We hit Quinta de Napoles, home of Dirk Niepoort’s Douro Valley wine operation, with crates of old Cape wine, chunks of freshly butchered meat and a bobbing truckful of warm-hearted South African spirit. All ready for the most recent addition to the Douro Valley’s embedded centuries-old traditions, namely the perennial visit by South Africans to treat local Portuguese winemakers to a real braai, as performed in our home of Africa South.
Thing was, it had begun raining on the road through the valley, sheets of northern Portuguese precipitation dropping from the dark heavens like paralysed scuba-diving moths, dripping and soaking and splashing. Driver Joaquim Sá pulled over at the Quinta, we opened the doors and spilled into the parking area, the world behind and beyond us unlit and mysterious on this ink-black Douro night.
“Sorry about the weather guys,” said Luís da Silva, Niepoort’s winemaker at De Napoles, as he welcomed us, “not really conditions for a braai.” Like his fellow local winos, Luís had been anticipating this visit for some time and had for the past three days been fasting on two sheep-milk yoghurts, half a grilled sardine and three kale-leaves in expectation of our arrival.
Besides for Joaquim, our van was filled with seven Afrikaners. And in case Luís had not gotten the memo, Afrikaners don’t let some trifle matter such as rain get between us, our hosts and a braai. Not even if that rain is a Douro downpour.
Moving into the Quinta’s dining area, fellow South Africans Bertho van der Westhuizen from Alto Estate, Anri Truter of Beyerskloof fame and KWV’s James Ochse got right down to the task, proceeding to check-out the fireplace, a huge space flanked by gargantuan stumps of wood lumbered from various Douro trees. Logistical lordess Carina Gous of Kleine Zalze commandeered the hauling of provisions into the kitchen adjoining the dining digs, and journalist Daléne Fourie of News 24 and winemaker André Roux (Rupert&Rothschild) did as ordered, while I monitored proceedings.
New Zealand lamb-chops and boerewors and sirloin steaks had been procured from a South African-Portuguese butcher outside Porto, and on the insistence of Carina and Daléne bread, tomatoes, cheese and onions were sourced for the making of braaibroodjies. To those who do not know, take to google as these fire-charred toasties are an essential part of South African braai DNA.
The fire roared, courtesy of the three pyromaniacs, but before any braaiing could be thought of, Luís led us to the Niepoort cellar for a look, taste and see. Wines were sampled from tanks and concrete and wood. There was sherry-like oxidative stuff, pure reds of garnet hues and savoury taste and fine crisp white wines, of which a blend called Coche was absolutely magnificent, this being Niepoort’s most prized white.
Luís is eloquent and soft-spoken, yet with a determined focus. It’s about vineyards, the Douro Valley soils of slate and granite, driving a sparse pureness in the winemaking approach. The Niepoort set-up for sure won a new set of fans that night, of which I am one.
Back in the dining-room, the fire was blazing. A long table laid out. A vivid painting of men stomping grapes in a traditional lagarge fermenter covered an entire wall.
Daniel Niepoort, the amiable son of Dirk, handed around frosty Portuguese craft-beers as a cute dog with a wiry camel-coloured coat sat at his feet. And then the games started.
Joaquim unveiled out some older South African wines he had lugged from the Cape to Portugal, beginning with Klein Constantia Sauvignon Blanc 1986. Then an 80’s Riesling from the same cellar. Daniel kept getting up and returning with bottles of local white wines of various grapes called Alvarinho and Arinto and Encruzado.
But the boys Bertho and Anri were commanding most of the attention, the crowd getting bigger as Susete Melo and her gang from Douro-winery Kranemann arrived, as did Tiago Mendes from Anselmo Mendes with his Porto restaurateur amigo. Everyone was watching Bertho and Anri as they spread the burned red-hot coals over the floor of the fire-place, set a grid atop the heat and got onto doing what we Afrikaners do best, and that be braaiing.
First-up was the boerewors, as it should be, hastily sizzled over red-hot coals, sealing the casing and allowing the meat to cook in its own fatty juices. The boerewors was removed, cut in stubs and served with fresh Portuguese rolls – daily delivered by the sack to Niepoort. My personal contribution, one that turned out to be rather successful, had been to procure a large jug of Mrs Ball’s Chutney from the butcher in Porto.
The Portuguese hosts gave the glistening dark mixture, interspersed with fine chunks of fruit, a suspicious glance, before apprehensively dipping their pieces of sausage into the stuff. One bite, and they were hooked, slathering the Mrs Ball’s over sausage and bread, eating it with hunger followed by satisfied grunts of pleasure, the kind Portuguese people make when Cristiano Ronaldo swings past two defenders.
Wine side, Joaquim was upping the ante. Opening Rustenberg Cabernet Sauvignon 1982. Then Daniel trumped with a 1955 St Émilion, Clos Jean-Voisin. It was a magnificent wine, uncanny in its expressive oyster-shell profile, memorable with that feather-light palate-weight packed with prunes and herbs. Scintillating.
Back in the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Carina, Daléne and André putting together twenty-some braaibroodjies with the kind of deft skill only found in a group of experts working in perfect, harmonious unison.
Now the lamb-chops were on the fire, Anri and Bertho haunched beside the grill managing the heat of the coals and ensuring the meat cooks true en good. The guys were getting glances of respect and admiration from our hosts, and every turning of a chop was met with a slight gasp of awe and amazement. By the time the final two chops were turned, I was expecting the Mexican wave to break out, or a combined singing of “Sarie Marie” in Portuguese.
Soon it was time to hit the table. The toasted braaibroodjies placed on separate platters and scattered about the hungry guests. Chops and steaks were waiting in hot-dishes by the fire for self-serving.
The Mrs Balls Chutney kept flowing, our hosts piling it over their meat and braaibroodjies, washing the time-proven South African culinary combination down with more-and-more profound wines which Daniel was bringing-up from the cellar. These were becoming impressive, but Joaquim still had a trump to play in his offerings. Namely a KWV Port from 1929.
Now, even if this was a 1929, bearing a South African Port to the Douro is like taking a can of Lucky Star Pilchards to a Portuguese fishing village. But the locals were amazed, stunned at the deeply fruited intensity of the Cape Port, its layers of glowing, iridescent flavours an honour to the wines for which the Douro is most famous and which had, all those years ago, inspired the folks at the KWV to make this wine. It was an emotional moment, as tributes and honours to the legacy of one’s forebears are.
Daniel was, however, not going to be outdone. He opened a Niepoort Port compiled on a slug of base-wine that had been made in 1863. This, too, called for regal admiration and much inspiration, as much as the gratitude for an evening that, like the two Ports, will go down as immortal in the minds of those fortunate enough to have been there.
Enjoyed this article?
Subscribe and never miss a post again.