Japanese, but no Horses for Courses

There is nothing like thirty-six minutes of deft levitating while listening to the droning hum of a Buddhist priest to work-up an appetite. The other members of my Black River Soul Revival Club may be happy to munch on raw nuts, low-fat yoghurt and organic sprouts after a spiritual work-out. But the real holders of an inner-void need heartier fare.

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Great Stuff from the Guild

We were talking about a herd of lion devouring a still-living eland when Boela Gerber walked in with a bottle. I tried to follow the rest of wild-life photographer Hannes Lochner’s story, which was getting interesting: the black mane Kalahari lions were now plucking the eland’s wriggling fetus from her cavity. But the Cape Winemakers Guild wine Boela was carrying was more exciting, more visceral, more thrilling.

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Bury My Drink at Wounded Knee

The Napoleonic episode shalt from now on be known as the Agony of Lourensford, where the words ?+¦?+º?+¦In victory you deserve it and in defeat you need it?+¦?+º?+æ are still ringing through the fynbos-covered valleys of this Helderberg Estate. Napoleon was, of course, referring to the noble elixir of Champagne, while my interpretation pertains to two very different wines. Different from Champagne, and from each other.

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Made to Feel Like a Butcher’s Pick

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Meat is meat and a man must eat.

PL Kopp, a WineGoggle correspondent, visits the Butcher’s Shop in Sandton. Apparently for the last time.

There was a time when Sandton, Johannesburg, and the world was a better place. I remember those balmy Highveld evenings, strolling through The Square enjoying the lights and the cosmopolitan crowd and the fact that here, at least, was one place in this ghastly city where I could walk around after dark without getting a sharpened bicycle spoke in my neck before briskly being robbed.

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