about 30 minutes to solidify
impurities, which will rise to the top. Remove from freezer and
extract impurities with a skimmer. Strain juice and place over
medium heat until reduced to caramel consistency.
For Apple Caviar: While cold, mix 1/3 of
juice with Alginato in blender until Alginato has dissolved.
Heat mixture to 205°F, then remove from heat and stir in
remaining juice. Add baking soda and stir to dissolve. Strain
and freeze until service.
For Calcium Chloride: Dissolve the calcium
chloride in water and reserve.
To Serve:
Purée Granny Smith apples and freeze in a very
tall and narrow container 5 minutes. Fill 4 syringes with apple
solution. Release one drop at a time into Calcium Chloride and
cook 1 minute in water. Strain and rinse caviar in cold water
bath. Drain and add 2 teaspoons of Apple Caviar. For each
serving, put ¾ ounce of caviar in a cylindrical mold, season
caviar with a little Apple Reduction, cinnamon and 3 drops
vinegar. Seal and serve. Enjoy.
Water on
the table
16 May 2008
I’ve just finished reviewing –
as a favour to someone I owe lots of favours – the text for a
booklet intended as a guide for catering staff, restaurant and
hotel employees, and consumers. The booklet is about mineral
waters, and the authors suggest that water of this type should
be treated with the same reverence as wine. So, they offer
advice on what glasses to use when serving still and sparkling
mineral water, how to clean those glasses, what temperature to
serve the water, how to taste water, and – my personal favourite
– an instruction to leave the ice and lemon in the kitchen.
Victory at last!
The tasting procedure is, of
course, very similar to that of tasting wine. But one thing I
found missing (it may be included as a table, those haven’t been
sent to me for review yet) was a list of the aromas and flavours
the taster might find, and what they tell the taster about the
water.
For example, a slight ‘aloe’
or bitter aftertaste on a red wine might suggest that it is from
the pinotage grape; but what does a ‘gentle and lingering
bitterness’ (I quote from the book) say about the mineral water?
Is it high in potassium, low in calcium, high in boron, low in
manganese etc, and should I even worry about it? I asked
www.ask.com and learnt that Ewald Schnug from the German
Ferderal Agricultural Research Centre in Braunschweig has
published the mineral content analysis of many of the world’s
bottled waters.
You
can find the results on
www.mineralwaters.org, which I clicked to discover that
Perrier has the following make up:
Boron (B)
24.2 ppb
Phosphorus
(P) 593.16 ppb
Titanium
(Ti) 1.24 ppb
Chromium (Cr)
4.66 ppb
Manganese (Mn)
Iron (Fe)
1005 ppb
Cobalt (Co)
0.33 ppb
Nickel
(Ni) 4.87 ppb
Copper (Cu)
4.41 ppb
Zinc (Zn)
12.84 ppb
Arsenic (As)
0.37 ppb
Molybdenum
(Mo) 0.73 ppb
Cadmium
(Cd) 0.22 ppb
Lead
(Pb) 0.99 ppb
Uranium
(U) 2.41 ppb
Aluminium (Al)
San
Pellegrino, one of my favourite waters, comprises the
following:
Boron
(B) 268.35 ppb
Phosphorus
(P) 705.22 ppb
Titanium
(Ti) 1.16 ppb
Chromium (Cr)
3.41 ppb
Manganese (Mn)
0.13 ppb
Iron (Fe)
1012 ppb
Cobalt (Co)
0.32 ppb
Nickel
(Ni) 2.92 ppb
Copper (Cu)
4.58 ppb
Zinc (Zn)
7.8 ppb
Arsenic (As)
1.95 ppb
Molybdenum
(Mo) 44.79 ppb
Cadmium
(Cd) 0.23 ppb
Lead
(Pb) 1.05 ppb
Uranium
(U) 7.71 ppb
Aluminium (Al)
I can immediately see that my
preferred water has far higher boron and arsenic numbers, but
seeing as these are parts per billion, I’m confident I’ll still
be here tomorrow.
But, I did ask
www.ask.com what boron tastes like. And didn’t get an answer
but discovered I could learn more about what boron reacts with,
how boron was named, what color it is, whether boron has an
odor, whether it’s a solid liquid or gas, what boron is used
for, how many protons boron has, and whether or not boron is
malleable….
There was, however, a link to
an article headed ‘The Taste Tests’. This gave me a smidgen of
information about elements other than boron.
Magnesium test:
1/8 tsp. Epsom Salts in 8 oz water. Stir and taste. If you don't
need it, it will taste thin or bitter. If you do need it, it
will taste like plain water or even better than plain water. It
may taste thick or sweet if you are severely deficient.
Potassium test:
1/8 tsp. potassium
chloride in 8 oz water. If you don't need it, it will taste
salty or bitter. If you do need it, it will taste like water
(though perhaps a little funky), or even better than plain
water.
Acid tests:
I/8 tsp. of either citric or malic acid in 8 oz water. If it
tastes unpleasantly sour, you don't need it. If it tastes sour
but good, you need it. If it tastes sweet, you really need it.
Ah, well, back to the boron
board.
By the way (I may have mentioned this before), one of the
authors gave an interesting tasting several years ago. He had us
taste waters that came respectively from a limestone soil, a
granitic soil and one other. We discussed what we tasted, and
then he poured us three wines, one each from each of the soil
types. Guess what, we were able to match them exactly using the
waters as the reference points. I know it’s odd, but I think
it’s interesting.
Screwy
statistics
13 May 2008
I was one of the judges – call
me fortunate or not – who got to taste two large white wine
classes at the recent Old Mutual Trophy Wine Show. Others, like
Wine magazine’s editor Christian Eedes and Jordan’s Gary
Jordan – call them fortunate or not – found themselves up
against three red wine classes in as many days.
Comparing my experience of the
two large class stints – sauvignon blanc and chardonnay – is
interesting:
We (three judges and one
associate judge) found dramatically fewer obviously ‘corked’
wines in our sauvignon blanc class than in the chardonnay
flight, and there were also more wines that appeared to be
prematurely oxidized in that latter class. By contrast, the
sauvignon class exhibited far more wines with a reductive
characteristic. This sometimes ‘blew off’, and sometimes didn’t.
Personally, I also found the alcohols on the chardonnay wines a
little more obvious.
And what do the statistics
reveal?
In
the unwooded sauvignon blanc class, 41% of the wines were
bottled under screw cap (compared to 38% in the wooded class).
Only 11% in both the wooded and unwooded chardonnay classes were
screwcapped. The average alcohols were 13.5% for unwooded
savvies, 13.12% for wooded, 13.72% for wooded chards and 13.56”
for unwooded.
This higher-than-ever-before
percentage of screwcapped wines was lauded by the South African
judges, but derided by two of those from overseas. Sam Harrop MW
reported that he’d recently judged in Perth where the total
number of screwcap entries exceeded 66%.
On the other side of the coin,
the judge from Germany and editor-in-chief of Meininger’s
Wine Business International and chief editor and publisher
of Gault Millau German Wine Guide, Joel Payne, said South
African producers should be guided by their markets, and that
markets in Germany, Holland and Switzerland, for example, where
he knows South African wines are popular, still want cork in
their bottles, not screwcap closures. Valid point.
Harrop and oft-lauded wine
writer and judge-in-demand Anthony Rose rejected Joel’s view
outright, claiming that producers should first and foremost do
what is best for their wines because, each time a South African
wine is opened, it speaks for both the winemaker and the
industry as a whole. It, therefore, they said, deserves to be
dispatched from the cellar in the best condition possible, and
given the best protection possible. Valid point.
By the way, the screwcap
percentage in other white classes included wooded whites 50%,
chenin blanc 22% and 30% depending on whether it was wooded or
not, and viognier above 50%.
For the record, I’m mostly
with the screwcap. I wasn’t always on its side but every time I
open a grand bottle that is corked, I take one step closer to
becoming a screwcap fanatic. I’ll be totally convinced when
someone serves me a line-up of three: a truly great Burgundy, a
stunning Bordeaux and a glorious Barolo, all bottled under
screwcap. Any takers?
(Ah yes, Cathy – the editor can’t resist intervening – but if
your trio is young, will you be absolutely confident that
they’ll mature as they should for 20 years under screwcap?)
Burnt
rubber or resin – let's admit there's something there
9 May 2008
If you’ll permit the metaphor
… The last thing the South African wine industry – growers,
producers, distributors, exporters, etc – should do in the face
of Jane MacQuitty’s assertion in The Times two weeks ago
that our wines have a ‘tell-tale dirty, rubbery red wine pong’
is to draw the
oxwagons closer together to form a laager of angst and
introspection.
Instead, we should admit to
ourselves that, while we might not like what she had to say and
even less the way she said it, our wines exhibit a character
that can offend the nose and palate of our major trading partner
for wine.
This criticism has been
levelled for a number of years, but we’ve been side-tracked as
an industry by other important considerations and battles –
think virus, think volatile exchange rate, think Brett, think
TCA – or did we do the ‘laager’ thing? No matter what, the time
has come to correct whatever it is that so provokes these
descriptions.
One
of the hurdles we’ll have to jump on the way to finding the
solution is that we locals don’t seem to know what MacQuitty and
others are talking about. Could it be that our ‘national palate’
is immune to the character, in much the same way as a heavy
smoker can’t pick up the tobacco aromas that clings to her and
other heavy smokers, but that non-smokers hone in on
immediately?
Or could it be that it’s a
question of semantics?
That certainly appeared to be
at least part of the case when I was judging the cabernet
sauvignon class at the Trophy Wine Show this week with Sam
Harrop MW Jordan’s Gary Jordan and associate judge Eric Botha
from Woolworths. Sam trained as a winemaker in his native New
Zealand but moved to the United Kingdom in 1997 as a wine buyer
for Marks & Spencer, which he left in 2004 to start his own wine
consultancy. He also makes wines together with Tom Lubbe
(previously of The
Observatory
in the Swartland) in southern France, and is the judge
responsible for the logging and analysis of faults at the
International Wine Challenge.
Not long into the judging, we
came across a wine which Sam politely referred to as having
‘that rubbery pong that Jane MacQuitty doesn’t like’. The South
Africans in the room couldn’t find Sam’s ‘rubber’, but Gary and
I both thought we’d describe the aroma and taste we objected to
as ‘resinous’, for me, that aroma you get from knotty pine floor
boards when one or two of the knots start weeping. And I suspect
this might be the ‘sappy oak’ of show chairman Michael Fridjhon.
Either way (or none), we have
to know what to look for, so that the chemical compound or
compounds causing it can be isolated and identified, and we can
work towards eradicating these from our wines. The variables to
consider are myriad: just for example, with his viticulturist
bent, Gary said he wants to investigate the chance that the
creosote often used to treat the poles used in the vineyard is
influencing the final wine; winemaking fault expert Sam mused
about complex sulphides.
Good news is the fact that
WOSA has started the ‘search and destroy’ ball rolling. It
organised a tasting in London at which many of those journalists
and importers who have most often said they pick up this rubbery
pong identified wines exhibiting the character, and then
attempted to very, very closely describe it. The wines and the
notes are currently being evaluated and tested.
This was, let it be known,
organised a few weeks before MacQuitty’s rant, in case she wants
to claim kudos when we begin making strides against the
phenomenon. And, let’s rejoice in the fact that we don’t remain
long in her thoughts or her columns. Last weekend she pointed
out that ‘You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a
single prince among southern French wines. The truth is, there
are more exciting, cheaper, terroir-led wines from other
sources.’
C’est la vie
PS: Peter
May let me know, in the nicest way possible, that my referring
to him as ‘pinotage punter’ made him feel a little out of
character because, as he wrote, ‘punter means small-time better
or user of prostitutes’. So, we’ve agreed that, in future, I
shall find other words beginning with the letter P to rhyme with
Peter and pinotage. Apologies.
A hurried
dispatch from Paarl
7 May 2008
I’m in Paarl judging at the
Old Mutual Trophy Wine Show and, in-between tasting (yesterday
from 08h15 to 19h30 with an hour for lunch plus a few 10-minute
breaks here and there while Celia Gilloway and her team lined up
the next batch of wines), and the sponsor dinner commitments,
there’s not much time for blogging.
Talking of bergamot, as I was:
while here, sipping a cup of Earl Grey in my room, I received an
email from pinotage punter Peter May telling me that the tea
gets its distinctive flavour from bergamot, and that his first
‘run in’ with the herb came when he read the ingredients list on
the pack. Peter directed me to a few sites to read more about
the tea and the Earl of Grey including that of
Twinings.
Mari, who lives I don’t know
where because email addresses don’t always give that away, wrote
to say she wants to sell the contents of her temperature
controlled cellar, which comprises about 900 bottles of South
African wines, the oldest from the 1970s and the youngest the
early 2000s. I’ll give her a few suggestions depending on where
she tells me the cellar is located, but if anyone is interested,
email me and I’ll pass on your details.
Finally, I’m becoming
increasingly aware of the very different relationship people 20
years younger than me have with the web, and how this could
contribute to wine marketing. Philip’s cousin’s wife – for
example – created a Face Book page for her unborn baby and
posted her scans and photographs of her during the pregnancy,
and of him, of course, when he was born, for her family and
friends to see even though they live continents away. She, and
countless others like her, make up a market that would not have
a problem building a relationship with a brand despite them
residing in the UK, and it growing in a vineyard in the southern
hemisphere. So, think about who
this is targeting and what kind of access they’ll
demand in future.
Wine
language at its
viler end
3 May
2008
Jim Gordon, writing in Wine
Enthusiast Magazine's Unreserved, recently came
across a word he would never have associated with wine. In a
column entitled ‘Cat Pee, Fly Spray and the Turnoff of Vile Wine
Descriptions’, he writes that one of his tenets as a wine writer
is to not use jargon that the average, educated, non-enthusiast
consumer wouldn’t understand.
‘So I avoid calling grapes
“fruit” like everyone in the West Coast industry does. I just
call them grapes. I don’t say that a wine has a “nose” and
“palate” or at least very rarely. People have noses and palates.
Wines have aromas and flavours,’ he says. ‘It follows,’ he
continues ‘that I don’t want to call that distinctive aroma of
dry Riesling when grown in a very cool climate “petrol” or
“kerosene” or “diesel” even if some sommeliers and Masters of
Wine do. I think it’s this kind of wine-speak that makes us into
wine snobs and laughable eccentrics in the eyes of many.’
But Jim also admits to not
knowing a good way around the jargon when it comes to Riesling.
He’s tried out “smoky,” which he thinks doesn’t sound so
terrible as kerosene, and “lemon zest” but doesn’t think these
‘nail it’. Neither, for him, does “mineral”.
So Jim asked Western
Australian winemaking couple Peter and Elizabeth Pratten, of
Capel Vale winery, what term they use for the calling card aroma
of cool-climate Riesling. Peter replied: “Well, in public we
call it mineral, but around the winery we call it fly spray.”
Jim finished his blog stating
that he is never going to use that descriptor except for this
one time. ‘If riesling smells like fly spray to Peter, so be it.
How I describe riesling is my problem,’ he ends.
And that is how it should be,
shouldn’t it? I wonder if Jim would be interested to know I use
the term ‘flea powder’?
Bergamot
There are a few sentences in a
crime thriller I’ve just read – The Chameleon’s Shadow by
Minette Walters – dedicated to Jung’s theory of synchronicity.
One of the characters uses it to explain why one of the others
seems to bump into the police every few pages despite not being
connected to any of the murders being committed. ‘It proposes
the idea of meaningful coincidences, as when you come across a
word for the first time, then meet it again a couple of hours
later. Why have you never noticed it before if you come across
it twice in two hours? And why do you meet it again later?’ she
asks.
‘Because your eye passes over
it until you discover what it means. Once you understand it, it
becomes part of your vocabulary,’ is the suggested answer. She
replies: ‘That’s the logical explanation. There’s a mystical
element to synchronicity that talks about people, places and
things being attracted to a person’s soul and acquiring
significance as a result.’
That’s about as deep as they
delve into psychology, but it struck an immediate chord with me
when I heard the word ‘bergamot’. I first came across this word
about five years ago, when Philip printed out a recipe he’d
found for a chilled beetroot and bergamot soup. It didn’t
interest me at the time, so I slotted the piece of paper into a
soup recipe book, which then got left in the back of the
cupboard at the house in Pringle Bay.
Last week, reading the cook
book to ward off ‘grottiness’, I came across the recipe again,
and read it because I had some beetroot to hand. The explanation
of what bergamot is was longer than the recipe itself – its
Latin name is Monarda didyma, and it was described as one
of the most scented of all herbs, having a ‘flavour something
like sage and a rosemary like smell’. It is also known as bee
balm as bees love it, but is not the same plant as that which
produces bergamot oil (that comes from a citrus tree called the
bergamot orange).
Hmmm. So, now I knew. Just two
days later, we were tasting our new releases at Angela Lloyd’s
house. We’d just come to the end of our discussion about
Fairview’s Viognier when Ginette de Fleuriot concluded her
remarks along the lines of ‘with characteristic bergamot
nuances’.
My bergamot synchronicity had
begun, and I fully expect to meet this herb-word more often in
the future.
A soupy, wineless long weekend
28 April 2008
Like many people, I’m sure,
I’d been looking forward to this long weekend for a month of
Sundays. But it wasn’t to be. I felt (feel) grotty. Grotty
enough to have turned down an invitation to watch Star Trek with
Luke, grotty enough to cut the dogs’ walks down to 15 minutes,
and grotty enough to not even miss the wine I was offered.
In fact, I felt grotty
enough to know that my only salvation was soup. Fortunately, my
weekly box of vegetables from The Ethical Co-Op had arrived and
contained deep green spinach and fat garlic.I soften the garlic
in olive oil, threw in two cans of brown (Bortolli ?) beans with
their sauce, the spinach and a litre or so of mushroom stock.
After half an hour, I pureed the mixture and returned it to the
pot, added some sliced chorizo sausage and warmed it through.
Try it for grottiness. But,
sorry, no wine match.
Out of the mouth of babes … and hacks
24 April 2008
What the babes say
Perhaps I have mentioned
before that Philip and I, together with friends who come and go,
take one of the food stalls at the Food Wine & Fun Fair
organised as a fund raiser at Luke’s school. For the past five
years, we have rolled upwards of 100 portions of vegetarian or
crabstick maki over five hours. It’s labour intensive, and very
tiring.
This year, I changed the plot
because I was cycling The Argus tour the next day and just
couldn’t see why I should spend Saturday morning prepping all
the rice and vegetables, and the afternoon and evening rolling
and rolling and rolling and rolling. So, it was out with the
sushi and in with a Thai green chicken curry. All I had to do
was make it on the Friday and serve it up on the Saturday.
Effort? Thai is about 20 percent of sushi.
The first nine visitors to the
stand, most of them children who I thought had been sent by
their parents to forage, asked ‘Where’s the sushi?’ and
responded with dismay when they heard it wasn’t there. And now
the headmaster has just reported the results of a survey they
did to ascertain what meals the children would like served for
lunch at school. I quote from the weekly newsletter: ‘Amazingly
enough, the most popular request from the children was to have
sushi!’
Proof, once again, that you
really have to know your market before making any changes to
your product.
What the hacks say
I really feel a little
disloyal about my last blog questioning the ageability of our
‘younger’ wines, especially given the fierce attack the same
week by British wine writer
Jane MacQuitty in The Times. But I console
myself with the fact that sunshine journalism (or
head-in-the-sand writing) doesn’t do anyone any favours … except
our competitors.
Nevertheless,
I am feeling a little more patriotic this morning. Last night,
in a blind tasting of some pretty smart wines, I picked the only
South African as my favourite. It was the 2005 Sadie Family
Columella from the Swartland. (That's Eben Sadie in his
cellar, on the right.) Initially but briefly, the bouquet
was dominated by oak, then overwhelmed by red fruit, which also
made itself known on the palate. This was long and silky, with
firm but not aggressive tannins. I thought this wine would
improve and become more complex for at least another 10 years.
The other wines were from
Portugal and (like the Columella, or it like them) not very
expressive on the nose. By contrast, their palates were quite
distinctive and definitely more complex, structured and
considered. This led Eben Sadie to suggest that most New World
winemakers are mistakenly obsessed with their wines’ bouquets
instead of paying far more attention to their palates and
structures, which is where Old World wine makers have always
placed their emphasis.
Sitting around the dinner table after the tasting, his point
seemed very valid as I began to imagine a South African industry
bursting with wines made in this desired (according to Eben and
quite a few others) style. In the cold light of the morning,
however, I have to wonder what a world full of markets – markets
that are very happy with fruity, made-for-early-consumption wine
– would say.
Time in a
bottle
21 April 2008
Early in January this year, I
attended a tasting organised by Waterford’s Francois Haasbroek.
The objective was to examine wines from the 1980s– which many
regard as one of the best recent decades for South African red
wines – and early 1990s to try and extrapolate if those made two
or so decades later will age as gracefully.
Unfortunately, the makers of
the wines on the tasting – with the exception of Kevin Arnold –
were not present and so they could not describe to us how their
wines presented in their youth. In fact, I recall Overgaauw’s
David van Velden Jnr, who has been making the wine on the
family’s property since 2002, saying that he was running around
the cellar in nappies when his father was busy with the offering
from the early 80s on the tasting table.
And so, I came away from the
tasting not much wiser, but nevertheless thinking it quite
gratifying that the new generation of winemakers were seeking to
learn from the past. But I did find myself musing about that
tasting this morning when I took Stitch and Gabriella for their
walk; that, and three others I have attended over the past eight
days.
Last
Sunday, I was one of the guests at Remington and Geraldine
Norman’s home in Somerset West. Philosopher and author Remington
prefers his wines old, and is an avid fan of South African
wines. Every single bottle he opened that afternoon was lovely,
a few were spectacular.
The line up included bubblies,
Rieslings and blends from Bordeaux varieties. The oldest was a
1984 Meerlust Rubicon (reserved but gracious) and the youngest a
Kanonkop Paul Sauer 1995 (sweet fruited and gorgeous). For me,
however, the 1987 Klein Constantia Riesling stole the show with
its dry expression, subtle turpenes, lovely balance and endless
finish.
Then, on Saturday, the
Belthazar Wine Club (again, I was a guest) explored pinotage
from the 1970s, with a few ringers just to keep the tasters on
their toes. No-one could describe me as a fan of this grape but
I could have merrily stayed in the restaurant for a week sipping
my way through each and every bottle of Prof Perold’s cross.
My favourite, I think, was a
1974 Fairview, although the 1972 KWV came pretty close. Each and
every wine was a beautiful garnet hue, their bouquets brimmed
with tertiary aromas but still showed soft strawberry fruit, and
their palates were seamless and, for the most part, beautifully
balanced with no acid or alcohol – or oaky – spikes. (and no
bitterness, not once was this word mentioned.)
Finally, last night, Angela
and Mark Lloyd presented 13 wines from the 1998 vintage (some
of their dregs seen on the right!).
Admittedly, this is not one of the best South African red wine
vintages on record; it was hot, very hot. The tasters were
divided in opinion. For once, the wine makers there were more
forgiving than the imbibers-journalists, saying that they saw
well-handled oak and fair balance, given the rigours of the
harvest.
While I did find a half dozen
to like, I found myself often balking at high, unmarried
alcohols and furry tannins. Harsh as it sounds, if you were to
line up the 28 wines from these three tastings and tell me to
choose a case for my cellar and a bottle for tonight’s dinner
table, my choice would not come from the (relative) youngsters
of 1998.
But, does it really matter, given that most consumers are of the
‘I buys ‘em today and I drinks ‘em tonight’ ilk? I suspect it
will take many more walks …
Nice and nice
17 April 2008
• There’s nice and nice
Today, just today, I have
taken a telephone call from a man living in Port Elizabeth who
wants to buy a table grape vine to plant in his garden but can’t
find one at any of the garden nurseries in the Windy City, so
could I give him a list of grape vine nurseries in the Cape to
try? (I could, there’s a list in the South African Wine
Industry Directory).
A public relations lady has
called twice to ask for the contact details of two different
journalists – not journalists who write for Grape mind you, but
journalists from other publications. (I was able to comply but I
wonder what she would think if I asked her for the telephone
number of a competing ‘wine PR’ firm?)
Someone living in the UK but
wanting to relocate to the South African winelands asked my
advice via email about what he could study and where locally to
smooth his transition into our industry. (My answer was a bit
superficial but I think I gave him some food for thought; and
I’m glad he’s so positive about our country and industry, I hope
he looks me up when he gets here.)
And I have just finished
dashing off an answer – unfortunately, I couldn’t help this
allergy sufferer – to someone wanting to now if there is a list
or database that details the sulphur levels of all the red wines
in South Africa. (Anyone know of one? I could only suggest he
call wineries whose wine he is thinking of buying and ask.)
Now I think that’s enough
‘nice’ for the day. I enjoy being helpful, I really do, and
making friends from all over the wine world, but I do have work
to do and have to keep up with the blog … and the day is
speeding by. So, no more ‘nice’ until tomorrow!
• The one that (didn’t) get
away
I
suspect most of you recall that I enjoy crayfishing but – unless
I’m pulling them in with a net off a boat – the crayfish get to
spend more time toying with me, than I with them. For those of
you that don’t know, if you dive for crayfish, you have to free
dive (that’s without aqualungs) and the problem is they’re just
so damn fast that I seldom manage to get my hands on one before
needing to surface again for oxygen. A great deal of the time,
they get away, and my fisherman stories are much bigger than the
meal I put on the table.
Unfortunately for this chap
alongside, he didn’t get away from someone else and was
therefore the centrepiece of the seafood platter ordered by a
group of cyclists and wine lovers I joined at
Belthazar
(at Cape Town’s Waterfront) recently. He also comes from the
warmer East Coast waters and I suspect, if I ever saw a crayfish
his size underwater here, I’d panic.
Jonathan Steyn and the staff at Belthazar do a great job of
making guests feel welcome, especially if they’re wine lovers.
That night he showed the foreign visitors quite a few
interesting wines from his personal stock – if I recall
correctly, a Dewetshof Chardonnay thought to be made from
auxerrois (which was the grape variety smuggled into the Cape in
the belief that it was the real Burgundian thing) and the now
very scarce 1997 Boekenhoutskloof Syrah among them. In fact, you
could say Jonathan is quite the fisherman – he doesn’t let
anyone get away without having a truly memorable experience.
Gratification overload versus time-honoured
tradition
15 April 2008
This last weekend was a lesson
in contrasts, especially the first 24 hours. Friday night, for
example, was the epitome of entertainment in our modern age in
which our senses are over-loaded with sights and sounds. Just
think
Cathy's
blog