Robertson Wine Region supremo Danie de Wet calls him the Salvador Dali of winemakers, but Abrie Bruwer is not that weird. The proprietor and cellar-master of Springfield Estate, just down the road from Danie, is one of those enigmatic silent forces found lurking about the silent depths of the South African wine industry. Abrie’s idea of social media is allowing a neighbour to borrow that day’s copy of Die Burger newspaper. Twitter is something a bird makes before you shoot it. And I quite honestly believe he would rather choose to never go out on the sea to fish again, ever, than to post a selfie of himself smiling next to a bottle of one of his wines or thumbs-upping the harvest.
As human beings we were not made to drink slowly. All this gentle restrained slurping and bird-like sipping of liquid is not what the Big Guy had in mind when he put us on earth. No. We were meant to get down on all fours next to the stream or lake and quench that thirst pretty damn quick before a sabre-tooth lion takes you from behind – as it were – or some prick from another tribe deploys his stone axe on that skull for dragging his hairy, shrieking woman to your cave.
Do not look a beached whale in the mouth. Instead, walk around its head to the bulky girth and cut yourself a steak or two. Forget beef from beer-fed wagyu or grass-reared Angus cows. Those Japanese kobe numbers who listen to opera, slurp organic egg-nog and get one massage per day plus a weekly hand-job? No way. Whale meat out-performs all these on the MeatOmeter as far as taste, texture and more-ishness goes.
Of course, whale meat is a bit tricky to come by. Forty years ago you could pick the stuff up, dirt cheap, at a butchery in Long Street, Cape Town. But today it is far easier to score heroin in Long Street than it is to get a grip on a piece of Southern Right sashimi.