Every time I hear a wine critic state that South African Pinot Noir does not rival the quality of the wines made from this variety in Burgundy, I want to ask said person: How stupid do you think we really are? My journalism professor warned our class about the alienating boredom of the Well Known Fact, which aforementioned assertation on Cape Pinot Noir as compared to Burgundy is.
And for further news, which I will state on behalf of these monotonous sages of matter vinous: Yes, South Africa will never make Pinot Noir like Burgundy. Neither will Napa, nor New Zealand, Germany or the vineyards surrounding the Tamil hide-outs in Sri Lanka.
Why the temerity to state this? Well, no New Zealand sheep-farmer will ever offer a leg of lamb comparable in flavour to one from South Africa’s Karoo. And no date-palm growing on the banks of the Orange River in the Northern Cape will present a date to the intoxicating degree of treacle-sweetness as one from Morocco.
But is the leg of Kiwi lamb or the unctuous Northern Cape date inferior to that originating from the geography of the other? Only in the eyes of the beholder, who wants to see them as such.
The Cape will not ever create Pinot Noir like Burgundy, but it can offer great Pinot Noir in its own right, one worthy of respect in the most rarified circles of Burgundian be-fuckedness. I know, for I have had a few. Most recently the Vriesenhof Pinot Noir 2003 made for the Cape Winemakers Guild by Jan Boland Coetzee.
It was Jan’s favourite Cape Pinot Noir vintage, and he was not shy to call it as good as Grand Cru Burgundy, but one that speaks with a South African accent, implying that the two regions will never interpret the variety in a manner of duplication. This was ten years ago, when Jan and I sipped this wine over a breakfast of saffron-yellow farm-eggs and impala sausage. Now, in 2026, this Vriesenhof Pinot Noir is spectacular in every sense. Forget about the variety, it is just a magnificent wine, to my mind the GS of Pinot Noir. Although far scarcer, but no less icon-worthy.
The wine was decanted, a deep shade of ruby with a slightly lighter, crimson edge on the glass. It smelt like wine, the dramatic, brooding soul of the fermented grape, randy and growling and almost confrontational. No rose petals. No truffle. No poncy fruit-charm. This wine has such big balls it wouldn’t last 15 minutes at a Sea Point trance party without getting groped.
It had been in new wood, see. When it comes to wood, Jan Boland did not stuff around. Cement eggs, clay amphorae: toys and showpieces. Wood. French. Tight. Hard and new.
The wine was fermented in new wood, punched down. Then malolactic fermentation, then aged for 10 months. The full monty.
Thus, 23 years later, it is as dark as the heart of a Hamas sniper and as robustly pure and healthy as a German gymnast training for Oktoberfest. There are cultured power and domineering personality, in texture and flavour.
Tannins are still coiled like whore-house bed-springs with a decade of bonking still in them. The tannins bear flavour. It is iodine and liquorice. Black-pudding made from the blood of Iberian pigs and cured in a hollow cave for months. The savouriness meets surly runs of cherries the size of Kate Winslet’s nipples, only tighter and less liquid.
This Pinot Noir takes the text-book, rips it up and sets it alight with the breath of underfed, furious dragons. No willowy grace, easy-fruit or overdone tertiary forest floor or knobbly wet truffles. Just an attack, a grip and an overpowering run of brilliant wine.
Power in its glory. One of a kind, never to be replicated
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Well, I don’t know, Emile. This was the first thing I read this morning and the initial thought that flitted through my overfull brain was ‘Was Emile high when he wrote this? Or in a trance? Or deprived of Kate Winslet’s cherry-like nipples?’
Whatever. Hugely entertaining. The wine sounds magnificent coming from your description. Alas, I will never taste it. But is there a more accessible runner up for us mortals?
Hi Madame. Thank you. The writing mood was monastic – wait until I go full throttle on that wine. Next time you are down, I’ll find something close. Just wear a double bra.
Emile, I just wanted to say that you have a truly special talent for describing wine. The way you capture its character, nuances, and story is both engaging and inspiring – something not many people can do so naturally.
“as dark as the heart of a Hamas sniper” and “Black-pudding made from the blood of Iberian pigs and cured in a hollow cave for months. The savouriness meets surly runs of cherries the size of Kate Winslet’s nipples, only tighter and less liquid”
It’s always a pleasure reading your work. 😁
Dankie Boet, die lewe is ‘n wynlied.