Deciding on a whim – as usual – to play wine tourist, I turned left before Franschhoek town for a visit to Leeu Passant, home of the wines originating from the joint-venture between Andrea and Chris Mullineux and Indian businessman Analjit Singh. Here both the ranges of Mullineux and Leeu Passant are presented in the Wine Studio, a stylish tasting-venue, uncluttered and free of bling and ostentatious, unnecessary wall adornments, leaving one to focus on what the space is there for: the wines. And outside the, gardens and landscaping is fabulous.

I have long been an admirer and admitted fan of these wines, having been brought to various evocative stages of introspection by the magnificent Leeu Passant Stellenbosch Chardonnay, while the Stellenbosch Cabernet Sauvignon underscores the now home-driven fact that the environs of Stellenbosch were mapped out by the man above to plant Cabernet Sauvignon.

Of course, there is a Cinsault and a red blend with Cinsault, and a line-up of these splendid wines, showing a seamless blend of sense of place and a masterly hand in the cellar, can be quite overwhelming in their collective beauty. For me, going through this line-up is akin to listening to Steely Dan’s seminal album, Gaucho, and trying to determine which of the tracks is able to stand above the rest. No can do, amigo.

But give it time. For this, I procured a few wines for later amazement, upon which I am going to have to put my nether regions on the line by saying that the Leeu Passant Franschhoek Sémillon bears, slightly, the most allurement in the range. And it comes down to delicacy.

I love delicate wines. Wines that caress the being, instead of just wetting it with splashes of discernible flavours and screaming for attention by means of a tannin-fuelled grip. Thys Louw from Diemersdal Estate refers to a good white wine as something that reminds him of the water from a gushing mountain stream, and this I, too, find in white wines to which I keenly attach the label of ‘delicate’.

The Leeu Passant Sémillon in question – 2022 – is from a Franschhoek vineyard turning 61 this year, farmed dryland on a combination of alluvial and rocky soils. As can be expected from a wine in the hands of Andrea Mullineux, all fermentation is spontaneous – including malolactic. It was kept for 12 months in barrel, on the lees, and finished-off in concrete egg.

Mystery is an engaging partner to delicacy. And though my palate does not share the cultured astuteness of true wine critics, I can confidently state that Sémillon is not a variety that jumps at you from the glass. I felt a tad better when, after my initial visit, I poured the wine blind to a company of people I deem experts, without a single taster tagging it as being made from this variety.

There are aromatics, with scents of pastoral spring pastures, sorrel and mountain breeze drifting gently from the glass, with a hint of green apricot alluding to the presence of acidity and that this could be a wine. The coy restraint shown by the wine’s aroma extends to the attack on the palate, which is about as aggressively assertive as a bunch of samba dancers attempting to take on the All Black tight-five.

Cool and fragile, the wine lies in the mouth like a droplet of pre-dawn condensation on a dandelion petal, before carefully sending exploratory beams of flavour to probe the senses. There is a sliver of sappy cantaloupe, cold and ripe, with a powdery throw of lime-zest. Brisk notes of green apple lurk, prodding to the fore as the wine warms in the mouth. Provençal potpourri adds an exotic, feral edge which is dangerously exciting in the wine’s clear-eyed fragility, and allow for an unexpectedly long, confident finish.

The firm waxy quince and perception of lanolin that many of Franschhoek’s Sémillon wines evoke are not present here, making the Leeu Passant more a case of reimagining terroir than reflecting it.

This takes vision, skill and the eye of an artist, all three obviously playing a major role in the crafting of a truly memorable white wine.

The storms pelt the Cape, bringing sheets of welcome rain and bracing chilled air scented by the salt and kelp from an ocean that is heaving with anger and danger. For the first few days all this is rather entertaining as the natural elements thunder and wail, and assert their oft-forgotten presence on the world around. We are but a little being.

But after nearly a week, the soul grows tired of the gloom, the situation not helped by the continued chill that has the knees creaking as you rise to put more wood in the fireplace and fingers numbly struggling to handle a cork-screw with the required aplomb.

To warm the soul there is sport from sunny northern climes where tennis is played on the verdant grass-carpets of Wimbledon and wiry gentleman peddle around beautiful France under blues skies in Le Tour. I am also elevated by streaming the European shows given by Taylor Swift, the greatest singer of all-time, and a songwriter of tremendous literary dimensions. And when she sings of Champagne, I am especially enraptured:

Because I dropped your hand while dancing
Left you out there standing
Crestfallen on the landing
Champagne problems

Your mom’s ring in your pocket
My picture in your wallet
Your heart was glass, I dropped it
Champagne problems

For now it is not only the right time to sing about Champagne, but also an apt time to consume it – despite the frigid air and stormy weather, the damp earth and the dim heavy sky. Nothing lets the sun in like Champagne, or any other traditionally made sparkling wine of fine quality.

The persons in my immediate surrounds, thus, were questioning my state of mind last night when I plucked an ice-cold bottle from the fridge and removed the cork on a bottle of Pieter Ferreira Birdsong Cap Classique from the year of 2020. While others took soul-warming draughts from glasses of Tawny Port and sips of Irish whiskey, I watched with expectation as the life-affirming sparkling wine frothed into a broad and deep glass.

Pieter Ferreira needs no introduction, being the leading persona of South Africa’s Cap Classique category. His work at Graham Beck is legendary. And the wines under Pieter’s own label each bear the hallmarks of a true and skilled craftsman, whose comprehension of Champagne and Cap Classique and all such good fizzy things brings his personal bubbly soul to every glass. Where it is experienced, as well as being tasted.

Birdsong is an extra brut, coming in at just 3.5grams of residual sugar, and is made from 75% Chardonnay, with the balance being Pinot Noir. An eagle eye for perfection in the expression of terroir via this extra brut style saw Pieter sourcing grapes from Napier in the Overberg, as well as the limestone-rich soils of Robertson. No wood or such was used to swell-out the base wine, which spent 48 months on its lees during that wonderous process of secondary fermentation in bottle, where texture and flavour is drawn, and bubbles are born.

To have this wine in the dark heart of winter makes the name of Birdsong especially relevant. Along with the sliver of golden sunlight its presence brings to the soul, the wine’s exuberant energy and loving, joyous sparkle evokes the same feeling as does hearing a flock of cheery, noisy bokmakieries celebrating the wonder of a new day.

The mousse settles, and an aroma of warm, sun-dried hay and arum lily drifts from the glass. It is pale-cold in colour, the shade of a pharaoh mask reflecting from the eye of love-struck Cleopatra. The attack on the mouth is gushing and thrilling, rapturous, the sparkle turning one’s five senses into nine, opening the mind and heart to speculate on what flavours this beautiful wine might hold.

I find forelle pear, picked just before the nectar of complete ripeness has set in. Then, a run of thick-skin lemon-peel with a generous helping of sherbet, a mouth-puckering grip of salt-lick and – thank be to the Pinot Noir – there is a teasing poke of red-berries with a slight essence of floral perfume. A comforting note of brioche threads its way through the medley of taste, but just so, leaving the focus on a fruity, stony purity.

Two glasses later, and Birdsong has worked its wonder, and the world opens. And here comes the sun.

Despite not exactly falling into the most popular, vastly read forms of what is still called journalism, wine writing appears to be the sector in which the most navel-gazing occurs. I can think of no other segment of precis, essay, review, comment and general non-fiction writing where so much energy and thought and opinion is spent on bemoaning and preaching its current state than within the modest confines of those wording on fermented grape-juice.

This year, so far, has seen an especially inspired array of writers asking questions and deliberating on the subject – not of wine, which is on what they write, but on the general state of the wine writing diaspora. There are opinions and concerns on practicalities: the decline in wine coverage in traditional media; the rise of so-called ‘influencers’ who apparently down-grade the hallowed subject of wine by resorting to videos and abruptly captioned images, emojis and dancing optional; the lack of paid-gigs for those wishing to share their insights with the world; the murky border between editorial writing and paid-for, advertorial stuff.

The very appearance of all these concerns finding their way into cyberspace underscores the stifling confinement with which many wine writers approach their world. For who is really going to be interested in the travails of wine-writing except for a very, very limited and closed community. And is this not what lies at the heart of what is perceived as a concern among those aggrieved at the current state of wine writing: the fact that too much of the insular reflection takes place in the hallowed confines of an assumed audience, instead of a real one.

Briefly put, if there is so much to enthuse upon, to say and to share about wine, why waste ink writing about, well, wine writing? But we can’t help ourselves – present company included, as this modest missive shows…

Wine is not an easy thing to write about. In my previous life as a journalist reviewing film, contemporary music and drama, it was all so easy. You had actors to discuss, plot-lines to analyse and infectious rhythms to spur one on to giving wordy opinions. Give me a blank sheet to discuss a film like Anatomy of a Fall or Ralph Fiennes’s acting in Hamlet, and I have more hooks with which to fill that space than you’ll find on an illegal Chinese long-liner.

Wine is different, and it is hard. It sits there in a glass. You smell and sip. There is some back-story on the place where the grapes are grown and the techniques employed in its making, and that is that. Over to you. Not only tricky to write, but even trickier to capture the imagination of the reader. Especially a reader who does not know the difference between a Claret and a Bordeaux or a Champagne and a Mimosa.

And the question that is hardly asked by the writer is, why should they know?

Of course, it depends what the writer wants. An esteemed critic with a fervent following of wine-buffs can stay cool and keep critiquing and writing informed stylish editorial to an informed appreciative audience. Be his or her pursuit that of hobby, revenue or pure satisfaction in stringing wine-words together, this state is a good one to be in for writer and audience alike.

But for those writers dissatisfied with the environment in which they have to pursue their craft, the challenge is greater than being excellent in the way they do so. For not only do they have to satisfy an established community, but they have to create a new one.

I would see this as an exciting challenge for a number of reasons.

Firstly, wine writers have an opportunity to buck a trend, namely that of decreased audience – the primary reason for all this questioning the state and future of wine writing. What finer reward can there for a writer be than to in a decade’s time lay claim to having been at the forefront of the revival in wine communication, seeing wine as a now ubiquitous life-style and cultural item loved and enjoyed by many as a result of your active role in the media?

Secondly, this whole scenario can spur writers on to look and think outside the box, mustering their creative energies to use their knowledge and experience in a different way. Change of voice and tone to adapt to the current environment, find aspects about their subject which previously would not have inspired any writing about it.

And then finally, and probably the reason for the current quandary, the irreversible digital world. Never before has humankind turned to so many different forms of media for information and opinion as is the case today. And at no time have wine communicators had such a diversity of vehicles to disperse their voices into the world.

It is perhaps time to think not like a wine writer or conventional wine lover in the inner-circles of vinous appreciation, but like a winemaker. One who has discovered a new patch of virginal bare soil. And with conviction in its undiscovered terroir, you plant vines in uncharted territory with belief and a sense of discovery heading you to a new path on the world you yourself have created.

The wines, however they may be, will capture the imagination and draw new followers and, perhaps, give you a place in immortality.

Which like the creators of wine, writers strive towards.

This piece of writing first appeared in Afrikaans in Die Burger newspaper. This is a translation.

When William Shakespeare inquired, “What’s in a name?” he spoke of roses, certainly not of wine. For a man of the Bard’s indisputable genius must have known that in the realm of wine, a name means a great deal, if not everything.

The great names in the world of wine cause the heart to race at their mere mention. Body temperatures rise, and conversation turns towards awe and authority, respect and enchantment, evoking places where the magical gifts of the vine have been elevated to heavenly heights. These are the names of places whose wines command respect, authority, and prestige: France boasts many such names – Romanée-Conti, Mouton-Rothschild, and Bollinger, to name but a few. Spain’s Vega-Sicilia and Italy’s Sassicaia achieve the same, as does California’s Harlen.

And in South Africa, it is Meerlust, a name that anyone with an interest in Cape wines can link to excellence, one of the first South African wine names to be recognised by connoisseurs in Europe, America, and the Far East.

A name worth its weight in wine is one that has withstood the test of time, a feat that Meerlust has accomplished twice over, having existed at the southwestern gateway to Stellenbosch since 1693. The estate was discovered, created, and named by Henning Huising, who called the land Meerlust, meaning “the pleasure of the sea,” as the nearest False Bay breaker crashes a mere five kilometres from the manor’s front door.

However, the family history of Meerlust is dominated by the Myburgh family, who acquired the estate in 1756 and have owned it unremittingly ever since. Hannes, the current owner, is the eighth generation Myburgh, making the names Myburgh and Meerlust the most illustrious ‘M’ names in South African wine.

Although its long and colourful history greatly contributed to the estate’s iconic wine status, the name Meerlust has graced wine labels for only 49 years. The first bottle bearing the Meerlust label – a Cabernet Sauvignon from 1975 – was the brainchild of Nico Myburgh, Hannes’ father, who was the driving force behind establishing the Meerlust brand and moving the estate from supplying bulk wine to larger cellars to producing premium estate wines.

The first Meerlust wine had barely been bottled when Nico Myburgh began pondering how to immortalise the twin names – Meerlust and Myburgh – in wine terms with a third name that would etch his estate into the annals of Cape wine history. That name was Rubicon.

Together with his then winemaker, the Italian Giorgio Dalla Cia, Nico brought his love for the Bordeaux wine region to Meerlust and decided to recreate it in his own backyard. This involved crafting a Bordeaux blend, combining three of the five Bordeaux varieties – Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Cabernet Franc – into a single wine. The only other estate engaged in a similar endeavour was Welgemeend in Paarl, which produced its blend in 1979.

When Nico and Giorgio’s new Bordeaux creation appeared on the market in 1984 – the 1980 vintage under the name Rubicon – the South African wine industry entered a new chapter. The historic and revered name, bestowed by Nico’s friend and Afrikaans poet Dirk Opperman, refers to the river Julius Caesar crossed in 49 BC on his way to invade Rome, knowing there would be no turning back.

The other part of the success, of course, is the continuous and meticulous adherence to the vision that led to the creation of Rubicon: namely, a quality wine that reflects Meerlust’s terroir and geographical location with the same passion, spirit, and soul that have sustained the estate’s name and place in the heart for centuries.

As with all good wines, location and address are everything, and during a recent visit to Meerlust’s 80 hectares of vineyards, it was once again evident how extraordinary this part of Stellenbosch is – so unique that the area, along with its neighbour Vergenoegd Löw estate, has yet to be given a ward name by the Stellenbosch wine authorities.

Here at Meerlust, the Atlantic Ocean is a mere five kilometers away, creating a maritime climate that exposes the vineyards to the fierce southeasterly winds in summer and the full brunt of the north-westerlies in winter. There are no slopes, peaks, or shelter: the vineyards stand between roughly 10 meters above sea level, with the highest point being the 120-meter granite hill just beyond Compagniesdrift. The soil diversity here is enough to make a geologist weak at the knees – and not just geologists. Wim Truter, who took over as the third head winemaker in Meerlust’s estate-wine history in 2020, clearly possesses many talents. But when it comes to the role of soil types in the vineyard’s final product, this aspect of Wim’s interest can be described as fanatical.

In blending the Rubicon wine, the main components – Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot – are sourced from a tapestry of each variety’s vineyards spread across the Meerlust estate. These include those standing on Greywacke sandstone, the more alluvial beds along the Eerste River, granitic soils near the hills, and the low-lying clay-shale areas.

As demonstrated during the visit, each soil type contributes its own dimension to the Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot growing in these soils. At Meerlust, wine is not so much made in the vineyard as it is made from the vineyard. After each Rubicon component is harvested and aged separately for a few months in French oak, Wim, Hannes, and the rest of the team sit like conductors, tasting the more than 40 vineyard batches to decide which ones are worthy of being bottled under the Rubicon name.

The chosen blend – mainly Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, with Cabernet Franc and Petit Verdot playing supporting roles – is then returned to the barrel for further aging, allowing the selected elements to marry and fulfil each year’s Rubicon union.

“It’s not about a Rubicon style,” says Wim. “It’s simply about taking the best of what each vineyard has delivered each year and using it for the wine.”

Certainly, there are other wines at Meerlust: the Cabernet Sauvignon that started it all, a Merlot, in my opinion the best single-varietal Merlot in the country; the earthy, robust, and rounded Pinot Noir, and that lovely, lively, citrusy Chardonnay.

But Meerlust’s prestige and the authority it commands as South Africa’s premier wine estate rest on the Rubicon, an undeniable proof that Cape wines can achieve the highest international standards.

There is an indefinable and mysterious element that enables good wines to age, and a 20-year-old Rubicon proves that this trait is present at Meerlust. The 2004 Rubicon tasted under Wim’s guidance is as fresh, lively, and energetic as Gerda Steyn at the end of another Comrades Marathon. Shining notes of black fruit with an airy pine-needle scent, and a charming, meaty hint of saltiness bestowed by the years in the bottle.

Jump to Rubicon 2017, one of the Cape’s standout vintages, and the tannic muscles are bold and insistent, with shades of blackberries, mulberry, and cigar box spelling “classic” with a capital “C.” I’d even throw in an “R” for regal.

And the current 2021 vintage, a wine whose best years still lie ahead, is nonetheless fully drinkable with its crunch of ripe cherry and an exotic cocoa note lingering from its time in wood.

Every rose may have its own name, but there is only one Rubicon.

It’s big, it is buttery it is rich, and it is back. After extensive research, done with thorough commitment and dedication, I can reveal that those enthusiasts of the royal Burgundian white who think butter-noted, bold oaky Chardonnay is a thing of the past, well, they best get with the programme.

World-over there has been an explosion in the demand for this style of opulent, corpulent style of Chardonnay, a wine offering that, like – permed hair, the songs of John Denver, and furry car dashboards – were thought to have disappeared to the great retro hall in the sky.

And it is the newer generation of wine drinkers who are lapping it up, Buttercup.

These younger wine folk do not harbour the disdain that sees today’s middle-aged and elder drinkers eschewing Chardonnays made in this smoky, Dairy Queeny and showily fruited style. For the current wine mods approach wine with a slate that is cleansed of opinion and advice from the conventional vinous intelligentsia. These newer consumers are drinking what they like. And one does not have to be a follower of cordon bleu trends, or know how to cook sous vide, to see the current demand for flavour in general leans towards the big, diverse, vivid and palate-thumping kind.

Today’s food preferences are for promiscuous sensorial satisfaction with salt, sweet, acidity, spice and sour rolled into one. Even fine-dining establishments are replacing delicately sauced Grand Cuisine French classics with dishes seeing exotic spice and umami-hits power-lifting carefully plated seafood, poultry and meat offerings to taste-bombs that would have seemed incomprehensible and down-right common three decades ago. It is all about betting as much flavour and satisfying texture in the mouth as possible to elevate the overall experience.

To take this down a level, we are also seeing smokers turning to vapes offering flavours of cranberry, mango ice and sour-apple – bland tastes are out, uncool and plain boring.

So why should wine be any different? I for one obviously do not wish to see artificially flavoured wine that assaults and demeans the basic elements that has me drinking it, namely a unifying sense of something made from grapes and a presence of grape-related flavours harnessed by discernible elements of sugar and acidity. But a trend towards wines made to a confident style exuding power and direct, loud flavour should be welcomed and supported, with wineries going-out and servicing the wish of the consumer.

The pull towards buttery and oaky Chardonnay is one I personally welcome, despite some of the big-sellers out of America – like Gallo and Bread and Butter – being just a tad too robustly abrasive for my palate. Over the past 15 to 20 years, many producers of New World Chardonnays have limited the potential of this gorgeously multi-faceted grape by going to extra lengths to chase stone, minerality and leanness in their offerings. The main reason being that Chardonnay-producers are petrified at the idea of any blousy “old school” plushness finding its way into their wines, which was the reason behind that anal ABC (Anything But Chardonnay) crowd appearing in the 19990s.

This reigning in of discernible succulent fruit notes and the comforting cloak of a butteriness, only capable of being expressed by Chardonnay, has resulted in a lot of stylistic singularity that – and this I hate to admit – recently found me bored at a 20-strong Chardonnay line-up as most of the wines only showed one side of the grape in a tight, cool and linear offering.

In line-ups, go and experience how a Burgundy from Meursault or Puligny-Montrachet will stand-out from many New World wines for being positively sunny with notes of honey-melon, grilled nuts and warm butter compared to the stark modern style of wines where there is brightness only, but little glow.

Of course, there is a canyon-like gap in the opinions of wine critics and the demand of the consumer. But for whomever it is applicable, my modest opinion is that Chardonnays offering the more burlesque and well-fed aspects of this wonderful grape will be rewarded as richly as the wine-lovers experience it.

With a frenetic period of bartering, schmoozing and heart-felt promises lying ahead as South Africa prepares for a coalition government, it appears that one certain outcome of the next governing collaboration is a dedicated Minister of Wine in the new national government. According to a leaked memo to intrepid news website winegoggle.co.za, both the ANC and the DA have highlighted a pressing need for a wine minister in the legislature, while the EFF has also informed well-heeled donors and supporters that the South African wine industry needs to be represented on national government level.

According to political analysts, this implies that with these three parties expressing a wish for such a portfolio – and coalition negotiations set – to commence, the chances of a wine ministry being realised as a part of the country’s politics is a very real reality.

The leaked memo, a result of a misguided whatsapp message, states that the ANC and DA concur on elevating the South African wine industry to top national priority. From the ANC’s side, a Minister of Wine is apparently needed to guide President Cyril Ramaphosa’s wine cellaring activities in both his Cape Town and Johannesburg homes, as well as to assist with sommelier training on his Phala-Phala game farm.

“The President is struggling to get suitable help in managing his wine interests and sees the only way of addressing the situation is to appoint a Minister of Wine in national government which could with, proactive efficiency, co-operation and insight, help the President get his vinous house in order,” the memo reads.

Apparently, both the President’s cellars are disorganised and ineffective, with Barolo wines lying in the Burgundy shelves, Cap Classique stacked between grand marque Champagne and a complete sommelier Riedel glass collection continually being used for serving maas (soured milk) to the presidential gardening employees as well as for cultivating avocado shoots.

“At Phala-Phala the staff, again, have resorted to their old methods of stashing expensive wines under sofas, as well as using some back-dated issues of the Platter’s wine guide for fire-starters. The President says the first task of the Minister of Wine would be to appoint an oversight committee to address these issues and draft a report as to how these and other wine-related methods in the presidency can be addressed.”

The ministry of wine is also supported by the DA as it is deemed the only way of getting official body South African Wine to explain its strategy for the local industry in a comprehensible manner.

“Somebody needs to step in at government level to interpret South African Wine’s goals, thoughts and potential solutions in terms of the country’s wine industry in a succinct, practical and outcomes-based manner. This official industry strategy currently reads and sounds about as effective, lucid and rational as the one aimed at promoting vegan biltong in the Northern Cape or foie gras cultivation in Noordhoek and – as the party ruling the country’s wine province – the DA and the nation demand better.”

Surprisingly, the EFF has also expressed a need to see a Minister of Wine installed in whatever form or shape the next government is to be.

“Julius Malema of the EFF has, apparently, for a time now deemed as ‘essential’ the need for a wine ministry, especially to explore the possibilities of turning parts of agricultural land in Mpumalanga and Limpopo into vineyard-rich regions producing wines that can rival the Cape’s best,” the memo reads.

Apparently, Comrade Malema and fellow EFF-vinophile Floyd Shivambo have undergone wine experiences at the great estates of Stellenbosch, questioning South Africa’s reliance on the Cape as the only source of suitable terroir.

“Comrade Malema has commissioned studies showing that the plains and valleys of Limpopo and Mpumalanga can offer a unique African terroir for growing myriad grape varieties, the fruits of which can be vinified to add diverse lustre to the entrenched profile of South African wines. Lush vineyards growing between disused mine dumps and charming shanty-towns can offer a wineland aesthetic like no other.”

A Minister of Wine can therefore remove the shackles of convention and help establish a new African wine offering, going against the grain of the Eurocentric, colonialist profile that South African wine has been known for to date.

The memo goes on to name potential Ministers of Wine being industry expert Michael Fridjhon, marketing guru Mike Ratcliffe, Carolyn Martin, hospitality extraordinaire, and wine-writer Malu Lambert, with the position not requiring any party involvement by the likely candidates.

With over two weeks of coalition negotiations to go, developments will be watched closely and could herald a chapter that is as new for the state of South African wine as it is for the country. Nothing wrong with Wine Republic SA.

The world of drinks is awash with spirited talk. Never before has there been such a reflective, luxuriously toned cacophony promoting the availability of distilled alcoholic drinks that have, through craftmanship and singular focus, been taken to the “next level”. For the sake of offering the one thing that spirits drinks are made to offer, and that is pleasure.

Thus, midnight-black tequilas aged for 30 years in oak barrels and almost treacly in texture are now prized well above this Mexican spirit’s more familiar mode of shots knocked back with salt and lemon. Rum, distilled from sugar-cane growing in the Caribbean and other exotic locations, is also rapidly losing its image of being limited to that of a long, cold drink diluted with Coke and glugged to the rhythmic sway of beach-parties.

Bon vivants and drinks experts are discovering aged rums that have, like aforementioned tequila, been lying in wood barrels for years. The bite of the spirit has been eased through the time in oak, the colour takes on a dark moodiness and the taste is complex, sophisticated and bathed in a heady sumptuousness.

The two most common spirits, namely whisky and brandy, have over the past two decades also seen a revival in the way they are presented to a market far removed from so-called old-school spirits drinkers. Bourbon and other American whiskies promote their aging and ostentatious packaging. Those Scots of whisky fame are always digging up some lost mythical barrels to bottle under new “rare” labels, ready for flogging for a few hundred thousand rand.

Despite the availability of google earth and GPS co-ordinates, “lost” and “forgotten” whisky distilleries are miraculously being discovered in the highlands and on the Scottish coast, each unique back-story turned into a new label to feed the apparent bottomless market for Scotch. Here keen consumers are prepared to pay for story, individuality and that most dear of all consumables, rarity.

Of the above spirits drinks, as well as gin and vodka, I have had my fair share with appreciative joy and abandon. But in the end, my partiality always returns to the elixirs distilled from the fruit of the vine, namely brandy. Or as they are known for their respective places of French origin, Cognac and Armagnac.

Perhaps it’s just me. But there is something far more regal in a spirit resulting from vineyards growing in specific soils and subjected to unique climatic influences than there is in a whisky – or whiskey – made from wheat, maize, barley and other grains guaranteed to thrill a muesli maker and sustain a horse. Brandy is special. It is but an extension of the wine world, in its warm golden soul holding the narratives of land and of climate, and of the seasonal vagaries affecting the condition in which each season’s grapes ripen.

Just like Champagne – French, of course – has always and will always be seen at the pinnacle of sparkling wine from anywhere else in France or the world, so Cognac and Armagnac claim the top space in terms of the sector of distilled wine, a.k.a. brandy.

Both these spirits originate from the south-west of France, with Cognac coming from the limestone-rich soils just north of Bordeaux. Armagnac, again, is from the Gascon region in the south-west heartland of France, a region whose other revered offering is duck, goose and the fatty livers growing inside of them, also known as foie gras.

The reasons for Cognac and Armagnac dominating the brandy market in terms of perception, image and price is truly not surprising. I have seen the most loyal, patriotic South African brandy drinker go weak at the knees by just sniffing into a glass half-full of a 45 year-old Armagnac. The aged blended Cognacs, even from ubiquitous commercial brands such as Hennesy, Rémy Martin and Bisquit, are, too, extraordinary in their purity and the unexpected delicacy they harbour, despite being a hefty 40% alcohol. This is great stuff.

Like with French wine, tradition and provenance also play a major role in the X-factor found in Cognac and Armagnac. Both have been made in the two regions for over 600 years and their production is strictly legislated in terms of origin of vineyards and grape varieties used, as well as distillation and aging regimes. Add to this images of ruddy-faced French men in berets tending old, gnarled vines or sniffing a glass in front of an ancient copper pot-still, and the picture of authenticity is complete.

Over time, and through them being associated with a country responsible for the world’s greatest wines, Cognac and Armagnac have become seen to be – as far as brandy is concerned – the only true game in town.

This reality places brandy producers from other areas of the wine-making world in an unenviable position. They can make the best spirits from distilled wines on the planet – something South Africa has been recognised to do – yet in terms of true recognition concerning image and provenance, well, if you are not Cognac or Armagnac it is nay impossible to be even referred to in the rarified atmosphere the French spirits find themselves.

Image isn’t everything here, it’s the only thing.

It is, however, fortunate for South African spirit lovers that brandy is in our blood. Having overseen the making of the first wine at the Cape in 1659, the Dutch East India Company (VOC) saw brandy being distilled from local wine in 1672. Brandy became a necessity at the Cape. Not only for soothing the spirits of home-sick sailors stopping over on long hauls between Europe and the East, as well as warming the VOC residents during the harsh winter, but also for replenishing the Company’s explorers’ voyages of discovery into a new untamed land.

In his journal of 1685, Governor Simon van der Stel writes about an explorational journey into Namaqualand where great care is taken to preserve the stocks of brandy accompanying him and his men. Brandy was also, apparently, a terrific social lubricant, allowing different cultures to get to know one another better. When Van der Stel and his party chanced to meet an indigenous Khoisan group, the latter would slaughter and braai a sheep, while the colonists got the party going by offering brandy all around.

This local love for brandy grew in tandem with the expansion of the country’s now world-famous wine industry, offering standard brandies for the perennially thirsty commodity market, whilst at the same time valiantly pursuing excellence and distinction at the top-end with ultra-premium products.

IT IS at the top-end where brandy becomes, for me, extraordinary. I drink this not for refreshment as I do with a glass or two of Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay or for comfort during late-night fireside conversation as I would a half-bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon or Pinot Noir. Spirits, and specifically brandy, are reserved for when there is a need for unapologetic pleasure and complete effortless relaxation. A leather couch in a cosy empty room with Chet Baker playing on the sound-system. Quite often, a MonteCristo torpedo cigar also burns, sending coils of earthy aromatic smoke into the air. And then, only then, will a bottle of good brandy be opened to add a final decadent touch to the sensorial experience and unfettered self-indulgence.

And despite my predilection for those beautiful drinks from Cognac and Armagnac, there is true excellence to be found in the luxury sector of South African brandy, with the intriguing diversity in aromatic and flavour expression being truly exceptional.

One thing local brandy is not is a one-trick pony. The crafters of this spirit are not only gifted in the art of distillation and selecting wood-aging regimes, but also in sourcing the raw product, which be the wine that has to undergo the fiery distillation process – twice – to achieve the pure spirit.

Colombard and Chenin Blanc are South Africa’s go-to brandy grape cultivars, to my mind the major reason for the quality of the country’s brandies. Both make high-acid, low alcohol wines – as required for distillation – yet have the natural sunny character to impart a floral, fruit essence to Cape brandies at any level of sophistication and price point. Cognac and Armagnac are largely limited to the Ugni Blanc variety, and various Cognac-producers have in the past few years taken to planting Colombard, Ugni Blanc being deemed as less expressive.

The magic of Colombard came my way by means of a brandy from Die Mas in Kakamas, Northern Cape and with the Die Mas Kalahari Truffle Potstill Brandy. Despite the reference, the brandy has no Kalahari truffle flavour component, the name of the local delicacy just being employed for some marketing verve. The brandy is double distilled from pure Colombard wine and aged in old oak barrels for between five and seven years.

Aroma plays a greater role in the appreciation of brandy than it does in wine, and there are for me few scents as comforting and reassuring as that of a good brandy. The Die Mas Potstill delivers with an evocative fragrance of firewood smoke and tilled earth, the primal aromas lifted by drifts of dry flower and citrus peel. Taking a small sip, allowing the liquid to warm on the palate, notes of bitter chocolate combine with cuts of lime, green apple and mocha. There is a lot going on, but the brandy – here at 38% alcohol – has something delicate about it, fragile and very clean. A wonderful spirit.

Chenin Blanc, the other grape used in most of the country’s brandy production, tends to make a brandy with the vivid flavours and aromas of Colombard, but with a slightly more muscular structure.

Tokara, the spectacular estate on the top of the Banghoek Pass is known for its internationally lauded wine range, but also makes an incredible pot-still brandy distilled from Chenin Blanc grapes growing on the farm.

Tokara XO is aged for a minimum of 14 years in old French oak casks and together with the luxuriously stylish packaging is, to my mind, one of the Cape’s foremost brandy offerings – one I would take to a battle in Cognac any day.

On the nose, the brandy charms, almost coyly so, with nectar-filled summer flowers offset with a slight exotic spiciness. The presence on the palate is firm and confident, yet exceedingly polished and well-mannered. Of course this is a heady spirits drink, but flavours of citrus, dates and apricot give an impression of conviviality and the invitingly moreishness.

I sip this brandy between cigar puffs, adding one cube of ice to the glass which – once melting – unleashes broader, expansive flavours.

It would probably have a Cognac producer choking on his eau de vie, but more-and-more South African brandy producers are using wines made from red grape varieties for brandy distillation. And with spectacular results, the difference in red and white “brandies” being obvious due to the lift of tannin found in the red varieties.

Premier Stellenbosch wine estate Rust en Vrede uses Cabernet Sauvignon from its Helderberg property for making its Estate Brandy. After double distillation, the spirit is aged for at least 14 years in French oak barrels that had previously contained Cabernet Sauvignon wine. And the result is truly riveting.

This Rust en Vrede brandy is bottled at 38% alcohol, and together with the rounded tannins on the base wine and the aging regime, it is a brandy that is incredibly soft, smooth and extremely drinkable. There are notes of leather and spice, the layers of complexity including dried sultana, apricot, Christmas mince pie with a slight perk of ground coffee. This is a prime example of a good brandy’s ability to offer sophistication and splendour, as well as downright deliciousness.

Another great, expressive pot-still brandy from red grapes is The Inventer Barrel Aged Pot-still XO Brandy Rosso, made by master distiller and legend Johan Venter. For the Rosso, Venter makes the base wine from Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon grapes sourced from the Stellenbosch region, the distilled spirit aged in French oak for a minimum of ten years. Skill and time delivers something spectacular, with flavours of stone-fruit and fynbos on the palate, as well as an intriguing salinity which just lifts the brandy to another realm, one I have not yet encountered in Cape brandies, but is a feature of some Cognacs from the Grande Champagne region.

Despite the current talk of spirits, the fact is that alcohol – especially drinks high in it – are sailing into troubled waters. Alcohol consumption world-wide is declining, rapidly, as older people become more concerned about their health and younger people are just not interested in the drinking culture.

However, I predict that there will always be room for drinks of refined luxury, wines and spirits that through their respective traditions and histories, quality and offering of life-affirming joy, will always be in demand. A bit of “me time” contributes to wellness, undoubtedly. And if that me time includes a small glass of something as fulfilling, satisfying and delicious as a good brandy it will always be in vogue. It is, after all, a part of the human spirit.