Geriatric musings
15 November 2005

I am old and weary, and thought I could quietly and unnoticed slip away from my duties. But it appears there are one or two who noticed, and have (flatteringly) missed me – so I shall look through my notes of the past while, and offer my outmoded thoughts on a few outdated events.

Two of them, in fact, should be noted, as I suspect they may well not come round again. The Winemakers Choice was a new idea from some bright young boys previously unheard of in the industry (as far as I’m aware) who thought that a jolly good way of getting wineries to enter was to invite the winemakers to be the judges – also a cheap way of getting judges, of course. They presented this as a great innovation, although, of course, Veritas has been doing the same for years.

The results were pretty much the customary mix of nonsense and the same old faces, however. I believe that the rather chaotic judging process (which was never made explicit to outsiders) might have been enough to deter them from taking part again, even if the awards ceremony hadn’t been quite so awful. It promised to be full of glitz and glamour, and the tickets were very expensive. I don’t know if any were actually sold, except to the captive audience of the wineries.

The organisers didn’t manage to get rid of any to the more respectable wine journalists (taking ‘respectable’ as an entirely relative term), who’d been dubious of the whole enterprise from the start and stayed away in their droves – hoping that if they ignored it it would just go away.  So accounts of the evening come from others who might well be just as unreliable as journalists. The drink was pretty bad, I believe, and the food almost non existent, which of course rendered the entertainment even more awful – it was a combination which apparently drove Gary Jordan (surely the most polite and anxious-to-please of winemakers) to grab the MC’s microphone at some late stage and loudly demand what the Americans call nershment. Whether he got it, I’m not sure. But I have strong suspicions that the young entrepreneurs will have more difficulty getting wineries and sponsors to give them money next year.

The joys of Juliet and the global pantry
Although, who knows. They should try the banks, who seem willing to fall over each other handing over large sums of the money they gouge from us to the organisers of various wine competitions and shows. Michael Fridjhon has at least three of them, for example: First National, Fairbairn Capital and Calyon. But at least he delivers them the goods. Juliet Cullinan has only one bank giving her money, I think, Standard Bank. It’s been suggested that her ‘festival’ in Johannesburg takes place in small venues so that a modest crowd will make the place look all abustle. But this didn’t work when she brought the event down to Cape Town a month or so back. Apparently it was the first wine show in the history of the world which had more participating wineries than it did visitors. I’m told that there were about thirty of the former and about twenty of the latter – but you know how numbers get exaggerated in the telling. Will there be a repeat performance next year? What does Standard get out of it? Who knows – my little featherbrain doesn’t understand these things, but I’m sure that the whispers are wrong and that the sponsorship is not just because of Family Accounts (Cullinan – think diamonds, mines, etc).

Anyway, I think that the indefatigable and ever-polite Juliet is worth financing, if only for the entertaining newsletters she emails around. Her latest purple effusions were a puff for ‘The Peerless Dom Pérignon’ – that is, it looked like she’d been on a major freebie to the Moët place in Champagne ( where, in the  ‘inner sanctum …. silk curtains highlighted cream accents and furnishings in pale blue, complimented [sic] by the gold leaf [and] Persian carpets warmed the wooden herringbone floors). I presume all this gorgeous prose (which seems suspiciously grammatical by Juliet’s normal standards, and rather like a public relations handbook) was recompense for what appeared to be an excellent lunch.

I must share some details with you, as perhaps you aren’t on Juliet’s mailing list - just some snatches to make you envious: ‘Soft sighs of pleasure accompany the opening of the 1998 as gloved hands pour it into flutes.… We savour the nuances of citrus, gingerbread, white fruit and flowers, which escape on the wings of the zesty bubbles….  I observe how my taste buds play with the Champagne, salty black balls [caviar, of course, you twits], and chalky crisps [um, well].’

The men responsible for these winged and zesty bubbles, reports Juliet (does she really want to admit writing this stuff herself?) ‘walk a fine line between maintaining tradition and creating innovation through imagination. Their decisions dictate the future tastes and trends of Dom Pérignon, making an international statement in the glass that is appreciated by millions around the globe.’ If you say so, Juliet. And I’m sure I’d be just as appreciative if I were invited to lunch at a place where ‘designing menus around the bubble is paramount’, and where the chef de cuisine’s ‘pursuit to exhibit the uniqueness of these cuvée's [sic] has taken him around the world to discover a global pantry’. Okay, so the grammar and spelling isn’t quite perfect after all, but can one do more than hang one’s mouth open in awe?

Death by PR
Anyone in that part of Stellenbosch should please keep a look out for Stellenzicht winemaker Guy Webber. He’s a very nice Guy, and I’m a little anxious about him. Some recently received PR gush recently solemnly announced that he was apparently so pleased when a pinotage of his made it into the Absa Top Ten that he announced: ‘I can die now.’ It’s not so much his imminent death that I’m concerned with, but his sanity.

Vindication?
A last thought. I was pleased to see that Simonsig’s Debbie Burden walked up to get the trophy when the winery’s Pinotage came amongst the Top Ten (sponsor Absa – another bank, you see: no wonder bank charges are so monstrous!).  You might remember I not long ago commented on the oddness of the situation whereby Debbie qualified to be be the Woman WInemaker of the Year, but it was always Johan Malan who walked up to get the silverware at these competitions. I’m sure truth and justice would have prevailed anyway, but can I deny myself the pleasure of feeling that perhaps I gave the requisite nudge? As I mentioned, I’m older by the day, and more decrepit – indulge me.