Magic of Cape Sauvignon Blanc Origins through the ‘Weerstasie’ Clone

October 4, 2024October 4, 2024 ~ emile ~ Leave a comment

Commercially, South African Sauvignon Blanc began with a couple of vine-cuttings from a block in Stellenbosch, out by the Nietvoorbij Institute. Research centre, like. Early 1970s.

Danie de Wet, better-known for Chardonnay, was visiting his old chum. This be the Hungarian count Desiderius Pongrácz who had hot-footed it from the homeland on account of some trouble with the Russians, setting himself up quite nicely as one of the Cape’s main viticulture honchos.

De Wet was looking to add lustre and classic wine of the premium kind to the Cape, which back then was basically a gigantic wine factory making all kinds of innocuous stuff from, predominantly, Chenin Blanc, Palomino and Cinsaut. And he wanted white wine, the likes of Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc that, back then, had not yet been bottled in South Africa.

Pongrácz handed De Wet some contraband cuttings from Nietvoorbij’s experimental, research vineyards, the plant-stuff comprising Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc. Back on De Wetshof in Robertson, the Chardonnay didn’t cut it, material being fraught with mediocrity. But the purloined Sauvignon Blanc, another story. Like wow. Great vines, good vino.

And the source of that material became known as the weerstasie (weather station) clone, seeing as the Nietvoorbij experimental Sauvignon Blanc vineyard happened to be situated next to a weather station. For monitoring those somewhat important climatic conditions wine farmers might find interesting.

De Wetshof Sauvignon Blanc hit it in 1980, three years after the first Cape Sauvignon Blanc was made in 1977 at Verdun farm, today known as Asara outside Stellenbosch.

But man, did Sauvignon Blanc South Africa take-off after De Wet began propagating and forwarding this weerstasie clone. In 1981, some 409ha of the stuff was planted at the Cape. By 1985, over 2 200ha had found its way to various parcels of local wineland turf, 1 800ha of planting done in four years being quite frenetic and keen in any one’s lingo. For, Sauvignon Blanc was coming a thing down south, although back then the folks could hardly have predicted it becoming the country’s best-sold white variety, a situation it’s been in for quite a while now.

Circle back to 1985. I was donning a George Michael earring and tossing projectiles at apartheid police, while my mate Francois Botha was planting a vineyard. Out on his family spread named Wangenheim in the Breedekloof. It was a Sauvignon Blanc vineyard, the original weerstasie clone. Planting this for Du Toitskloof Wines, the winery his old man Hennie had helped establish in 1962. The Bothas, they thought big and they thought ahead. Check out today where Du Toitskloof is major Tom on the South African Sauvignon Blanc scene.

**Du Toitskloof Old Vine Sauvignon Blanc. *Weerstasie* clone.**

So, the scene today has changed. Lotsa different Sauvignon Blanc clones around, what with winemakers getting all the wiser, travelling the world and stuff. But the original weerstasie clone…man does it still cut it. As affirmed ‘positive’ by the Old Vine Sauvignon Blanc from said Du Toitskloof, made from – better believe it – the very 2.8ha block Francois had planted in 1985, and what the guy still be farming today. Like a rock.

The old weerstasie block is rooted to those sandy loam soils, alluvial to the max, with a gritty spread of river stones and broken rock. Irrigation only been done for the past 10 years, as the old lady needs moisturising-up, at veraison and just before harvest.

Gotta hand it to the folk at Du Toitskloof for getting a wine specifically made from this single vineyard. Shows the legacy, the story of Cape Sauvignon Blanc through the weerstasie clone. Shows that a frigid maritime climate not be needed to make primo Sauvignon Blanc wine in South Africa. Shows that, like the land’s Chardonnay and Chenin Blanc and Sémillon offerings, Sauvignon Blanc is right up there in the stratospheric spectrum of ultimate quality.

Harvest comes, the grapes are handled reductive, full-on, with dry-ice. In the winery, 24 hours’ skin-contact allows the juice to draw, deeply, taste and feel and that invigorating, expressive Sauvignon Blanc heart. Fermented in barrel and aged in wood on lees for 100 days.

I drank the first bottle with such keen wonder, I’ve just opened the second to try to tell a story about how the experience is nailed. Kind of not necessary, as it is the sort of wine deserves speaking for itself.

But what I’m gathering, is that the Sauvignon Blanc green, cut-grass pyrazine attributes have been overpowered. As be the case with those tropical, beach-thong clad thiols.

It’s texture first, coaxing and caressing with a presence longer than an eulogy by a bunch of pot-smoking hippies at a Kris Kristofferson memorial. This is a Sauvignon Blanc that wants you to love it, and has you not wanting to let go.

Plenty of honey-suckle here, with a scoop of Key Lime pie, though any tendency to the overtly sweet is washed off by a gush of mountain stream and cracked rock. A slight, coy nuttiness has found its way into the wine, somehow, as has a slice of cool golden melon. Sun-dried, pear as well. A touch of salt-lick blends into all this, making things sort-of umami, only that term dit not exist when the weerstasie clone was born and began spreading the gospel of Cape Sauvignon Blanc to legions of those thinking that white wine deserves a special place on earth.

Well, this legacy number from Du Toitskloof hits that spot. Weathering no storm, sailing ahead into territory charted and true, where amazement and awe await, yet expectations exceeded. Now that’s a wonderful world.

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Paul Clüver Riesling: A Reminder of the German Grape’s Greatness

June 17, 2024June 17, 2024 ~ emile ~ 2 Comments

All those scenes from the UEFA Euro football championships currently underway find me in a Germanic frame of mind, a rare occasion indeed. But those images of warm German cities, show-stopping on-field exertion by über sportsmen, and the charming guttural chants from a diverse array of pasty supporters walking around in shorts showing legs like weisswürst, have me itching for a chilled glass of German wine.

And, of course, this must be Riesling, the greatest wine grape not to have struck the note of global and popular appreciation despite it being responsible for some of the finest white wines in the world. I would truly like to see the day when Riesling claims a similar world-wide appeal as achieved by Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Grigio. Still, for some or other, reason this has just not happened – despite the variety’s ability to offer the same kind of vinous enthrallment, from refreshing gluggers to site-specific, meticulously crafted wines that can hold their own against a top Burgundy or Sancerre.

Perhaps it is, as in the case of South Africa, a result of Germany’s national image just not being aligned with what consumers expect from a wine-making country. That national vibe portrays a reputation of orderliness, organised, mechanically efficient and regimentally competent. Thus, when it comes to buying a car, piece of mining equipment or a functional kitchen appliance, German brands are in high demand. But all the warm-blooded, personable life-style offerings are deemed far more desirable if they originate from France, Italy or Spain.

Take German cuisine, for example. Can one really blame an outsider for not taking German wine seriously when that country’s culinary offerings centre around well-girthed sausages, smoked fatty pork, cabbage and potatoes? Compare German food to the colourful and diverse tables of France and Italy, and it is a no-brainer in assuming that the former nations take taste and pleasure more seriously than the land of the Big Eisbein. And seeing that wine-appreciation runs parallel to the assumption of the state of a wine-producing country’s heart, Germany falls short in desirability, as does its lovely national grape, Riesling.

This is a pity, as the German wine industry has origins similar to those of the world’s great wine regions, such as Burgundy. Emperor Charlemagne, he of Corton-Charlemagne fame, was regulating viticulture and winemaking in Germany back in the 8th century. And just as was the case in Burgundy, the Benedictine monks were responsible for parcelling terroir-specific sites and making wine in the Middle Ages. Burgundy, for example, has its ‘Clos’ and Germany its “Kloss”.

But in the greater wine picture, even the most loyal German wine ambassador has to admit that they have been far outdone by the French and many other wine countries in terms of generating a global affinity for their Riesling and other wines.

When the mood for Riesling strikes, as now, South Africans are limited to slim pickings. Local offerings are limited – even the great Cape sage of Riesling that is Danie de Wet, who learnt his winemaking at Geisenheim Institute in Germany – has called it quits and pulled his Riesling vineyard on De Wetshof.

Paul Clüver in Elgin remains one of the die-hards, and when I saw the 2024 vintage was released a week back, and with the prospect of Euro football requiring a substantial amount of my attention over the next few weeks, I hastily procured a case of six. The occasion and general thoughts on Riesling led me to drink the first two bottles accompanied by much pondering on what this cultivar offers.

Riesling was one of the first varieties planted in 1987 on the De Rust farm in Elgin – home of Paul Clüver Family Wines – the cold climate and the hardy Bokkeveld shale soils deemed appropriate for the grape. At that time, Paul Clüver was still teaming up with Nederburg, where maestro Herr Günter Brözel was running the show. And if the Herr assumed Elgin was good for Riesling, one can bet your last pair of lederhosen that it is so.

The Paul Clüver Riesling 2024 originates from vines at 300m above sea-level, the ocean only 20km off, giving the farm a combination of maritime and continental climates, something I have always found unique about the Elgin appellation. After the grapes are destemmed and crushed, the pressed juice is settled and racked to oak foudre and stainless-steel tanks for fermenting. Grapes from different blocks are fermented separately. 35% of the wine was fermented in the 2500l foudres with the remainder being in stainless-steel tank.

Andries Burger, Paul Clüver’s winemaker, wants to hang onto some of the floral fruit in the grape. This he does by lowering the temperatures of certain vessels so as to arrest fermentation. This ‘fruity’ segment is later blended to the dry-fermented parcels to give the Riesling its natural off-dry glow.

The result is a showcase of what Riesling can offer, namely a fine, brilliant and simply delicious white wine that exudes the traits I love in this cultivar. It is fresh as driven snow and from the outset shows a whistle-clean purity.

It is just impossible to resist glugging the first mouthful in its entirety, such is the moreish splendour. Assessing the wine a few sips down, it is apparent that despite the fresh accessibility and the pulsating bright verve, there is a lot going on.

The nose shows wafts of honeydew melon and jasmine in bloom. Initially sprightly and teasing on the palate, the flavours cascade in runs from the natural world, recalling images of dense forests, verdant wild grasses running up steep mountain-slopes and icy streams gushing from glaciers. The pastoral vigour splashes tastes of crunch and juice, and slivers of ripe fruit. Green apple and forelle pear, with a dollop of frigid cantaloupe. Fig-peel brushes by, while the discernible grip of lemon zest clings for an instant before being washed away by plucked sorrel and a chunk of crushed quince.

The line of taste is taut and seamless, offering a Swiss clock precision in the balance between a pulsating heart of flavour-offerings and the rapt acidity desired to move the wine forward as an upright, commanding and startlingly engrossing living thing. It knows where it wants to go, and if this should be in my direction, it has arrived. And always shall.

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Finding the Burgundian Heart of a Cape Wine Legend

April 15, 2023April 15, 2023 ~ emile ~ 7 Comments

Spring has broken in Burgundy, the cool air scented not by blossom or sun but by broken earth which is the very scent of life itself. From Gevrey-Chambertin, south through the vineyards of Musigny, Nuits-Saint-George, all the way down to Puligny-Montrachet, here soil is being broken between the vines. Magnificent gargantuan cart-horses walk sagely between the vineyards’ narrow rows drawing a plough that makes calm scraping sounds as the instrument’s single human driver follows behind.

I open the window on my side of the car, and the smell of wet, rich, ancient, live-giving soils of clay and marl and limestone is overwhelming. It smells of iron and stone, of cool and wet. Of goodness, and of peace. This extraordinary land, the most famous wine land in the world, is quiet. It is only the horses. And two, three individuals seated on benches among the vines, tending and caring and loving these magical mystical plants that, in six months’ time will give birth to the greatest of wines.

We cut back at the village of Puligny-Montrachet, taking a bead up the slope of the Côte-d’Or, heading back north along a narrow road. Before us lie the vineyards of Montrachet, and Bâtard-Montrachet, then Chevalier-Montrachet, open-air cathedrals of vinous glory. The stumps are short and low, the guyot-style tendrils creeping like witches’ fingers along a taut wire. Soil is russet, with chalkstone and darker clods and, in places, a powdery gravel. Marine green moss grows on some of the older, thicker vine stumps. Beneath a broad, cool grey spring sky, it is all enchanting. Glorious, in fact, as man’s intimate nurturing of nature is presented at its very best among these vineyards.

The journey is dream-like, but not without destination or purpose. For it is the Clos des Mouches that must be found. The vineyard of the honey-bees.

Back in the town of Beaune, we cut west along a winding road between vines that are now set on steeper slopes than those further south. At the top of a hill, there is a place to pull over at, and there is a map of the Beaune vineyards, for such places of geographical importance must be referenced.

And referencing is important, for we – four of us – are on a mission. A mission of paying homage to the transcendental power of the spirit of wine, one that knows no boundary in its quest to enrich kindred spirits around the world. Such as what the Clos des Mouches vineyard did.

The team finds the vineyard, and we stop at its ancient border wall. This is a high place, 280m above the sea’s level, and like the other vineyards, the 25ha Clos des Mouches is empty and it is quiet. The air is still, and the only sound is that of our feet crunching on the earth, which here is paler in colour and drier and hardier than down below Montrachet way.

We are Team De Wetshof. Johann de Wet, Bennie Stipp and Heinrich Bothman and myself, standing in the vineyard that gave birth to a South African legend.

Some 14ha of the Clos des Mouches belongs to Maison Joseph Drouhin, the iconic Burgundy house based in Beaune. This 14ha spread was the first vineyard land Drouhin acquired back in 1921, and the red and white wines made under its classic distinctive label are some of the very best from Beaune. Both Premier Cru wines, but widely regarded by those in the know as worthy of Grand Cru status.

The connection between Clos des Mouches and South Africa began in 1981 when Jan Boland Coetzee, the South African son of wine and soil, was living in Burgundy and working for Drouhin. He was here to unravel the mysteries of vine and earth, culture and history and Pinot Noir and Chardonnay.

Experiencing Chardonnay was vital and a lesser-known pursuit for Cape winemakers, as the grape was not much known back in South Africa. The confines of wine industry legislation made the introduction of Chardonnay laborious and time-consuming. If the official route were to be followed, it would take Cape producers between 10 and 15 years to legally establish the noble white Burgundian beauty into the country.

But Danie de Wet wanted Chardonnay. And was willing to go to surreptitious lengths to establish his beloved grape variety in the limestone soils of De Wetshof, Robertson. And what a friend did Danie not have in Jan Boland Coetzee.

So it came in the raw cold months of 1981 that Jan Boland went to the Clos des Mouches vineyard and cut a few bunches of shoots from the dormant Chardonnay vines. These shoots were wrapped in newspaper, dampened. And carried back to South Africa by Fritz Joubert, a journalist and friend of Jan who had come to visit and to see Burgundy for himself.

Despite the pressure placed on my physical and mental stamina, a marathon wine-appreciation session this week-end past has me beating the South African Chardonnay Drum with admirable vigour this Monday morning.

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Watching Chardonnay Artists at Work

May 7, 2017 ~ emile ~ Leave a comment

Anybody doubting whether wine is art should be a fly on the wall when winemakers get together to ascertain the merits and the components for making up a certain blend. I always find this an enriching experience, validating my conviction that wine does and always should stand apart from all other alcoholic elixirs.

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