My relationship with Shiraz is similar to my penchant for cheeseburgers and Japanese films, ranging from the insultingly forgettable to the heavenly sublime. Some of the most memorable wine experiences, surreal and cosmos-shifting, have involved Shiraz, whereas wines made from the same grape have had me requesting cellar-staff to forgo the spittoon for a puke-bucket.

It truly is a chameleon grape. If, that is, you like your chameleons with an ability to turn into wart-ridden, mutant lizards.

The energy for exploring the reasons for Shiraz’s inconsistency is just not there, so I prefer keeping this in the file of vinous mysteries I so eagerly gather. But my layman’s opinion ascribes the grape’s inconsistency as something to do with the variety’s chemical and phenolic fragility that needs just a touch of undesirable terroir and the tiniest bit of carelessness in the cellar to send the balance crashing down. Perfumed, layered fruit and spice turns into tarry, acrid fur-ball, like no tomorrow.

Yet, Shiraz’s ascendency in South Africa – in terms of hectares planted – has been mercurial. Back in 1981 a meagre 704ha of the Cape vineyard was planted to Shiraz. Following the birth of South African democracy, plantings shot up from 1030ha in 1996 to 5 630ha in 2000. Do that maths: 4 600ha of Shiraz planted in four years, spurred on by – I wonder – what? And driven by what industry strategy, other than a desire to replicate the Australian Shiraz success story, which has today tanked dramatically.

In 2009, the variety hit the 10 000ha mark, which has eased off to the last available figure of 2023 pegged at 8 713ha.

But preferring taste and experience to statistics, my modest opinion of South African Shiraz is that the cultivar affords little, if no, middle-ground in terms of the quest for quality. It is either extraordinary and intoxicating and very interesting, or it is as dull and forgettable as the last Coldplay album.

I was put in a Shiraz mindset last week upon a visit to Kleinood’s boutique winery on that majestic part of Helderberg, Stellenbosch that runs up to Keermont, De Trafford and the winery made famous by Kevin Arnold. Kleinood owner Gerhard de Villiers, who as an engineer has been responsible for designing some of the leading Cape wineries, bought Kleinood in 2000, initially wishing to focus on Cabernet Sauvignon. Complex and scientific analyses of soil, aspect and temperature, however, told him Shiraz was the way to go, and being an engineer, Gerhard was not going to argue with the science.

The result was the Kleinood Tamboerskloof Syrah brand, which since its first production in 2002 has become a formidable player in the country’s Shiraz/Syrah offering in terms of brand presence and wine quality. And from last week, and this is the reason for my visit, Kleinood is offering a new Shiraz immersion for small groups, where personal tastings, discussions, and general conviviality are offered in a nook of the barrel cellar.

The focus is on Tamboerskloof and Kleinood’s single-site Syrah under the name John Spicer, as well as an international wine thrown in.

Here the Shiraz tune played on-song, needily reminding me of the greatness of the variety.

From the Rhône, a Cornas appellation wine was selected, namely Renaissance 2019 from Domaine A. Clape, while the Kleinood line-up included Syrahs Tamboerskloof 2014 as well as the John Spicer 2017.

The diversity was extraordinary, truly. A multitude of diverse riches from one cultivar.

Cornas Renaissance 2019, while still young, underscored the ability of Shiraz to offer extremely drinkable classic wines while still in their youth, already revealing detailed layers of intricacy with an adventurous, spectacular, edgy, wild side.

The nose was densely perfumed with lavender and salt-marsh and just the slightest touch of used saddle that had just been rubbed with dubbin. And how gorgeous and pulsating in the mouth: olive brine, charcuterie and cassis drifting on a layer of velvety tannins. That’s the other thing I’ve observed about Shiraz, when it is Rhône, it is Rhône and impossible to replicate.

Kleinood winemaker Reinie Oosthuizen uses manual punch-downs during the ferment, but only twice daily to avoid the frequently found menace of over-extraction in Shiraz. The Tamboerskloof Syrah spends eighteen months in 300 litre French oak barrels, of which 15% is new, 35% second and 50% third fill.

At ten years old the Tamboerskloof 2014 was settled and calm without the slightest sign of oxidation or portiness. Dense dark fruit is there, but the surrounds are all powdery tannin and crunch. Time has brought the variety’s characteristic whiff of white pepper into play, but only as a complement, a lift to the still primary flavoured parcel of pure fruit.

Kleinood’s top offering, John Spicer, came from the 2017 vintage, a Cape wine season that is increasingly being highlighted as eclipsing the much-vaunted 2015. John Spicer’s flagship status is solely ascribed to the specific soil parcel on Kleinood, and in making the wine, Reinie employs the exact same cellar methods and oak regime used on Tamboerskloof.

And yes, the flagship it is, full spinnaker to the wind. Flavours are more concentrated and direct than Tamboerskloof, yet the presence is one of clarity and precision. In John Spicer, Shiraz shows a decidedly blue-blooded, regal pedigree, the one that, in the days of yonder, convinced Bordeaux and Burgundy growers that wines from this variety were deemed worthy to slip into their cuvées so as to elevate the region’s fruit profiles in unsatisfactory vintages.

But for me the lasting impression of fine Shiraz is one of absolute deliciousness. Yes, one can analyse the layers, prod at the structure and interrogate pH and sugar and acidity. It is – can be – just such a damn tasty and delicious wine when everything falls into place and every party involved gets it right.