Like many folk with a similarly sensitive constitution, I tend to be particular about the Sauvignon Blanc I select to chuck down the old bung-hole. Some of the stuff is so acidic that drinking it feels like having a rusty steel vuvuzela shoved down your throat by a Zimbabwean refugee.

The addition of Semillon to cut the rapier-like acidic thrust has always been welcomed. And lately another soothing nuance has cropped up in the Sauvignon Blanc spectrum: Muscat Blanc.

Georgio Dalla Cia’s Sauvignon Blanc 2009 was the first such model to come my way. As a regular visitor to the Dalla Cia eatery Pan E Vino in Bosman’s Crossing I try most of Georgio’s booze. The Sauvignon Blanc has usually been what one might describe as ordinarily quaffable. But the 2009 has a delectable honey-melon juiciness, the result of a glug of Muscat and I find it most enticing.

Of course, using Muscat to cast a sensual veil over the leanness of a virginal white wine is not new. I was waltzing through Danie de Wet’s wine library a while back when Danie hauled out a Steen (Chenin) and Muscat wine his dad had made on De Wetshof in the 1970’s. We pulled the cork, and the wine was stunning after almost 40 years in the bottle. Nutty, bracing, fresh.

Petrus de Waal, he of Hermit on the Hill fame, also saw it fit to employ a wash of Muscat in his new label, The White Knight, a very pleasant little wine that is achieving a bit of cult status.

The base of the wine is, of course, Sauvignon Blanc as De Waal is both a disciple of and a preacher on this grape variety. He is, after all, secretary of the Sauvignon Blanc Interest Group, along with the Pinotage Association and Jeff Grier’s band of MCC brewers the only such interest group that actually seems to do something on the subject it represents.

The White Knight’s two-third Sauvignon is fleshed out with one-third Semillon, both from the Stellenbosch region. And then just a splash of Muscat Blanc is added to the mix, although the influence of the splash is huge.

The result is an extremely enjoyable example of polished vinous purity, with the Muscat just adding a bit of sluttish delectability to the mix. No, Muscat is not adding residual sugar or piercing sweetness. The grape elevates the flavours of the Sauvignon Blanc, especially and gives the wine a colourful spiciness and a teasing flash of exotic flesh.

I like this wine because it’s interesting, challenges convention and makes the offerings on the white wine front a bit more exciting. Let’s face it, Sauvignon Blanc is becoming like Cameron Diaz’s acting: everybody likes it at some time or another, but you can’t help thinking that there must be more.

Nataniel

Okay, I’ll let egg head Afrikaans singer Nataniël touch my leg. My arm. Heck, he can even touch my studio.

But Bru, don’t you touch my sosatie.

ShopriteCheckers, the better-and-better store, has been using the Egg Head for some time to promote their edibles. And usually it was easy to avoid Nataniël’s lyrical waxings on, say, a chunk of cottage cheese or such. But the latest Checkers advertisement calls for reaction from anyone concerned at preserving the authenticity of South African cuisine.

In the latest ad, his Eggedness is selling sosaties. Made from grain-fed beef. Splattered in some tomatoey-looking juice. And during the exhibition, viewers are encouraged to buy these lovely, delicious sosaties.

As a figurehead of Afrikaans culture and a TV chef one would have expected Nataniël to inform the Checkers copywriting team that anything on a stick not a sosatie maketh. See, sosatie is a South African dish which is separated from other kebabs due to the fact that is made from lamb or mutton which is marinated in a blend of spices inspired by the traditions of Malay cooking.

No, this is not Sannie Smit, Lienkie Gotswater or a member of the Kappiekommando speaking. The origins of sosatie are internationally recognised. Wikipedia: “For sosaties – from sesate (skewered meat) and sate (spicy sauce) – mutton chunks are marinated overnight in fried onions, chillies, garlic, curry leaves and tamarind juice, then threaded on skewers and either pan-fried or grilled[1]. Of Cape Malay origin, used in Afrikaans.”

But if that is the game ShopriteCheckers and Egg Head are playing, why don’t they just go the whole hog. What about a chocolate flavoured melktert and vegetarian bobotie? Flour-free koeksisters filled with caramel or a Tex-Mex tomato bredie, anybody?

The power wielded by big supermarkets is truly frightening. They can contort tradition, misguide consumers and screw suppliers.

And that is before we’ve reached the wine counter.

Wonder what ShopriteChairman Christo Wiese was doing carrying R7m in cash out of Heathrow. Buying up old recipes, perhaps?

-          Faizel van der Vyver

That man Riaan Smit reports on his last few days’ work in Burgundy and offers some insight into wine industry economics.

I have been asked whether it is worth the effort – and cost – to work in France as a stagiaire (trainee).

 I am on my way back home after spending five weeks of hard, hands-on, vineyard labour at Chateau du Moulin-a-Vent, a Cru Beaujolais in Burgundy. This is my second stint as a trainee in France in 10 months, having worked a harvest at Chateau La Gordonne, in Provence, during September last year.

 Classes started again at Elsenburg on Monday after the long World Cup break. I will be a week late. Frankly, I will enjoy the 30+ degree Celsius, shirtless, days in the vineyards here, rather than being bundled up against the cold, Cape weather, and at Elsenburg.

 Has it been worth it? For me, tout `a fait – absolutely – work and otherwise.

 First, the otherwise: I like the French. I find them pleasant and easy-going, although sometimes quite direct – do not take it for rudeness. I honestly do not know where the myth of French rudeness comes from. My only experience of rudeness has been in a Parisian bistro – by a waiter. That is pretty standard and hardly representative of French people.

Riaan's windmill vineyard.

I also like being in France. I like the place, the beauty of its old worldness. I feel comfortable and safe. Ok, we are talking the platteland here. I sleep with my windows open; I do not look over my shoulder constantly when I walk somewhere at night; I leave the Berlingo open outside the local supermarket; You can leave your cell phone and stuff on the table in the local bar when you go for a pee; I like the disciplined driving on the main auto routes; and I love the side mirror scrapping and chicken-playing on the little back roads (without any sign of road rage – it is simply a way of life).

 I would not mind working here for a year or three when I graduate from Elsenburg end of 2011. My dream job? Working for Distell’s cognac distillery, Bisquit, in France. Well, working anywhere in France at a winery.

 Workwise? The vineyards here are so different from ours in South Africa. The Gamay vines (the only red varietal allowed in the Beaujolais) are normally planted 0,9m apart with a row spacing of 1,2m. That is tight – about 9000 vines per hectare. Special elevated tractors are used with interchangeable implement attachments. A row of vines will pass under the belly of this tractor, with the wheels on either side of a row. One of the back wheels is also hydraulically adjustable to compensate for slight variations in row spacing and to help stability.

 Vines are either “bush vines”, trained in a goblet style, or a rough, free-standing, one-dimensional, two, or three-arm style, with the shoots being held upright with two wires. These wires can be loosened on both sides of a row of vines and tightened to lift shoots to expose the grape bunches to air and light.

 The infrastructure for this method is cheap and rudimentary. But why not train the vines in a double-arm, trellis system? Some of the young vineyards (not many) are being cultivated with this in mind – I saw one beautiful example. It will certainly save manpower. But then, when you plan a parcelle (a block of vines) to grow for the next 50+ years, it does not make sense to invest in expensive infrastructure that will have to be renewed every 10-15 years or so.

 Gamay vines grow liberally – shoots were often taller than my 1,9m height when tucked up – but the basic structure of the vines are much smaller and stunted than in South Africa. This is probably because of the planting density and the – mainly – poor decomposed granite soils. In any case, vines have to be kept fairly low to the ground for the special tractors to operate.

 Lesson learned? You are on thin ice when you preach a “best practice” for growing vines. It is a tough, adaptable plant. Your only objective is to create a system with which you can get the optimal balance between vegetative (leave and shoot) growth and reproductive (grapes) growth, while accounting for soil, aspect, and cultivar factors.

 Incidentally, on a weekend trip down to the Northern Rhone, I marveled at the wooden tripod system (and height) of the Syrah vines on the very steep slopes of the Côte Rotie and also in Crozes Hermitage. I cannot think of any other training method that will work on these slopes. I also saw typical South African style vineyards on the flat lands to the south of Tain l’Hermitage – complete with wide spacing and height.

 Nobody here has even as little as 2 hectares contiguous vines. For example, Chateau du Moulin-a-Vent has about 30 hectares sprinkled among the blocks of other owners in a radius of about 1 km around the Chateau. The reason for this fragmentation is not only ownership due to inheritance over many generations. It is a deliberate ownership system for two reasons:

 You can add complexity to your wine by spreading your blocks over different terroirs, and just as importantly, it protects you against hail damage. Moulin-a-Vent means “mill of the wind” and the wind blows in some fierce thundershowers and, sometimes, hail. When I was away over a weekend chasing the Tour de France, a hail storm damaged about 30% of most bunches in some blocks, while other blocks had no damage at all. Imagine your 30 hectares, neatly fenced of, being hit by this storm. There goes 30% of your production.

 The different ownership of adjacent blocks (there is no boundary fences anywhere) affords a fascinating comparison in soil cultivation practices. Chateau du Moulin-a-Vent is in the second season of a switch to using only plowing to control weeds. Many blocks next to theirs look like deserts – not a weed in sight because of the use of chemical weed controls over many years, and also no ploughing.

Funny little tractor thingy in Burgundy.

 The result in leave density and yield is startling: The Chateau’s vineyards (and those of others who use the same “bio” methods) are so much more balanced in growth – with the size of berries clearly more even and advanced. These grapes have a better chance of attaining full ripeness.

 The hardest, back-breaking work has been to hammer a couple of thousand tuteurs – stakes – into the ground next to newly planted vines. These pegs are not initially for support, but trigger the sensor on an in-and-out plough – essential for weed control. I will return one day to show my kids “my” two blistered-hands vineyards.

 The work has been physical and I am toned and tanned. The four guys I worked with – Pierre, Angelo, Didier, and Carmillo – work incredibly hard. During the growing phase of the vines, they start at 05h30 and work until 17h00, with a lunch break between 12h00 and 13h30. They do not simply make up the hours, they work productively. Each is responsible for just over 7 hectares of vines and maintain all the equipment themselves.

 The winemaker, Guillaume Berthier, works just as hard as his employees (who says he is mad to work so hard, but clearly respects him hugely). As I am writing this – around 18h15 – he just left the yard on one of the tractors to plough a block of vines. (He returned at 20h25.) It is nothing unusual.

Winemaking is not a desk job, nor gazing at barrels through a glass window. Wine gets made out there in the vineyard.

 I vaguely followed the debate around the Financial Mail article on the dire financial state of the South African wine industry. Most wine estates have hordes of workers. I know this is a historical situation and that a fair number of owners view this provision of work as a social responsibility.

 But Government makes more money from the South African wine industry than the industry itself through excise duties, taxes, etc. If this milking of the industry does not stop, then owners should seriously look at reducing the number and increasing productivity of remaining workers.

 The industry keeps the social fabric of countless rural communities together through employment. If the industry goes under, Government looses a goose laying golden eggs, and it will have to deal with social crises in these communities. You need a new model for labour? Come and have a look in France. (And, by the way, the famous French 35-hour work week, is rather liberally applied in the wine industry, it seems.)

 As GT Ferreira said in the FM article, he likes making a profit. So he should – there is nothing wrong with making money. And remember, a profit is what is left over only after a decent return on capital invested has been deducted.

 I have never formally met Mr Ferreira, but in the late 1990s he regularly shopped at my 711 in Uniepark – arriving in a denim jacket in an open-top jeep. He once bought a case of 24 Coke tins and asked for a discount. I gave him 5%. That’s cool – the asking part by one of the richest men in South Africa. Incidentally, I sold a shit-load of wine in that store by completely disregarding liquor laws – just like the countless shebeens did in Idas Valley, barely a kilometer away from my shop.

 I am not making any profit out of my 5 weeks of labour here. I earn just enough to cover my flight ticket and living expenses (very nice accommodation was provided free of charge). I had a Citroen Berlingo van over weekends (with free tanks of diesel provided) and this allowed me to earn precious experiences visiting Burgundy and the Northern Rhone to taste some great wine and to see fabled wine growing appellations.

 I missed my wife, Karin, and two small kids Jana, 4, and Jean, 2, – Sunday evenings desperately so. At least we could see each other on Skype every week.

 I have had a great time and I return home a little fitter in body and soul. Au Revoir!

Already confused by the Landbouweekblad Woman Winemaker of the Year Competition’s decision to eschew the exposure of the media to the potential buxom curves and low-slung blouses of the finalists? Well a weird media release of hypnotic non-sense has hit the shores.

According to the media release, the winning Woman Winemaker works with other people. That’s right, after the initial announcement of the winner, Andrew Freeborough, her employers saw it fit to drop another couple of grand in getting a PR agency to inform us that Andrea is part of a team. This is just in case the impression had been created that she physically picked all the grapes for her winning Fleur du Cap Late Harvest herself, made the bottles, cleaned the tanks and drove the truck to the retail outlet.

Think we are lying? Check out this hogwash:

Press Release (WineGoggle italics)

Andrea Freeborough, cellarmaster at Die Bergkelder, who was crowned the 2010 SA Woman Winemaker of the Year earlier this week for the 2009 Fleur du Cap Noble Late Harvest, is to use her prize of R25 000 to further the team’s exposure to international winemaking.

“I am deeply honoured to have been selected as this year’s winner but the achievement has not been attained single-handedly.  Although I lead the team and am responsible for the style of the wines made under the Fleur du Cap label amongst others, I work closely with my winemaking colleagues and their support staff.  I can think of no better way of celebrating than by sharing the prize.”

Her approach is ‘hands-on in the entire winemaking process’, she says, both in the cellar and in the composition of the final blends. With her direction ultimately shaping the style and character of the Fleur du Cap range, it very much bears her personal stamp. She works closely with the winemakers in her team, Pieter Badenhorst who makes the white wines and Justin Corrans, who makes the reds.

-          End

 Any guess as to why this release was necessary? Well, the winemaker had scarcely gripped the trophy when news started flying about her apparent lack of involvement in the making of the wine in question. But heavens, what a weak, transparently defensive way of addressing the issue. An embarrassment to the noble trade of wine PR.

Judging a Shiraz category – especially of the New World’s wines – must be a somewhat thunderous onslaught on the senses. High tannins, volcanic alcohols and enough wood to use in a Viagra advertisement are not favourable to the myriad senses wine judges need to employ. This year’s Global Trader Wine Magazine Shiraz Challenge placed 184 wines before the panel, and if I were allowed an opinion I think they did very well.

The winner came from Saronsberg, that arty estate in cool, trembling Tulbagh. But not the farm’s hum-dinger top-end wine that has made a habit of attracting gold stickers. No, this year Saronsberg trumped with its Provenance 2007, a wine made from a different part of the farm to its first line Shiraz.

The Provenance is the wine bearing the colourful Paul du Toit artwork, art being one of the passions driving Saronsberg owner Nick van Huyssteen. And the wine is as refreshing as the label.

Some of this refreshment is literal. The Provenance is far removed from the cloying Shiraz monsters that were de rigeur a few years back. That’s the way Shiraz wines were judged: stick a teaspoon in the glass and if it remains upright, it’s in with a shout.

Although its alcohol of 15% is not for sissies, the Provenance is remarkably restrained and finely textured. The glimpse of minerality is surprising as the grapes are grown on Saronsberg’s clay soils which are more conducive to structure. But with 30% of the Provenance’s Shiraz fruit carted in from other regions, inter alia Malmesbury, I expect that this outside influence brought in the gravelly, flinty nuances detected in the wine.

It is a pity that this wine’s detractors, such as the crowd who annually trash Wine’s Shiraz results, are not capable of detecting the influence of the soils on this wine so as to participate in the narrative.

Furthermore, the wine’s perfume is apparent, yet not in sluttish way. There is no heat on the palate, and can’t help smiling when I think how much the Provenance expresses the impression created by Saronsberg winemaker Dewaldt Heyns. Cool and calm, but with an underlying power.

But enough wine-speak bullshit. This is delicious Shiraz. I’m stocking up, and at under R100 it would be a sin not to.

- Emile Joubert

Make mine a babe.

The famous film reviewer Joe Bob Briggs had a golden rule regarding actresses. “Never judge actresses by their acting talents, but by the size of their hooters.”

Rubbish – what about calves, thighs and that cute little piece of neck-skin rising up from the cleavage?

If you take the trouble of having a contest for woman only, looks and a cute personality have to be taken into account, if not determining the end result. This is why this year’s Woman Winemaker of the Year Competition was so disappointing.

In the past, the ladies entering were urged to take ownership of their womanhood. They had to go through a set of interviews talking about woman and wine. Then the finalists were presented to those attending the event where the SA Woman Winemaker of the Year was crowned. This gave attendees chance of checking out the talent as the organisers took a page out of the Miss Langkloof Pageant by having the ladies parade up  and down the venue before announcing the winner.

Okay, so some of the past finalists would not have looked out of place at the Middelburg Angora Goat Finals. But thanks to the Woman Winemaker Competition we learnt how to spot the babes. And let’s face it, wine made by a honey whose jeans fit her like the label on a Magnum of Petrus is just going to taste better than the stuff made by some dog in Crocs and a Maties Hockey First Team sweatshirt.

Unfortunately budget constraints or a bunch of rampant feminists – possibly a dyke or two – has forced the Woman Winemaker Competition to follow the boring route. Wines were entered…blah, blah….wines were judged…blah, blah….and the results were announced via press release.

Which states the following:

Andrea Freeborough, cellar master at the Bergkelder in Stellenbosch, clinched the coveted 2010 Landbouweekblad SA Woman Winemaker of the year title with her 2009 Fleur du Cap Noble Late Harvest. 

Andrea was born and raised in the Eastern Cape.  She says that she knew winemaking was her career of choice after a holiday on a wine farm in the Helderberg when she was only fourteen years old. 

 “I love what I do, every vintage brings with it its own challenges and opportunities and I enjoy the fact that there is not a lot of predictability when you make wine.  You work with what nature gives you, and my aim is to make wines that will appeal to social wine lovers, as well as wine experts alike” says Andrea.

Andrea wowed the judges with her 2009 Fleur du Cap Noble Late Harvest, a wine made from 90% Chenin Blanc, 6% Semillon and 4% Weisser Reisling.  Andrea’s win was no lucky coincidence as the wine that scored the second highest mark was also made by her: a 2009 Unfiltered Fleur du Cap Chardonnay.

She beat 77 wine entries from 32 woman winemakers across South Africa in this year’s competition, which is sponsored by Landbouweekblad, the country’s leading agriculture and agri-business publication.  The competition took place for the seventh time this year and entries showed a marked increase from the 2009 competition where 64 wines from 28 winemakers were tasted. 

The 2010 competition was judged in one round only as the interview leg of the judging had been done away with. 

“The decision was taken because nowadays all winemakers are expected to be more than a winemaker, but an ambassador for their winery and ultimately South Africa.  Whereas the second round of judging (personal interviews with the judges) in the past was aimed at finding an ambassador and role model from the top entrants, that seems somewhat redundant now,” says Lorraine Immelman, founder of the competition.

The winning winemaker wins a cash prize of R25 000 and the Landbouweekblad Woman Winemaker of the Year Trophy. 

Previous winners are (babe scale in commas): Ivy du Toit-Oates from Jason’s Hill Private Cellar (7/10), Debbie Thompson from Simonsig (9/10), Eleonor Visser, formerly from Winecorp (7/10), Susan Wessels from Vrede en Lust (8/10), Erika Obermeyer (6/10) from Graham Beck wines in Franschhoek and Ntsiki Biyela (7/10) from Stellekaya.

Roving wine man Riaan Smit reports from Le Tour.

 I have spent countless hours over the last decade watching the Tour de France on television. It is not everybody’s glass of wine, I will freely admit, but I have been enthralled by the battles on the slopes of the Alps and the Pyrenees where the three-week long race every July is won and lost – often in the space of a mere half hour – on the most brutal inclines imaginable.

 It must be the ultimate endurance test of body and mind in any sport.

 I am a Le Tour addict and a Lance Armstrong fan. He won the race seven times in a row from 1999 after beating testicular cancer. He retired from the sport after the seventh win and last year – after two races in retirement – made a comeback at age 36. He came third. The 2010 Tour, he said, is his last and the faithful, believes he can win it again.

 I wanted to be somewhere in the mountains in 2010 to watch a brief part of the 3 642 kilometer Race, to have a glimpse of Armstrong, to experience the spectator madness next to the road that I have seen over the years on television. I had to be there.

 The closest Mountain top finish – usually the most dramatic finishes – to where I am working at Chateau du Moulin-a-Vent in Burgundy, was about 200 km away, high up in the Jura, close to the ski resort town of Les Rousses, on the border of Switzerland.

 I set off Saturday morning in the Chateau’s Citroen Berlingo van, loaded with a mattress. I had a vague idea how to get there, but I was not so sure how I was going to get out in the traffic after the 17h30 finish.

 I also knew the best tactic would be to approach the finish line from the back, but I was prepared, at least, to get to any spectator point on the last part of this mountain stage.

 Somewhere approaching the route, I passed through Poncie, in the Jura, with its steep mountain slope vineyards and made a note to try its wine.

 And then suddenly I saw a clutch of Gendarmerie (French police) at an intersection and spectators camping out next to the road. Excitement turned to panic. This is not the spot where I wanted to be. A grim-faced policeman – it was about 30 degrees in the sun and he probably had been there since early morning – waved me through when I was just about to stop. And then the next one waved me through. I thought I would just drive on the stage route until I could go no further, relieved just to have found the route.

 I drove through a little town and found it odd that nobody was out in the streets in preparation for the passing of Le Tour . The race route changes every year and the inhabitants of little towns burst with pride when they have the Tour passing through.

 Then another town a few kilometers further, somnolent in the afternoon heat. Merde, I have lost the route. I pulled off the road. Fumbled my large scale Hertz map. I had come this far. I drove on the route of the Tour de France. No, not this. I did not want to go back. I wanted so much to be at the finish line of the stage.

 The map showed the biggest and closest town to the stage finish to be St-Claude and I remembered seeing the name at the ubiquitous round-about at the exit and entrance to almost all French towns. From there, it seemed, I could get to yet another little town, Morez, which was close to Les Rousses, which was closed to the back of the finish line. Yes! Just where I wanted to be.

 It was a detour of about 30 kilometers, but turned out to be a pleasant drive through twisting, tree-lined Alpine roads. I have seen these roads on television countless times on Alpine stages. It felt unreal.

 I arrived in Les Rousses expecting to see the finish line, but all I could see was thousands of spectators, many on bicycles. A quick “where is the…” – an essential couple of French words, prefaced by your friendliest “bonjour” – and I knew the finish line were eight kilometers away.

 The only useful thing I learned during two years of compulsory military service was to do whatever you want to do, until somebody tells you not to do it. Off I went in the Berlingo. Within sight of another group of French police – this time definitely blocking the road – I saw a P & R sign with a picture of a car and a bus. Although the French can be almost anal about their language, it does contain a fair number of “English” words, such as “parking” (but it means: car park) and, surprising, Le weekend.

 After parking and riding a bus I was at the finish line. It was opposite a ski lift with typical ski lodges with long sloping roofs all around. Here I was in muggy, 30 degree heat and in my minds eye I could see skiers hurtling towards the jumble of commentator boxes, familiar metal Tour barriers, and sponsor festooned team busses.

 After all those years of watching the Tour on television, I was here. I thought I saw legendary Tour commentator Phil Liggett and heard his familiar voice.

 The hour before the riders arrived was taken up by a cacophony of sponsor’s vehicles throwing goodies into the crowds lining the barriers. I almost unseemly scrambled for two caps and a packet of madeleines, delicious French sponge cake cookies. Water I had to buy at Euro 2,50 for a 500ml bottle – about R24 each.

 While thunderstorm clouds were massing in the distance, I followed the last 25 kilometers of the race on the big screen at the finish area. French cyclist and past national champion, Sylvain Chavanel, took the lead – and the leaders iconic Maillot Jaune (yellow jersey) it turned out – up the last climb, the category 2 C^ote de Lamoura.

 The locals were politely exicited – the last Frenchman to win the Tour – their Tour – was five-times winner Bernard Hinault, 25 years ago. But this was only the first mountain stage and not a real, brutal mountain stage, and in any case, Le Tour  is not won on the first mountain stage, I thought one wrinkly old Frenchman told another next to me.

 I was jostling for a good view on the barrier when Armstrong and Contador flashed past – much faster than it looks like on television – in the main pack of about 30 riders.

 I have a very blurred photograph of the moment. But I was there.

 As thousands of sun-baked spectators made their way towards the P & R pick-up point, it quickly became clear that it was useless to wait to get on one of these busses back to the Berlingo. Thousands others also wanted to, but the eight kilometers of road back to Les Rousses were jammed by official vehicles and spectators bicycles.

 By now it was completely overcast and pleasantly cool. It would be fun to walk back with a couple of thousand of like-minded spectators. Rain was not on my mind.

 About halfway back it began to thunder and rain. Not a polite Cape Town drizzle, but a full-blooded High Veld thunderstorm. We quickly became drenched. As the wet kilometers dragged on it rained even harder.

 A continuous throng of half empty media, sponsor and official vehicles passed old men, woman, and young couples with babies in prams. Somebody fainted next to road; none of these vehicles stopped. It became cold, dark, and I started to shiver.

I hope the important, dry occupants of these official vehicles took a good look at the thousands of bedraggled spectators trudging their way back to their cars.

 It should have dawned on them that these hordes are Le Tour de France. They will be back next year – come rain or sunshine – to once again celebrate a national institution.

 PS. After I wrote this on Sunday, I watched the last 10 kilometers of Stage 9vup to the mountain finish of Morzine-Avoriaz on television. Armstrong lost more than 5 minutes on Alberto Contador, Andy Schleck, and Cadel Evans in those few kilometers and is now more than 10 minutes behind. He lost the race right there in those few kilometers. Although five mountain stages remain, he now needs a serious miracle to win. It is an unforgiving contest and the strongest rider will ride up the Champs-Elysees in the yellow jersey as the winner. I hope it is Andy Schleck or Cadel Evans.

Timothy

CHECK out the Lazarus Kid! Yes, Tim James CWM (Cape Wine Master for those who forgot) decided enough is enough. Having over the past few months bored all 18 Grape readers out of their bloomers with lengthy diatribes on unheard of grape varieties tracked down on the West Coast with his hatted, bearded chums as well as those cutesy PR-driven missives in the Mail and Guardian’s new wine column, we find the back-to-form sourpuss in his latest Grape contribution.

And he has the audacity to use me, The Widow, as his cover!

Timothy – in my drag outfit, the cheek I tell you – just could not resist scratching that ingrown testicle hair by having a go at the Wine Shiraz Challenge. After having accepted the courteous invitation, gorging himself on a slap-up meal and stylishly sipping the wine, something got him worked up on the way back to Kenilworth. What on earth could have worked him into that frenzy? Could it have been a bergie standing at a traffic light and using a split infinitive when asking Timothy for money?

Whatever it was, something snapped, causing a desire – one of few, I hear – to trash the whole Shiraz Challenge. Note: aforementioned haired gonads were not big enough to address concerns to the panel chairman, Bleeds Eedes, at the event itself in person, as real men are wont to do. (If I remember correctly, that is.) No, Timothy’s type prefer to do this before the safety of their computer keyboard, listening to the dogs fart and tossing nail files at the picture of Neil Pendock, an essay supporting blind tasting wine guides and a photograph of a bottle of KWV Sauvignon Blanc stuck to the wall.

Apparently the top wines were not exciting enough for Tim. No reasons or analysis. Just a trash and statement stating the winner – Provenance Shiraz from Saronsberg – is a wine of “no real significance”.

Then the handbag gets pulled out at Wine’s editor over a minor error or two. This from the same dude who copy edits the Platter Wine Guide in which it was once stated that Jannie Engelbrecht is a former Springbok fly-half. (Hopefully the tome Timothy is writing on the South African wine industry is more accurate.)

By the way, those who think this error is minor and has nothing to do with wine should attend one of those CWM gigs where tales are told about students having to correct Timothy during his lecturing!

Oh yes, Timothy also uses me to front his allegation that no serious wines enter Veritas. Funny, all those Veritas stickers on the bottles of Kanonkop, a farm that never fails to give him a (rare) semi whenever it is mentioned.

Is the Lazarus phase going to continue? If it does, watch out before you again use my spirit to hide behind those rumpled opinions. Attend your freebies, write your nice friendly wine columns for the Mail and Guardian and those lengthy essays on Grape.

And for fuck’s sake, use some of that Wine Journalist of the Century prize money to buy some new clothes. I am in the grave and mine look better.

- The Real Widow

South African Pinot Noir has, to a certain extent, been plucked off its elevated pedestal from where it sat casting a beady black eye on other grape varieties. A few years ago a tweed jacket, public school education and an ability to name all the Grand Cru Domaines in the Cotes de Beaune were required to label yourself a Pinot Noir maker. Except for Jan Boland Coetzee, that is, but then he is an exception to any rule: if Jan says something about wine, everyone agrees.

That has all been changed as consumers have learned to distinguish shit from Shinola and realise that Pinot Noir is just another wine made from grapes by – surprise, surprise – mere mortals. No-one needs to talk in hushed tones when opening a bottle of Pinot Noir and you can actually discuss rugby, chicks and cars while drinking the stuff. It’s only wine, albeit very pleasant.

In South Africa the cool-is-better maxim has been used more than a Paris Hilton Rizla Joint Roller when describing ideal Pinot Noir conditions. The fact that most cool climate vineyards like low yields and therefore caused bullish wine prices added to Pinot’s snobbish image through creating the impression that good Pinot has to be expensive.

This has changed, somewhat. Those buggers from Distell came up with Two Oceans Pinot Noir at under R30 – how dare they? And what’s more, it’s damn well drinkable as reasonably priced Pinot Noir can be. All the variety characteristics are there together with a ballsy grip and lengthy finish.

Ronnie Melck, erstwhile MD of Stellenbosch Farmers Winery and arguably equipped with the best palate the local wine scene has ever witnessed, described Pinot Noir as “die lekkerste kuierwyn” due to its lightness on the palate yet sturdy structure on the back palate. One can’t ask for anything more from the Two Oceans.

Vineyards on Springfield Estate, Robertson.

Another well-priced charmer is Felicité Pinot Noir from the Newton Johnson Family up Hemel-en-Aarde way. This wine is made from grapes grown in Eilandia near Robertson and comes in at R60. This wine gives me something that South African Pinot Noir can become world-renowned for, namely a delectable sweet core. Sure, we have the mushrooms and dried leaves and cherry which are classical Pinot verses, but that secure blast of sunny concentration is super sexy. The wines from Burgundy need at least 10 years in the bottle to attain this, while we can produce it from day one.

Sticking around Robertson. Abrie Bruwer from Springfield has eventually released a Pinot Noir and it is a beaut. Similar to the Felicité but a bit fuller on the palate with a velvety texture. Abrie joins Jacques Bruwer from Bon Courage and Danie de Wet from De Wetshof as boere who have throttled the myth of the Pinot Noir grape only able to make quality wine in cool valleys fondled by see breezes.

But with Robertson having the highest free chalk soil content in South Africa, their ability to produce Pinots matching their sublime Chardonnays is a no brainer.

-          Emile Joubert

Riaan Smit gets between the sheets for a lay with Beaujolais.

I have never had wine made from Gamay – the only red wine grape allowed in Cru Beaujolais, Burgundy, where I am working a training stint at Château du Moulin-a-Vent.

 Beaujolais is unfortunately historically associated with Le Beaujolais Nouveau (young Beaujolais), a thin, acidic, red wine, rushed after the September harvest every year to hit the market on the third Thursday of November.

 Locals quickly point out that these usually anemic wines are appellation (area) Beaujolais-Villages and definitely not from the 10, much more quality-conscious, Cru Beaujolais appelations.

 My first taste was from barrels of the 2009 vintage with Guillaume Berthier, the winemaker at Château Moulin-a-Vent. The Moulin-a-Vent area is one of the 10 Cru Beaujolais.

 When I saw the diluted colour of the wine for the first time, I expected the worst – my New World wine mind being programmed to expect just that when a red wine is thin in colour. How wrong can you be?

 I am no Robert Parker with perfect recall of every wine I have ever tasted, but I do know I have had a seriously interesting wine if I can mentally recreate the taste the next day. The wines from a couple of different terriors at the Château had a fresh nose of violets and irises and was beautifully balanced, elegant, and downright sexy. It is the kind of wine you want to drink again and again.

 Guillaume gave me bottles of different vintages and I have so far opened a 2003 Château Moulin-a-Vent – with my first piece of steak in more than three weeks. The 2003 vintage in Europe was plagued by unrelenting heat waves. The wine was even lighter in colour – with a slight brown tinge – than the wines from my barrel tasting, but was fresh with an appealing upfront fruity component, great balanced acidity, with a long finish. I don’t, but I suppose this is what it feels like making love under silk sheets?

 I have since then tasted six 2009 wines, in one sitting, from different terroirs in the adjacent Cru Fleurie. None of these wines were wooded and had lots of fruit and tannic structure. They drink well now, but I suspect they will be fantastic two or three years, and even much longer, from now.

 The woman behind the counter explained that “people don’t want to drink the 2008, once they have had the 2009”.

 Consumers have a point: The 2009 vintage is regarded as one of the best ever in Cru Beaujolais (no this is not Bordeaux, where every other vintage is the vintage of the – short – century).

Dan Berger, the publisher of the American weekly newsletter Vintage Experiences, wrote last week: “… we are seeing the release of the 2009 Beaujolais, both regulars and Crus, from perhaps the greatest vintage of Beaujolais of all time. Despite that, the fanfare has been nearly nil.”

 Franck Duboeuf, managing director and son of one of the leading producers in Cru Beaujolais, Georges Duboeuf, is quoted by Berger as saying that his father “believes this is the vintage of a lifetime”.

 “Some people drink Moulin-a-Vent and don’t even know it is a Beaujolais,” said Franck. Indeed, in the unusually hot year of 2003, some wines got so exotic, he said, that today, seven years later, “you open a 2003 and you are in Burgundy.”

You may want to take what he says with a pinch of salt – he is a negociant after all – but I have tasted a 2003 and it was seriously good. My half bottel, left-over, was even the next day more than drinkable.

I will easily pay R150+ a bottel for quality 2009 Cru Beaujolais in South Africa – many wines with much less appeal sells for that money in South Africa.