The brisk walk in the bracing Florence spring air from the Ponte Vecchio to the Duomo had sharpened the appetite, which had already emerged three hours earlier after a night drinking Italian Chardonnay and Dry Martinis spruced-up with mists of extra virgin olive oil. Appetite does this. Especially after a night of graceful decadence in Florence’s new Collegio alla Querce Hotel.
This morning in Florence the need to eat came before that of a Renaissance cultural immersion, as the queue outside the Duomo was longer than a line of West-Virginian rednecks waiting to take-out their hunting-licences ahead of deer season. I was going to have to worship elsewhere, I thought, looking to see if I could not perhaps partake in a bit of queue-jumping. To no avail.
I trundled to the cacophony of rumbling tunes from my stomach, and found the Lorenzo market, Florence’s major public food arena where fresh produce and all those glorious Italian delicacies of cheese and mortadella and prosciutto and lardo and olives and anchovies are sold on the ground-floor. Up the stairs, there one finds the Lorenzo eating arena. It was still only 12.00, but the place was heaving as locals and a few tourists sat at tables bearing culinary delights procured from the vendors. There were blistery, wafer-thin pizzas with aromatic tomatoey toppings, pastas of all shapes covered in every sauce imaginable and golden tubes of squid served with a lemony green sauce.
But I had come for the lampredotto.
Lampredotto is the true – and most authentic – street-food of Florence, and comprises the two most basic edible ingredients known to humankind. Namely animal stomach and bread. Nope, does not get more real than that. For it is all real and all true, and it is good.
At the Lorenzo market, the lampredotto vendor-stand was half hidden in a quiet corner and the tables next to it were inhabited by elderly, modestly dressed folk which I presumed to be local Fiorintinas. No talking, gesticulating or scrolling on phones. They were there to eat the lampredotto, drink their glasses of white or red wine, and get back to life outside the market. It was lunch on the go, Florence style.
A delightful array of cow innards in Florence.
There were no options at this stand. Lampredotto. Six euros. Hot-sauce, if desired. That is that.
The lampredotto begins with a huge pot of cow stomach sliced into slivers the size and girth of silk-worms. Why the name lampredotto? Because the bristly texture of the lining of dead cow stomach reminds one of the mouth of the lamprey eel with that circular mouth holding a ring of small sharp teeth. The lamprey uses these tiny dental shards to attach itself to unwitting prey, whereafter the eel gently sucks the blood from the unlucky – and involuntary – host.
In any event, at the stand I asked for one lampredotto in my best Italian, as well as a glass of white wine being poured from an unlabelled bottle, this another sign that lunch was going to be as authentically a Florentine experience as a selfie taken next to the crotch of Michelanglo’s David statue.
The wine was poured, and the vendor made my lunch, this not a complicated affair.
He opened the lid of a pot where the elongated morsels of cow stomach lay, glistening in a lightly coloured tomato sauce. They were beautiful pieces of tripe, marble white and trembling expectantly as their owner stirred the mass of innards, ensuring thorough exposure to the sauce, which had been thickened by the gelatinous tripe enzymes during a six-hour process of slow-cooking.
The next step in creating the lampredotto was for the server to from a basket pluck a round bread roll encased in a russet crust and to cut the baked gem it in half to reveal an angelic white, fluffy interior. Deftly and with acumen and concentration, the roll was brought towards the pot of heaving, simmering tripe. Then a slotted spoon was employed to lift a mound of steaming cow stomach and carefully place it onto the lower half of the bread-roll. Using a conventional soup-ladle, the lampredotto maestro scooped a portion of that life-affirming rich tripe sauce from the pot with which to anoint the other part of the roll, this instantaneously drawing-in the unctuous, fatty sauce with a desperate wanton thirst.
The lampredotto.
Once both parts of the bread had been assembled into one harmonious, fragrant unit this was placed on a square of waxed-paper and handed over to my hands, which were trembling with expectation.
I sat down at one of the tables with my tripe roll and glass of wine and gazed at the wonder before me. The bread-roll was soaked with sauce, and the dense ribbons of cow-stomach protruded from the edges like dead witch fingers daring one to bite. And bite I did, using both hands to bring the lampredotto to my mouth, hungrily ripping into the first mouthful like a stranded sailor just rescued from a desert island after three months’ subsistence on coconut water.
The sandwich was fantastic. Earthy flavours of cow tripe had been mildly tempered – but not obliterated – by aromatic tomato sauce. Textures were enticing, totally incredible as slimy-soft strands of well-cooked tripe met the cleansing crusts of fresh bread, creating the kind of harmony that would motivate a Renaissance sculptor to spend two years turning a block of Carrara marble into a streamlined muscular and godlike figure.
I ate hungrily, the dry white wine cooling the palate after each greedy, savage bite of tripe sandwich. Pausing to look up at Florence, I pondered on the wonders of civilization and wiped a rivulet of fatty moisture from my chin. We are blessed.
The humble hamburger remains a ubiquitous occurrence on many a diner’s menu, the modern offering tending to vary from luxurious hand-shaped wagyu beef patties held between sourdough buns raised on nurtured mother-yeasts, to bog-standard burgers dished up at commercial fast-food chains. Even flesh-eschewing vegans can apply for a burger fix, chomping on a wannabe patty made from lentils, kale and bird-seed, the innocuous, uninspired taste having them question certain life choices, whilst at least satisfying that primal patty-and-bun lust lurking in most human souls.
In the eternal quest for journalistic enlightenment and the values of culinary integrity, this writer embarked on a voyage to ascertain the burgers on offer, these from readily available commercial fast-food chains.
Wimpy
No amount of verdant lettuce, scarlet tomato slices or cheese processed to a nuclear yellow can hide the blandness of what should be a hamburger’s starring role, namely the beef patty. The Wimpy burger-patty is deserved of its own trademarked pantone, being a bewilderingly uninspiring shade of wet cement grey, flecked with a crusty, greasy brown hue the colour of baboon ear-wax. In an attempt to elevate the dull appearance with some sensorial clout, the patty is further salted to death, the salt being combined with a mysterious spiciness reminiscent of the contents of an Aromat container that had been opened after going unnoticed since 1987. The horrendous patty is held between a bread-roll which is totally tasteless as it is – understandably – too petrified to soak up any of the beef-patty juices in case it suffers from premature moulding or spontaneous combustion, or both. What saves the day and makes the Wimpy burger edible to the hungry traveller is the bright sweet mustard offered at the table, squirted from a yellow plastic container and quite astonishingly giving the dish some much necessary perking-up to the extent of non-regurgitative consumption.
McDonald’s Big Mac
You know you shouldn’t but then you do, and despite McDonald’s suffering from its image as a global, imperial fast-food behemoth, and all that talk of the Big Mac having a longer shelf-life than an argumentative world-leader at a Donald Trump press-meeting, it remains a passable burger. The three-layered bun is seeded and fresh, while the two lean patties have a flavour of meaty subtleness, despite their looking like discoloured brake-pads. Of course, the distinctive Big Mac dressing of a gherkin-infused mayonnaise is on hand to infuse any potential flavour debilities with a zesty kick, although the way it does a fine interplay with the patty, offering a feeling of savoury junk-food goodness.
Steer’s
Over-delivering on the patty, the burger’s meat is coarsely grained and bears an honest meatiness that is sigh-inducing, especially when bitten into at 03.30 a.m. at an all-night Steer’s branch. The bun is warm, attractively soaked in the artery-clogging fatty juices, and the lettuce, tomato and cheese are generously piled atop and beneath the patty, further creating a satisfying harmony. This provides a burger of balance, from the palate-awakening entry to the palate, right down to the saucy, crumbled meat finish. A slight transgression is the sweetness of the barbecue sauce with which the patty is dressed, as less saccharine would, methinks, show the charred meatiness in its fuller glory.
Spur
The cheeseburger is a thing of beauty, primarily due to the flame-grilled patty and the fluffy freshness of the bun which draws in the liquid oozing from the dead cow just perfectly. Cheese is generous, its gum-cloying greasiness combining perfectly with the tasty beef and allowing one to get two different tastes of bovine origin in one generous bite. Cool tomato and crisp lettuce refresh the palate between bites, allowing the Spur cheeseburger to present a long, persistent finish. For maximum pleasure, douse the burger with that faithfully satisfying Spurt barbeque sauce found at the table, the vinegary savouriness of which is truly the topping jewel in this joint’s burger crown. The taste of life, although more than one a week could have the undertaker hymn a different tune.
Burger King
Great care has been taken to season the burger patty to a state where both pure beef and mysterious spicy flavours come to the fore. Although, the patties do tend to be fragile, the tremble of the first bite causing the rest of the burger’s meat centre to fall apart. Besides causing unbalance on the mid-palate, this patty brittleness makes it a terrible burger to eat while driving or working out on the elliptical machine at Virgin Active. Fortunately, the generously sized and firmly textured bun tend to hold things together, while the cheese-slice is warm and deeply flavoured. It might not be king, but mutton dressed as lamb it ain’t either.
It was a crisp autumn afternoon in Beaune, the capital of Burgundy, France and the world’s most revered wine appellation, and strolling the ancient cobble-stone streets I came upon a smart shop named Fromagerie Hess. A dense, acrid aroma hit me as I entered, gazing at the rows of cheeses of various shapes, sizes and colours, the variety of which can only be found in France.
At the back of the long narrow space was a section dedicated to wine, together with cheese the other consumable most vividly associated with all good things from the Gallic nation. This area beckoned, and upon browsing the bottles of wines from Burgundy and Bordeaux, Italy and Spain, a familiar label came into sight. It was a bottle of Kanonkop Pinotage.
I had scarcely noticed it when a tall lean man in a white jacket asked whether he could be of assistance. Upon telling him that, like the Kanonkop wine I too was from South Africa, the man looked at the bottle and nodded, in broken English stating that this was a good wine.
“I am surprised,” I said, “that here, in the heart of this famous French wine region, you keep a bottle from South Africa.”
He shrugged his shoulders, as if the statement was foolish and he was bordering on emitting a reprimand.
“We keep the great wines from the world in my shop,” he replied, “and from South Africa, a good Pinotage is a great wine.”
Had my French and his English allowed for a better level of communication, I would have added another aspect of Pinotage. Namely that the wine is also something of a miracle.
For here in 2025, a year marking 100 years since the Pinotage grape variety began after that famous experiment where Abraham Izak Perold crossed two red cultivars – Pinot Noir and Hermitage (Cinsaut) – to set the Pinotage ball rolling, it is apt to note that the journey the grape and the wine has taken from then until now has been nothing short of remarkable.
Looking at the legacy of wine in the world, which began some 8 000 years ago in Georgia in Eastern Europe, most of the known and recognisable grape varieties have histories going back centuries. Such as Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in Burgundy, Bordeaux’s Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, Riesling in Germany and Spain’s ubiquitous Tempranillo, to name a few. Yet, in South Africa, Pinotage was only first thought of a century back, with commercial vineyard plantings taking root in the 1950s. As a commercial wine, Pinotage came to being for the first time in 1959. And now, some 66 years later it is an established and recognised part of the global wine conversation, not only being talked and written about as a wine synonymous with South Africa, but also for the distinctive flavour-profile it offers, as well as the proven and internationally acclaimed quality thereof.
Yes, for a grape variety and its wine to be born and to go on to achieve all this in what is but a blink of the eye in terms of the world’s wine culture, is surely miraculous.
But even miracles are not immune to critique and controversy, and here I’d say that South Africans, especially, have been too hard on Pinotage in terms of its merits as a noble grape variety. Local wine writers and winemakers still like to quote those British wine “experts” who visited the country three decades ago and turned-up their noses at Pinotage, stating the wine reminded them of “rusty nails” and “nail-polish”.
Fact is, that the Brits’ self-appointed wine expertise have always had it in for wine varieties made in the so-called New World of America, Australia, New Zealand, South America and South Africa. Australian Shiraz was termed “hot and alcoholic” and smelling of “burnt caramel”. Californian Chardonnay, again, was “big, blousy and tasted like bread-and-butter pudding”. And if you wanted heartburn, a glass of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc was a sure way of bringing it on.
Fortunately, Pinotage has dropped those initial naysayers, going on to prove itself on the world stage as a variety that when grown under the right conditions and in suitable soils, and in the hands of the right winemaker, is capable of making world-class wines. This Beyers Truter already proved back in 1991 when as Kanonkop winemaker he won the Robert Mondavi Trophy for Winemaker of the Year at the International Wine and Spirits Competition in London. With a Kanonkop Pinotage 1989 – a vintage that came only 30 years after the very first bottled Pinotage, namely a Lanzerac 1959.
Leading critics from around the world have subsequently handed-out trophies, golden accolades and sensational 95pt-plus ratings to various South African Pinotage wines, ensuring that Pinotage’s time has, truly, arrived.
Abraham Izak Perold, Pinotage creator.
This is good for South Africa as a wine-producing country, too. Pinotage might have found its way to the winelands of California and New Zealand – even Israel – but no other grape variety is as associated with the Cape and to South Africa as is the variety than Perold gave birth to a century ago. It is unique, and those who drink and follow wine, well, they like unique and they like different in a world where they are spoilt for choice.
Today, more countries produce more wine than ever before. From Denmark to Canada, China to Lebanon, bottles are being added to the marketplace from every corner of the globe. Consequently, consumers have never been able to so many different wines, from so many different countries, as they are now. With such an abundance, wine-buyers the world over look to a wine-producing country they might not be familiar with, and the first thing they ask is: “What makes the wines from your land unique?”
South Africa has a simple answer: Pinotage. It is here at the Cape, from the mountains of Stellenbosch to the valleys of Paarl and Franschhoek; from the cool maritime climates of Durbanville and Constantia, to the sprawling vineyards of the Breedekloof and Robertson, and between the renosterveld-clad koppies of the Swartland, here Pinotage was born and here it shows it belongs. This is where generations of winemakers have harmonized the grape with its natural environment, making Pinotage wines, the unique flavours and characteristics of which prove that its place is here.
But the minds, hands and the souls of the men and women turning the grapes into wine have as profound a role to play in the legacy and the advent of Pinotage as the individual parcels of Cape geography to which the vineyards are rooted. The traditional saying is that wine is made in the vineyard, but as the late great winemaker Duimpie Bayly used to retort: “When I am told wine is made in the vineyard, I have to remind the audience that one must remember that no horse has ever won the Durban July without a jockey.” And of course, this is true. It takes skill, intuition and understanding of the vineyard and its fruit to transform Pinotage grapes into wine exuding the traits of its place of origin, whilst at the same time offering that evocative red wine complexity in the glass for which it is known.
Each wine is, obviously, a unique individual. But what Pinotage has done over the decades is to inspire winemakers to each make their wines to a style, to a distinctive signature of taste and structure harnessing the grape’s red-blooded individualistic character. And this is the delight, that under the banner of one cultivar, Pinotage, one finds an astounding diversity, a spectrum of enticing red wine variation that, whilst diverse and of multitude, each speak of a discernible Pinotage DNA.
So, Pinotage can be a big wine. Of which Beyerskloof Diesel Pinotage is a statuesque example. This wine, from the home of aforementioned Beyers Truter can be termed a show-stopper as in its making all steps are taken to optimise the variety’s penchant for showcasing a full-bodied depth and unapologetic decadence in its power and unrestrained opulence.
To bring these features to the fore, these grapes of Stellenbosch origin are picked at a stage of complete ripeness. The berries are transformed to open-top fermenters where the magical process of fermentation begins, with sugar transformed into alcohol. To extract tannin, taste and colour from the purple-black Pinotage skins, the intoxicating batch of grapes and juice is punched-down every two hours during the five-day fermentation period, the regular mingling of the skins and juice drawing the essence of the fruit into the fermenting wine, ensuring concentrated completeness.
Once fermented, the wine is removed from the skins and placed in casks of new French oak barrels for a period of 21 months, allowing the wine to be exposed to the tightly-grained wood surface for almost two years, during which tannins are sculpted, flavour enhanced and the wine obtains a polished succulence.
This, Beyerskloof Diesel, is Pinotage at its most Pinotage. Showing that despite its parents – the Pinot Noir and Cinsaut grapes – having relatively light and ethereal personalities, Pinotage itself is capable of presenting itself in a wine of grand scale with a commanding presence.
It is all gorgeous, of the unmissable kind. Aromas of autumnal dark fruit waft from the glass, filling the space around it with fragrance and wilderness. Once tasted, it is unforgettable. Not only for the sheer weight of its presence, the density complemented by a silkiness on the mouth, but for the way it carries tastes of prune and blackberries together with that characteristic brush of fynbos and slight savoury edge of charcuterie.
That a Pinotage style deemed as “classic” comes from Stellenbosch’s Lanzerac winery is no coincidence. After all, the first bottled Pinotage in the world was under the Lanzerac label (1959), although in those days of yore Lanzerac was merely a wine brand belonging to erstwhile Stellenbosch Farmers Winery. Today Lanzerac, situated at the foot of the Jonkershoek Valley, is a commended and functioning winery in its own right, one still committed to the grape variety that ensured its name in the annals of South African wine history.
Lanzerac Pinotage is made from grapes grown in the same Jonkershoek Valley, the beautiful part of mountainous pastoral winelands through which Stellenbosch’s famed Eerste River runs. In the cellar the grape-berries are not manually punched down as is the case with Beyerskloof Diesel, the exposing of juice to those ripe grape-skins instead being done with pump-overs, committed every four hours of the fermentation period. This refined approach to winemaking is furthered by winemaker Wynand Lategan’s choice of barrel fermentation. Here a diverse selection of barrels is chosen in which the wine is to embark on a 15-month slumber, namely barrels of virgin new oak, as well as casks previously used for one or two seasons to age wine. These used barrels have a lighter grip on the wine’s structure, allowing the opening of the doors to emit brightness and fruit-purity.
Lanzerac Pinotage is one of those Pinotages proving that elegance is one of the variety’s features, a mannered nobility that must have been at the forefront of Perold’s mind when he toyed with the idea of creating a new South African grape variety for the world.
This wine has a clarity and focussed fruit-core, with red-currants and damson allowing a lift, a perkiness to prod through the sensual cloak of coiled muscular tannins. Balance and poise are discernible as tannin, acidity and sugar combine with presence and structure in a wine which one not only drinks, but experiences.
An unbridled delight of the Pinotage industry is seeing the younger generation of winemakers showing an infatuation with this variety, and it is in their hands that the future of the grape lies. True, the foundations were laid by the pioneers who aimed to bring the deeper weight and gravitas of the grape to the fore with intense extractions and aging in – or a component of – new wood.
But there is, as with all wines, space for a renewed focus to complement and to build on the deep paths trodden by the more mature school of approach, and this is opening-up a whole new field of appreciation for the Cape’s beloved home-grown variety.
One of these younger gunners is Jolandie Fouché, owner of the wine brand named Wolf & Woman which includes a Pinotage wearing a new cloak of understatement allowing the spectacular tapestry of fruit elements to display themselves in a superlative wine.
Wolf & Woman Pinotage is made from old vines, 50 years and more, grown in the Swartland region and the winemaking is of the subtle less-is-more kind. Instead of fermenting her Pinotage for five to six days with extracting taking place regularly, Wolf & Woman’s wine is kept on the skins for two weeks, with only one extraction daily. For maturation, large 500 litre and 300 litre barrels are deployed – all old, used wood – the wine spending eight months in their casks. Then, before bottling the wine is placed in concrete tank for a month to gain further refinement.
The result is a Pinotage that has grabbed the imagination of wine critics and commentators as one of the new-wave wines underscoring the fact that the future of Pinotage is in good hands. At only 12.5% alcohol, Wolf & Woman has a delicious crunchy succulence with tastes of juice-laden cherries and plump plum, a wine that caresses the palate with a riveting, racy freshness, yet presenting enough deftness on the palate to ensure its presence is never fleeting, never forgotten.
As Pinotage heads into its next century, its future looks as illustrious and brilliant as the wine’s miraculous past. In fact, it has only just begun.
Cool is good, and in the wine industry it is now more relevant than ever. Why? People like to drink cool and cold stuff, thus omitting a large segment of the industry, namely red wine.
According to the rule-book, red wine is meant to be drunk at a moderate temperature. Perhaps not the room-temperature found in a busy restaurant kitchen next to the pizza oven, but a slightly more toned Celsius-reading of, say 16°C to 18°C. Not blood-warm, but also far warmer that the alcohol drinks most people favour today.
In fact, of all the alcoholic beverages available world-wide, only red and fortified wines are suggested for drinking at temperatures that are not deemed cold. Beer, cocktails, ice-accompanied whisky and brandy…the world likes their drinks to be well-chilled, if not icily frigid.
So if this is liked, why not do more to encourage the drinking of red wine chilled to the same degree as a Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc? Or state that a wine-lover will not be keel-hauled, lashed or publicly shamed if he or she wishes to add a cube of ice to a glass of red?
This unconventional, yet precisely pertinent, approach to drinking red wine was again brought to my attention by Niepoort wines from Portugal, who are currently running an Instagram campaign encouraging red wine to be chilled in an ice-bucket. And if not, why not?
In the 1970s Guinness – the venerable Irish stout – ran a television campaign in Britain encouraging the drinking of the black stuff at a temperature deemed cold, instead of the piss-warm room temperature at which pubs preferred it served back then. This had a major impact on Guinness’s image, as well as broadening its consumer base, the majority of which had until the advent of “cold Guiness” associated the stuff with a heady black beer made for callous-handed dockworkers and old male farts in mothball-scented tweed jackets.
Guinness suddenly appealed to a younger audience, women included, and the rest is history.
Red wine has the potential of following a similar trajectory if the enjoyment of a chilled glass of red wine is encouraged, as well as the acceptability of adding an ice-cube or two.
I can personally vouch that an ice-cold Shiraz still tastes marvellous after it has been in the fridge for a few hours, and yes, during a warm summer lunch I’ll drop an ice-cube into a glass of Kanonkop Cabernet Sauvignon. This horrifies the old wine guard, but to the new generation of wine drinkers, I think it looks as cool as it tastes.
And in today’s world where every liquor producer is seeking for a share or throat, can anyone afford not to buck outdated trends?
As the world celebrates progress and leadership on International Women’s Day, the election of Elunda Basson as Sauvignon Blanc South Africa’s new chairperson marks a significant moment for the organisation and the country’s most widely enjoyed cultivar. Basson, an acclaimed winemaker with a track record of excellence, takes over the reigns from RJ Botha as Sauvignon Blanc SA continues to elevate South African Sauvignon Blanc on the global stage.
As cellar master at Steenberg Vineyards since 2019, Basson has been instrumental in reinforcing Constantia’s reputation for top-tier Sauvignon Blanc. A renowned Cap Classique specialist and vice-chairperson of the Cap Classique Producers Association, she has previously worked at industry leaders such as Nederburg, Pongrácz, and J.C. Le Roux. Her accolades for sparkling and still wines include the 2018 Veritas Vertex Award for Pongrácz Blanc de Blancs, a Top 10 placement at Effervescent du Monde, and the World’s Best Shiraz trophy at the International Wine and Spirits Competition (IWSC).
Basson notes her transition to Steenberg as a pivotal moment. “Moving from primarily sparkling wines to mastering Sauvignon Blanc was an exciting challenge. Steenberg’s terroir – proximity to the ocean, the South-easterly wind, and decomposed granite soils – lends itself to exceptional Sauvignon Blanc, and the results speak for themselves in your glass.” In 2021 and 2023, Steenberg’s Black Swan Sauvignon Blanc was among the FNB Sauvignon Blanc SA Top 10 winners.
Since joining the Sauvignon Blanc SA committee in 2023, Basson has been an advocate for industry collaboration. “Be the change you want to see in the world. Young winemakers need to see us leading by example. We are a diverse committee of very passionate Sauvignon Blanc winemakers and contributing knowledge and experience is a privilege.”
Looking ahead, Basson is eager to drive innovation. “Our strength lies in the diverse regional expressions of Sauvignon Blanc. We need to highlight this diversity and educate consumers on the premium quality credentials of South African Sauvignon Blanc. The global wine stage is recognising the exceptional quality of our cultivar as some of the most iconic wines coming out of South Africa and we must capitalise on that momentum.”
“On behalf of Sauvignon Blanc SA, we extend our heartfelt gratitude to RJ Botha for his outstanding vision and leadership during his tenure as chairperson. His guidance has been instrumental in the association’s success, driving it to new heights and setting a standard of excellence that will continue to inspire. We are grateful that he will remain part of the committee.”
Looking back and moving forward
Outgoing chairperson RJ Botha (2018–2025), cellar master of Kleine Zalze, reflects on his tenure, saying, “Sauvignon Blanc has become a brand in its own right. Our producers make some of the best wines in the world, and we’ve undertaken major projects to promote this. From rebranding the association from the Sauvignon Blanc Interest Group (SBIG) to Sauvignon Blanc SA in 2019 to hosting the international Sauvignon Selection by CMB competition in South Africa in 2023, we’ve solidified our international presence. We are well-positioned to take Sauvignon Blanc SA to new heights under Elunda’s leadership.”
Vice-chairperson Thys Louw of Diemersdal Wines shares this optimism: “South African Sauvignon Blanc is experiencing the most exciting era in the cultivar’s history. Cape Sauvignon Blanc is not only the country’s most commercially successful wine in both local and international markets but is also celebrated for its diversity of flavour profiles, styles, and distinctly South African character. This success is driven by the wineland’s multi-dimensional terroir, as well as the passion and vision of our winemakers in their pursuit of excellence. As the industry’s representative body, Sauvignon Blanc SA plays a pivotal role in this journey, and under Elunda’s leadership, I believe we will further cement our reputation on the world stage.”
Sauvignon Blanc SA: Women at the forefront of wine leadership
As Sauvignon Blanc SA enters a new era, women continue to play a pivotal role in shaping its evolution. Basson says: “In an industry where few women serve on cultivar committees – let alone as chairperson – it is inspiring to recognise Erika Obermeyer’s pioneering leadership as chairperson (2012–2013) during the formative years of Sauvignon Blanc South Africa, alongside her fellow committee members. Established in 2003, the Sauvignon Blanc Interest Group (SBIG) operated on an ad hoc basis for a decade before officially transitioning into an association at a members’ meeting in December 2013.”
Basson acknowledges the strides women have made in the wine industry: “Women in wine are proving they have what it takes to be phenomenal winemakers and industry leaders. We need to believe in our worth and support each other. A strong network of women and mentorship from industry veterans will continue to drive this progress.”
Oenologist Dr. Carien Coetzee, who has been a key technical advisor on the committee since 2016, will assume the role of convenor of the FNB Sauvignon Blanc SA Top 10 competition in 2025. She succeeds Dr. Winnie Bowman, who has served in this capacity since 2019.
“My role bridges academic research and practical industry application, helping winegrowers and winemakers stay informed of the latest developments,” says Coetzee. “Our technical blogs have made complex research more accessible, equipping industry professionals with valuable insights.
Coetzee emphasises the growing influence of women in the industry: “Being a woman in a traditionally male-dominated industry presents unique opportunities for growth, resilience, and leadership. More leadership roles are opening up, and strong mentorship networks – both female and male – are enabling women to excel. As women continue to break barriers and inspire change, their contributions are shaping the wine world in meaningful and impactful ways.”
As an unapologetic Chardonnay acolyte, I see it as only a good thing that Eben Sadie, arguably the Cape’s most revered Swartland South African winemaker, had turned his deft hand and formidable vinous insight towards the great white grape of Burgundy. I had given up on this upon reading Eben’s musings on Chardonnay, as reported by Andrew Jefford in Decanter, back in 2014.
Andrew, visiting the Cape for the De Wetshof Celebration of Chardonnay, asked Eben why he and his fellow “avant garde” winemakers do not work with Chardonnay?
“You can’t,” replied Eben. “You need limestone; you need 45˚ latitude. The energy, the sun here, the brightness is too much. Some grapes are not meant to move. Robertson’s got the perfect soil, but the altitude’s wrong, the light’s wrong. For me, the two worlds are continental viticulture and Mediterranean. We’ve taken grapes from 45˚ latitude and planted them at 33˚. When you copy, you should at least copy the right thing.”
Whether the light or latitude or Eben’s persuasions have changed over seven years is not known. But his maiden Chardonnay, bottled under the Voëlvry label, was made from the 2021 vintage. Underscoring the extent to which Eben’s Chardonnay mindset had been swung, is the fact that the grapes for Voëlvry were sourced from the altitude and light of Robertson, which – as per the statement to Andrew – represents about as much of an about-turn as a former commie hating American redneck now having arousing thoughts about Vladimir Putin.
But at the end the day one must agree that a great mind is worth little if it cannot be changed.
Voëlvry Robertson Chardonnay 2021, Sadie’s first work with a noble white cultivar, is as fine and accomplished as one could expect from anything coming out of his cellar. Whole-clusters of grapes, driven to the Swartland from a select Robertson vineyard, were squished in a basket-press. Old Burgundian casks – 228 litres – were filled, and then the wine aged for 11 months.
Part of the appeal is its denser, assertive style, a solid step away from the endless seeking of electric minerality and mouth-puckering briskness, as is the case with many Cape Chardonnays. The wine has a discernible palate-density, with the typical Robertson terroir features of nuts and nartjie-peel having to work their way to the surface before being revealed. But these tastes are there, along with a subtle coaxing creaminess, before the slight velcro grip of a fine white wine gently scrapes the mouth as it heads to the finish.
Voëlvry Chardonnay might lack the visceral stony citrus expression of that from Robertson’s Weltevrede, and it does not have the complexity and multi-dimensional grace of a De Wetshof Finesse or The Site. But for a first attempt from Robertson, Voëlvry is showing great promise and should soon join in the lexicon of South African Chardonnay excellence.
The tune of old vineyards falls chiming and alluring on the ear, adding authenticity, romance and charm to the over-stuffed thematic make-up of the chronicle that is wine. Approaching a wine made from a vineyard that has for decades lived in a specific patch of earth, being exposed to scores of seasonal climatic vagaries, unavoidably gives that wine a certain appeal, one felt in the gut and in the heart.
Some 35 years is globally recognised as the age a vineyard must reach to be classified as “old”, this after old vines began to be a more general wine thing around a decade back. And for a 30- or 40-something person of relative youth, 35 years will be judged as a relevant age for such classification. For age only has true bearing and meaning when compared to one’s own distinctive field of reference.
The advent of South Africa’s democracy some 31 years ago, for example, belongs in the obscure annals of history for someone in his or her 30s. For others of my ilk, 1994 was just the other day.
Therefore, the acceptance and appreciation of wines made from old vineyards only finds traction, for me, when these plants have reached an age which I will call decent, and that is 50 years and over. This is an assured and confident showing of a vine having persevered, roots still rooted in the soils, drawing life from the earth to drive the complex growing processes needed to reach the annual state of bunch-ripeness. Having been attuned to its natural environment, gotten to fall in synch with the mindset of those people who manage the vineyard and itself growing shoots and leaves and grapes for 50 or more years, then one can say that, yes, the vineyard knows what it is doing.
And seeing such a vineyard and tasting the wine made from it, this vineyard and its wine can indeed create what all art aspires to summon from the human heart, and that is wonder.
Wonder has been at the forefront of my mind since a visit to a Cinsault vineyard in Wellington this week, as this patch of gnarled, low bush vines were planted in 1900. During the Anglo-Boer War, to place this into context. The oldest registered vineyard in South Africa, dry-farmed to boot. And during my pre-dawn visit, these viticultural miracles were showing ripe bunches of purple-blue berries, glistening in the soft early morning light before their stems were clipped with secateurs for transporting to a cellar, where the process of transforming these offerings from their 125-year-old parents into wine begins.
The vineyard in question is that from which the famed Wellington Cinsault is made, a wine bottled under the Leeu Passant label in the Franschhoek wine stable owned by Analjit Singh together with Chris and Andrea Mullineux. As I watched the pickers briskly make their way through the wide rows, snipping the bunches in revered silence, Andrea Mullineux asked me if I had tasted the grapes yet. This I had been reluctant to do – some vines had no bunches at all, and on others I counted but three to five. There is not a lot of fruit going around, as one can understand with vines’ being this age, and randomly nicking a berry seemed disrespectful.
Having gotten the go ahead, a grape was taken, and it broke juicy and sweet in the mouth. It was not the usual walnut-sized berry that Cinsault vines offer in their more vivacious youthful stage when yields can be promiscuously dense, and the skin was noticeably thicker than what the variety is known for. The pips were brittle, shattering between one’s dental arrangements and indicating a stage or perfect ripeness.
The vineyard of just under one hectare was already picked clean after the sun had risen over the Wellington mountains to the east. Crated, the grapes were ready to be carted in a cool-truck to the Leeu Passant winery for the vinification process, a situation starkly different to the pre-Leeu Passant days when this Cinsault would end-up in an innocuous red blend presided over by an ethos of co-operative mass production.
Some 45 years ago, when the Wellington vineyard was but a sprightly 80-years-old, Cinsault was the most planted red variety in South Africa, with 12 000ha set in the Cape winelands, compared to today’s1 650ha. The resurgence of an appreciation for the country’s wine legacy and its old vines has led to a slight Cinsault revival, although it is never going to reach the heady heights of Chenin Blanc’s Judas-like re-awakening. There simply are not enough Cinsault vineyards to, like Chenin Blanc has allowed for, create a brand from a cultivar.
And then there is the Cinsault wine itself, which can range from astringent and thin, to something solely deserving status as boxed Dry Red, and on the other side of the spectrum delivering a wine of true magnificence.
During Amorim Cork’s re-corking programme the team came across a 1971 Cinsault made under the erstwhile Oude Libertas label from Stellenbosch Farmers Winery and, poured blind, the impression was that this was a regal matured Burgundy with luxurious tertiary breeding cloaking an apparent immortal, vivid freshness.
The other reason that makes Cinsault hard going in the market is the lack of worldly references. Pinot Noir is Burgundy, Shiraz be Rhône and Barossa Valley and for Cabernet Sauvignon, there is the inspiration from Bordeaux and California.
Being a southern France workhorse grape, Cinsault has to graft extremely hard for notice in a world obsessed with immediate recognition and perception. This is why it needs a number of X-factors to prise into the realm of premier wine acceptance, factors that – as this 125-year-old Cinsault vineyard in Wellington shows – Leeu Passant has.
There is the age of the vines, astounding, underscoring the fact that Cinsault has true Cape wine industry provenance. The Mullineux and Singh commitment to ensuring this vineyard remains a, well, growing concern, is another. And then there is the wine itself, which when – sampled a few days before visiting the vineyard – is about as good as South African red wine gets.
The sample in question was the Leeu Passant Wellington Cinsault 2022. Spontaneous fermentation commences. The wine spends three weeks on the skins. It is aged further in old 500l barrels for 21 months.
Afrikaans philosopher-writer Marthinus Versfeld once wrote: “Each bottle of wine is a parcel of history”, so the more nostalgically minded will appreciate this Cinsault purely on account of the vines’ historical significance. But drinking Leeu Passant Old Vines Cinsault 2022 over a plate of steak and roast potatoes with a South African friend who has been residing in Toulouse for the past two decades, it was apparent that the wine has much more, so much more, than history going for it.
The impression is one of depth and concentration, led by a heady perfume, that harvest-time aroma of crushed dark berries at the onset of fermentation, a sour-cherry whiff with a layer of summer fynbos. With the old vines’ Cinsault’s thicker skins, the wine has the colour of night-black, the slightest of garnet rims resting, broodily, on the surface.
Regal and monumental, yes, but the wine’s appeal – the only one that truly matters to me – is the deliciousness. There is fruit, heavy, sugared plums verging on the edge of becoming prune, with an exotic edge of dried fig and an open-minded petrichor whisper. Fruit is glowing, not crunchy. There is juice and sap, yet dryness is non-negotiable. Slight garrique and potpourri cut loose toward the finish, with cedar dust and pine-needle present as the wine slips away.
Texture is the lifeblood of a great wine, and here the Cinsault straddles that of adorable, luxurious silky plushness and stern, moody dramatic presence. Like Maria Callas singing an aria while dressed in a negligee, this is classic, serious and seductive.
The crinkled tuxedo and red wine stains are still moist on the once-crisp white shirt, and I am thinking about last night’s all dressed-up event at Groot Constantia for the annual blessing of the South African wine harvest, as well as the annual honouring of the country’s wine legends. Those men and – a few – women who have been identified as having played profound roles in the Cape wine industry.
Johann Krige, proprietor of Kanonkop Estate, received the evening’s main accolade, namely that of the 1659 Award for Visionary Leadership, well-deserved as have been most of the previous recipients.
This lauding of the country’s exceptional wine people began in 1974 within the surrounds of the KWV, being moved to Groot Constantia just over a decade ago. The occasion is relevant, not only underscoring the fact that Cape wine has a long and illustrious history, but also acting as a reminder that formidable South Africans with wine coursing through their veins and vinous philosophy inhabiting their minds have allowed the industry to progress through these persons’ respective roles and influence.
It was a great occasion, one of reverence and respect complemented by spirited camaraderie in a magnificent setting. Groot Constantia remains the home and heart of South African wine.
But if the country’s industry truly wants to honour the roles individuals have played in its evolution as one embodying the connection that exists between the influential South African people of the past and the status of today’s industry, then more must be done.
It is befitting to annually honour certain people with a brief summary of their contributions to everything Brand SA Wine encompasses today. But what is needed is to put the contributions and dynamic roles of these individuals into context through a platform where the story of South African wine is once and forever fully, comprehensively and correctly told.
South Africa has a unique, multi-faceted, complex and rich wine history, but this statement is not suitably backed up with authoritative and engaging details of record. To put it bluntly, if one is looking for the story of Cape wine in books or websites, details are all over the place, inconsistent and in many instances factually incorrect. Statistics are, fortunately, in good hands due to the sterling work of Sawis. But the recording of a progressive narrative depicting pitfalls, challenges, ups-and-downs and successes, is lacking. It needs complete telling. One of how the wine industry truly came to be where it is today. How dramatic and visionary changes were driven by people of pioneering spirit, people spurred on by that wonderful combination of creativity, reality and foresightedness together with an in-bred commitment to pursuing a better proposition for the wine world in which they live. And what the effect of their actions and spirits were, sometimes against the hard-headed confinement of authority regulation.
Take Kanonkop as but one example in the modern history reflecting the extent to which South African wine has changed for the better.
From the late 1940s until 1973, Kanonkop – like many of today’s famous wine-producing estates, was making bulk wine for selling to a large brand-owner, in their case Stellenbosch Farmers Winery, with this wine ending-up bottled under large commercial labels.
Only 52 years ago – but a breath in the world of wine – did Kanonkop bottle its first estate wine under an own label. By doing, so the estate was a part of the shift in focus and of mindset among of a group of Cape producers towards creating wines that reflect a region and a specific wine farm’s geographic finger-print. Which in turn led to aspects that are today deemed a given when talking about wine, such as greater emphasis on vineyard quality, matching variety to suitable terroir and an awareness of the role of expertise and creativity in the cellar.
Accordingly, in one pause in history, the offering of South African wine changed dramatically in terms of quality and diversity, just as it is now continuously changing every year.
Parts of this history have been recorded by the estate’s themselves, as well as in recent books, but a complete precis on the extent to which the story of Cape wine changed over the past 60 years to being the multi-faceted and revered distinctive South African feature it is today, remains largely lacking.
Another chunk of information currently residing in a void, is on the introduction of grape cultivars to the Cape. With official records only going back to 1973, scant and mostly anecdotal evidence exists on when, where and by who varieties such as Sauvignon Blanc, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Chardonnay and Shiraz were introduced into the South African winelands, and what wines were made from them, when.
The list goes on. It is eventful, colourful, fascinating and, mostly, important.
The needs of the industry are vast, and they are many. But one that stands out is an official researched platform, albeit print, online, film or whatever, from where the complete history of South African can be viewed, used and promoted.
For you can’t really know where you are going until you know where you have come from.
When it comes to opportunism and marketing in the world of wine, no prize for giving top kudos to the Americans. President Donald Trump has hardly had time to acquaint Melania with the sleeping arrangements in the White House, and already a California winery has rushed to the fore with an offering of wines made to appeal to wine drinkers of Republican Trump supporting ilk. And, possibly, introduce a new generation to the juice of the fermented grape which they deem unfashionable, old school and out of synch with the current red-blooded heartbeat of America.
Where one would expect Trump supporters to prefer moonshine and rotgut rye whiskey distilled by toothless Appalachian families resulting from inter-generational in-breeding, the Republican Red Winery in the Santa Lucia Highlands in California’s Monterey County has rushed to the fore with a range of wines honouring the world that Trump espouses.
It appears to be a proper business, by the way, with a smart website offering instant shipments, thorough tasting notes and a summary of the press-coverage bestowed on Republican Red Winery, including from the legacy media.
As to the wines, first up is the 45+47 Pinot Noir, referring to Trump’s position in the line-up of American presidents. As to the tasting notes, well, these provide for reading of entertainment value that even the most creative wine scribe would not be able to replicate:
“Our ’45+47′ Pinot Noir, is a distinguished tribute celebrating Donald Trump as both the 45th and 47th President. This exceptional Pinot Noir embodies the boldness and charisma of its namesake, delivering a rich, complex flavour profile that’s as captivating as the man himself. Grown in the prestigious vineyards of the Santa Lucia Highlands, this wine boasts layers of flavours, with a smooth finish that lingers like a memorable speech. Whether you’re toasting to past victories or future triumphs, ’45+47′ Pinot Noir is the perfect companion for those who believe in making America great again – one glass at a time.”
Only in America. Give me a creative South African wine-scribe who can top that.
Onto the next wine, and I present you with Republican Red Winery’s Cabernet Sauvignon, this made from fruit in Paso Robles and charmingly named 2nd Amendment Cabernet Sauvignon after the value Trump’s party holds most dear, namely the one to bear arms. This is guns and stuff. The wine comes with another note advocating a call to wine and arms, which could be a lethal combination. In any event, this reads:
“Show your support for the Second Amendment with our ‘2nd Amendment’ Special Edition Cabernet Sauvignon from Republican Red Winery. This bold and robust wine not only delights the palate but also celebrates the fundamental right to bear arms. With flavours as strong and uncompromising as the principles it represents, this Cabernet Sauvignon is perfect for those who cherish their freedoms. The grapes were expertly fermented at moderate temperatures and then aged in French oak barrels, enhancing the wine’s depth and ensuring a perfect balance of fruit and tannins. Raise a glass to liberty and enjoy this exceptional wine that stands as a testament to American values.”
Whether the Red Republican Winery offers a box of .45 Magnum cartridges with every two cases ordered is not yet known, but do not be surprised.
My personal favourite is this winery’s energetically named white, namely the Drain the Swamp Chardonnay. This alludes to the term Trump and co. frequently used in campaigning for his first tenure where he aimed to depoliticise Washington DC by removing bureaucratic slime from a city which, physically, is actually a low-lying, humid and damp swamp.
How fun to draft a tasting-note thus:
“Make a bold statement with our ‘Drain the Swamp’ Special Edition Chardonnay. Crafted to champion accountability in politics, this wine is a perfect way to express your support for meaningful change. Raise a glass to progress and the power of making a difference. Produced from grapes grown in the esteemed Santa Lucia Highlands, this Chardonnay showcases remarkable complexity developed through a long growing season on well-drained slopes. Cheers to a brighter future with every sip!”
And last but not least, check out the Golden Age of America Sparkling Wine “that Toasts Triumph and Unity”. Here the tasting-notes read more like a manifesto, the winery’s marketing department now obviously in fully aroused throttle:
Commemorating the Victory: Our limited-editionGolden Age Cuveé is a sparkling wine that commemorates President Trump’s glorious victory at a pivotal moment in American history. Let’s raise a glass and welcome the Golden Age of America.
Celebrating the Red Wave: Pay tribute to the Republican Party’s remarkable commitment and unity that secured control of the Presidency, House, Senate, and Supreme Court.
Steadfast Commitment: Let each sparking sip remind us to come together and stay vigilant to pass laws and make rulings while the getting is good. Now is the time to secure a brighter future for generations to come.
Pop the cork, stand proud, and join us in ushering in the Golden Age of America. Cheers to victory, solidarity, and knowing that the best is yet to come.
On the website, Republican Red Winery also proudly markets itself as “Made in USA”, “Family Owned” and “100% Woke Free”.
A translated extract from Krummels in my Koffer (Protea Books)
From Porto I take the night train to Madrid. Now I am a wanderer once more, backpack slung over my shoulders as I navigate the wide boulevards of Madrid, guided by my Let’s Go Europe guide to the youth hostel. Here in Spain, everything is larger, more bustling than in Portugal. Vast markets brim with fish and any other edible ocean creature, in shell and with tentacles. I see and smell vegetables, and fruits; cheeses and flowers and thirty different kinds of olives. And the flesh of the pig that Spain so dearly loves: the reddish-brown jamón, those hams that are salted and air-dried, cured for years in Spanish mountain caves. The red chourico sausages, coloured and flavoured with paprika.
But it is the Spanish countryside that calls to me. After a few days in Madrid, experiencing the splendours of the Prado Museum and drinking beer and eating ham and cheese sandwiches in bars with other wanderers from America, Canada, Australia, Germany, and Denmark, I head southward.
It was the beginning of summer, and the Spanish landscape reminds me of trips to the Karoo and Namaqualand with my parents. Red earth stretches across open plains, the rolling hills dotted with olive trees and endless green vineyards. The air is still, windless, dry, and warm. I hitchhike, catching rides with taciturn truck drivers and chatty holidaymakers on their way to the coast. Here and there, I take the train. I have a complete freedom, with no idea where I’m ultimately headed, except that I’m aiming for Seville. There’s work at Amorim’s Spanish cork factory.
Late one afternoon, I find myself on a train that stops at a station in the middle of absolutely nowhere. It’s just me and a handful of other passengers on the train; one dishevelled man in a loose-fitting cheap suit speak English and tells me the train stops here for the night and won’t continue until tomorrow. There is no reason, no alternative plan. Mañana is always another day. The passengers disembark, I am alone.
At the isolated station there is, as at all Spanish train stations, a café. It’s cool inside, and the bartender and a few other men, who look like local farmers, are glued to a bullfight taking place on a large television-set. I order a beer and watch for a while as a large black bull is taunted and killed by a nimble matador in his tight golden suit. The bar counter is made of zinc, and the metal feels cool against my bare elbow.
After a while, that goes slowly, it is dusk outside, and the farmers leave one by one, the roars of their vehicles slicing through the silence. Now it’s just me and the bartender, and the bulls. And the stationary train by the platform. The bartender, a short, dark man in his sixties, asks me something I don’t understand. Seeing my puzzlement, he makes the universal eating gesture: moving his fists toward his mouth. I say “sí” and “por favor,” realising how hungry I am.
He disappears into a doorway behind the bar, and as another dead bull is dragged out of the dust of the bullfighting arena by two horses, I hear the sound of pots and pans and the sizzling sound of something frying in hot oil. And there is the smell of garlic, as is always the case when cooking is done in southern Europe.
About ten minutes later, the bartender emerges from the hidden kitchen. I turn away from the television to watch him place a plate on the zinc counter. On the plate lies a golden-yellow omelette, with pieces of golden-brown potato set in the egg. Beside the omelette lies a strip of meat with a slightly charred surface from which a watery red-pink juice oozes, too red to be pork. I thank the bartender and ask, in my rudimentary Spanish, for a glass of red wine: “vino tinto.” Mom and Dad would have enjoyed red wine with meat and eggs.
It is a thin beef steak, perfectly medium-rare, that has been fried in oil. Together with the robust, raw Spanish red wine, it is the best meat I have had since the Karoo lamb chops Dad grilled for Peter and me the day before we left South Africa to fly to Portugal. And I’m not surprised by the deliciousness of the omelette alongside the steak. Already in Madrid I had noticed that the Spaniards are friends of the egg, serving baked eggs under paprika and omelettes – called tortilla – everywhere. But out here in the sticks, this simple egg dish is simply heavenly to eat. The omelette is light in texture yet rich on the palate due to the orange farm eggs it has been cooked with. The cubes of potato break the richness slightly, bearing the flavours of earth and water, with a salty fried crust.
I eat everything and wash it down with two glasses of wine. Wipe my plate clean with a chunk of crusty bread. The bartender takes my plate away and returns with a cup of coffee and a small glass of brandy.
After the last bull has died and the television is turned off, I thank the bartender and pay. He closes the café and rides off on a noisy motorbike that sends plumes of white smoke and the hollow clatter of the engine into the still night air of Spain.
The station platform is now bathed in a dim yellow light, and the night cools slightly so that the scent of plants and earth rises, covering me in the cool and the fresh. I unroll my sleeping bag and lay it out on one of the benches. Far away in a strange land and alone, I close my eyes.
