Falling in love (all over again) 8 August 2005

Chris Williams is seduced by cabernet

Cabernet Sauvignon: universally accepted as the king of red wine grape varieties, even the double-barrelled name conjures up images of nobility. It is planted extensively in almost every wine country and reliably produces good to great wines wherever it is found. Yet cabernet does not seem to enjoy the passions and dedication of wine makers or drinkers of some other varieties such as  pinot noir, syrah and riesling.

Perhaps it is because cabernet is so ubiquitously planted and reliably made and has none of the capricious character of varieties such as pinot that it does not inspire the slavish commitment amongst its adherents. Cabernet is also not so picky about the site where it is grown to produce even half decent wine. Cabernet is like an uncomplicated girl next door while pinot noir is like a Siren, captivating those that come to close to her only to lead them to disaster on the surrounding jagged rocks.

And yet it was a wine made from Cabernet Sauvignon that first made me fall in love with wine. I can still recall the heady bouquet of freshly crushed ripe cassis, sweet oozing juiciness, alluring minerality and stoniness with a fragrant cedary, oaky perfume that was unlike anything I had smelled before. At age twenty it was like I was  discovering something as new and interesting as girls all over again.

The palate was  linear and tightly wound, coiled like a spring with almost unbearable tension. It was austere and generous at the same time and it coated the mouth with an enigmatic dry richness that I still search for today. It was a bottle of the Le Bonheur Cabernet Sauvignon 1982 which I drunk in 1990. It was produced by an unhailed genius called Mike Woodhead who was the owner and ‘winemaker’ of Le Bonheur at the time. I use the word winemaker in inverted commas because Woodhead was more a man of the soil than a technician. I have never met him but from what I have read and heard (and tasted) he is an unrecognised pioneer in  South African wine history. Mike was a soil scientist with a passion for wine and surely no two professions could be more usefully complementary. Sadly he is not in the industry anymore for I am sure he could still teach us a trick or two.

Rediscovery

I have always enjoyed great Cabernets and relish cabernet based blends, especially good bordeaux, but my true passions have always been held by  the other grapes I mentioned. Cabernet has always been there for me while I chased after the transient attractions of other wines.

That is why it was like falling in love all over again  when I tasted through the 2005 Meerlust Cabernet Sauvignon barrel samples. There was the regal, deep purple robe, the brightness and vivacity almost glowing in the glass. The aromas were all black fruit, plum and cassis but tempered by a fresh herbaceousness which had me salivating in an instant. There was the unmistakable scent of cedar, cigar box and pencil shavings so characteristic of fine cabernet matured in classy French oak.

On the palate the wine was still obviously very youthful, reminding me of  young cabernets’ reputation as a bit of a bruiser in the tannic department, but the body was full, rich and rewarding with fresh acidity and a cool, stony finish. Mouth-puckering  yet satisfyingly dry was the lasting impression when the flavours eventually faded after a long three minutes and very obviously a magnificent wine upon which to build the next vintage of  Meerlust Rubicon.

And who knows, perhaps we may even be tempted to bottle a pure Cabernet Sauvignon to remind wine lovers that it was Cabernet and not Rubicon upon which Meerlust first built its reputation, starting in 1975. I tasted some of these bottles recently: the fruit is fading but there is a seductive bouquet of tobacco leaf, leather, wet soil and ancient ink, and all this at a mere 11% alcohol and no new small French oak barrels! The tannins have evolved and have become almost sweet and savoury.

It’s not surprising that cabernet is loved by viticulturists and winemakers alike, a darling to grow, disease resistant and still producing toothsome wines even when allowed to bear generously. Yet it is when you plant cabernet in those gravelly, stony soils with a reasonable ratio of clay to prevent drought and when the yield is reduced that the real beauty of ‘Cab’ starts to emerge. Thrillingly concentrated yet light, juicy fruit which manages to remain dry and never cloying and then the unmistakable but hard to describe stoniness and minerality  which you can only understand if you have drunk superb cabernet sauvignon or licked freshly broken river stones. Cool, slightly chalky and flinty, with the texture of unpolished cleaved granite, smooth but ‘bumpy’. Just recounting the description makes me want to rush to that particular barrel and taste it all over again.

How is it possible that a vine  has the capacity to take fermented fruit juice and  coax these flavours from the coarse earth and transfigure them into the most fabulous thing in the world? This is the only alchemy that I believe in.

Next time: Seduced by pinot noir.