We took off in the dark. After the sun cast its indescribably fierce farewell.
Wild, those colours. Witnessing them one cannot escape intense beauty and pain simultaneously.
South Africa is a serious place. Stunning and severe.
A land that speaks through tribal drum, divided tongue, and without a doubt—the vine.
What a gift to hear her speak in wine.
Centenarian bush vines. North-facing sun. Oceanic convergence. Fynbos—and long-awaited freedom.
Old Vine Chenin that haunts you. Sémillon that thrusts you awake. Cinsault that rouses your spice receptors. Syrah that reveals the midpalate magic of schist. Pinotage nouveau that competes with Beajolais in candied candor. Pinot Noir and Chardonnay that whisper of where the whales dance—at the watergate of Hemel-en-Aarde, Heaven and Earth.
I recently returned from Cape Wine. I tasted well over 500 hundred wines. I will speak of five.
Blank Bottle 2021 ‘Luuks’ Chardonnay
Stellenbosch mountain vineyard Chardonnay framed by an exquisitely tailored suit of Sud Tyrol’s finest oak. How such a wine—even in its youth—manages to dance within this frame, and simultaneously transcend it, is intoxicating in itself. Oyster shell and butter-poached lobster lift from the glass. The palate leads with a luxurious lick of raw oak and then immediately dissolves into a pure expression of grape, site and place. One sip and one consumes the power of people in rhythm with their work, working together—the wine team from Blank Bottle and the barrel team from Mittelberger. Luuks is 'luxury' in Afrikaans. This was the first in the Blank Bottle lineup to be raised in custom-made new oak, 35% to be exact, and it wears it like a white glove. This wine came home with me.
Boschendal 2019 ‘Suzanne’ White Blend
A Sémillon-dominant (54%) Sauvignon Blanc (46%) blend made in honour of Boschendal farm’s original matriarch, Suzanne de Lanoy. A woman of formidable character and elegance with an assertive presence in her community. Elgin fruit. 11 months in mostly neutral, 500-litre barrels. Wildly aromatic. Celery ash, lanolin, grapefruit pith, Manzanilla olive and Arabian jasmine. Smokey, spicy, and seductive on the nose. On the palate—voluptuous power spirals around a strong acid backbone. Tremendous texture, generous and exciting. Far from subtle, yet incredibly versatile at the table.
Black Water 2017 ‘Cultellus’ Syrah
Francois Haasbroek is a man of few words. Search the web for his wines and you won’t find a site. In the glass is where Francois speaks, waiting patiently until the wine has something to say. On average his current releases are one to three vintages behind the rest of the pack. Is it longer aging that makes his wines longer in the mouth? Yes it is. Tasting his skin contact Palomino is like looking through a telescope, revealing layers unbeknownst to the terrestrial palate. But his Syrah renders you nearly speechless. Brooding, bloody and dark—in the most gentle way. Fierce, yet tender. Timeless. ‘Cultellus’ comes from the Latin word ‘culter,’ which roughly translates to ‘small dagger’ and references the razor blade-like schist in the vineyard. This wine penetrates with silent precision.
Storm 2020 ‘Ignis’ Pinot Noir
Site, aspect, soil. Organic cultivation, minimal intervention, maximum care. The spirit of the Old World echoes loud in the glass. Earthy, dark and alluring on a bed of dried red roses. Igneous rocks—from the Latin 'ignis,' meaning fire—liquify under intense heat and pressure, recrystallize and return to the earth’s surface, most commonly as granite. From flame to rugged fixture, ‘Ignis’ pays tribute to the decomposing granitic soil that gives structure to this vineyard. Ten percent whole bunch inclusion illustrates the vigneron’s hand in sync with site. If the energy coiled in the seat of this wine is any indication of where it’s going, we must meet again in the next two decades.
Alheit Vineyards 2021 ‘Nautical Dawn’ Chenin Blanc
Of the well over 500 wines I tasted, over half of them must have been Chenin. How does one choose just one to write about? Some wines simplify things for you. From vines planted in 1978, just four kilometers from the False Bay coastline, comes Nautical Dawn. Here the Stellenbosch sun quickly warms the shallow soil while a cold, salty south-east wind smacks this site. These old bush vines don’t flinch under such contradicting elements. They know exactly what to do and when to do it. In the glass you’ll find a snapshot of their wisdom. Vertical tension balanced by perfectly ripe yellow fruit with a lick of salt. This wine tastes like freedom.
I woke as the sun was rising over the Algerian desert. A soothing Seville orange glow and sand as far as the eye could see. I had just finished reading The Alchemist before departing for South Africa and this stunning view of the desert reminded me of one of my favourite quotes from the book. Santiago, the protagonist, is crossing the desert headed for the Egyptian Pyramids in pursuit of his Personal Legend. He encounters an important mentor along his journey, an alchemist, who offers him a glass of wine. Santiago is from Spain and nothing would quench his thirst more, but he says to the alchemist, “Isn’t wine prohibited here?” The alchemist responds, “It’s not what enters men’s mouths that’s evil. It’s what comes out of their mouths that is.”
I like this character—a lot.
I briefly tried to imagine myself crossing that desert without wine. How relieved I was when I saw mountains begin to rise and then descend into the Mediterranean. A short passage over that oligotrophic blue water and there we were flying directly up the Rhône Valley. With eyes wide open I pressed my forehead to the window. I was in awe and utterly grateful to be awake for this part of the flight—in bird’s eye view of the French’s immaculate attention to detail. As we flew towards a layover in Amsterdam I watched the Rhône snake its way up the valley towards Lyon. Then I got goosebumps. Bourgogne. There seemed to be not one puzzle piece of vineyard plot out of place from Marseilles to Dijon. Only a meticulous patchwork of sites planted to the contours of country. Then I remembered there is no French word for winemaker, only vigneron—vine grower—and the concept of terroir flashed as clear as this day at 35,000 feet.
I spent two weeks in South Africa studying its wines. Hundreds of high-acid Chenin Blancs later and my gums feel like they’ve receded to the bone, but the thought of tasting Chablis on the ground only brings a long-tooth smile from ear-to-ear. I wish to eject myself from the plane immediately and taste my way through Bourgogne.
