A Rosé by any Other Name is Still Damn Fine

That one-dimensional slogan once used by a beer company was totally off-the mark. Because real men – and women – do, in fact, drink pink drinks. And a hell of a lot of it when it comes to matters wine.

Anyone who has spent a spring or summer in the South of France would know that rosé wine is not so much drunk there as inhaled. And here, further South, Africans have reconnected with rosé now that more producers are creating wines of a less syrupy sweet nature than those that were so hip, hot and happening in the bygone era of bell-bottoms, tie-dye, Monkey Gland steaks and Ford Cortinas.

Continue reading

Party Chic and Cap Classique

The trick to attending a wine fundi’s party is to arrive early. Just as I did last week when attending a birthday soirée thrown by a vinous vixen. Her fridge was heaving with bottles of wine waiting for the 40-odd guests expected to arrive an hour later. But with these wino types you have to know that they are going to kick-off their party with some really good stuff. So it was music to my ears when she said: “Let’s crack a special bottle before the hordes arrive.”

Continue reading

Joy of Taj Trophy Wines Masks French Disasters

Despite having the blood of La Grande Nation coursing through my robust veins, the French can really get on my pods of pectoral muscle, commonly known as tits. Take the current form of Les Bleus in the Rugby Six Nations. Not only are they playing with the listlessness of an unbaked baguette, but their tight five – traditionally the mainstay of French rugby – appear to be sponsored by Weigh-Less and the Peace Brigade. And as far as passion goes, they apparently left their spines in the Montmartre whorehouse where their mothers worked.

french1

Continue reading

If it’s a Wine Festival it has to be Stellenbosch

If you can remember the Stellenbosch Wine Festival of the old days’, you probably weren’t there. This was held in the Town Hall in Plein Street, and around its heyday circa 1982 it was an ideal place to get mindlessly drunk under the pretence of experiencing Stellenbosch’s wine culture. I mean, give a few hundred 19 to 25 year olds a wine glass and tell then they can get it topped up all night for free, and the result is not going to end in spirited debates on the poetry of NP van Wyk Louw interspersed with rigorous bouts of waltzing to a boere-orkes.

Continue reading