In WineX, Veritas

If indeed the truth can be found in wine, WineX is the place to find the absolute truth. It is the biggest wine event in the Cape. The 2010 version had 550 truths from 100 truthsayers. Now if the absolute truth cannot be found in 550 versions, where can it be found? Maybe in 1200, as in the Johannesburg version where 180 wineries will show their wares. Does that make Joburg more truthful than Cape Town? Well, parliament is in Cape Town so that settles that.

The hall of truths

It is not as big as it used to be. Unfortunately I am not talking about my stomach, I am talking about WineX. There used to be over a thousand of the Wineland’s best truths available for sampling in previous expressions of WineX, Cape Town. Squeezing my metaphor ⁽¹⁾ to within an inch of its life ⁽²⁾ it must make the Credit Crunch ⁽³⁾ untruthful. A truth thief. Because WineX Cape Town used to be bigger. But as disposable income dwindled, so a day was taken from the show. It used to be that I would go on the first night with my white wine bib on and the next with the red bib ⁽⁴⁾ and leave Friday to the masses. This time it was not possible or necessary. With only two nights scheduled I got around enough in one night to last me the year. Let me try and rephrase that without the obvious, and inaccurate, sexual reference. ⁽⁵⁾ There were fewer wines. Blunt, boring, accurate.

There are various strategies commonly employed when confronted with a plethora of wines. The human liver makes it impossible to taste 500 wines in one evening. So some sort of selection method must be employed. One is to go for the wines available at your local supermarket. This should, but doesn’t, prevent you from making those less than brilliant R40 purchases. You can do the reverse, a strategy employed by the He-Ghanaian. That was PG(pre-Ghana) of course. We would seek out the most expensive wines available working on the principle that we are too cheap to buy them. Most of these very expensive wines were indeed very good. So the better truth can be found in better wine. Ergo better truth for more money.

I have been to WineX with most of the play group. Once The Blonde and The Bald Eagle joined me. The Bald Eagle and I stood in line for 30minutes to get a miniscule sip of Dom Perignon so he could save some for The Blonde. She made a new friend in the meantime and the two ladies went about sampling the local bubbles. On another occasion I was joined by He-with-beautiful-name from Pretoria. He was determined not to like the expensive stuff. Sort of reverse snobbism. Pre Ghana both the He-and She-Ghanaian joined me. It was on this occasion that he discovered Crucible from Cloof. Even at the end of the evening it still made an impact. The He-Ghanaian liked it so much he kept returning to the Cloof stall until they refused to pour any more for him. It then fell to the She-Ghanaian and me to keep him in drink.

But mostly I go alone. Early on my lower middle class upbringing, and the drive for value that instil, meant that I had to swallow the wine I tasted. Prudence (thanks Mum) dictated that I don’t drive home immediately, so I went to watch a movie afterwards. Saw the opening credits of Rush Hour 2 and some kindly bloke woke me on the way out after the movie. From that day on, I spat. But if you are on your own, you still get through quite an amazing number of wines. One evening at WineX I tasted 40 different wines in just under two hours. Not swallowing did not help prevent early onset drunkenness. I had to leave after the 40.

Dip for truth

This year I had the pleasure of taking wine show novices to the show. Four of whom are from the Czech Republic. It was exciting seeing the reaction of people used to French and Italian wines. The local wines made quite an impression. From the feedback it seems South-African truths ⁽⁶⁾ can be had for cheaper prices than European ones of the same magnitude. I may live in a beer desert, but on an ordinary school night I can dip my tasting glass into the well of truth and come up with 550 different versions. ⁽⁷⁾ Can you?

(1) Strictly not only mine. Some clever Greek pervert probably came up with it first. Or was it Noah?
(2) Shurely that must be stomping it to within a millimetre of its life?
(3) Good name for breakfast cereal. This gag taken from the News Quiz.
(4) Thanks to Frozen Man for that gag.
(5) Obvious to me. I should know, I write this stuff.
(6) And you thought I’ve forgotten about this.
(7) Nearly forgot the one pompous sentence per post.

My World cup, part 2

In this post, part two of the highly anticipated ⁽¹⁾ world cup saga, I will lead you through excellent police work, extreme disappointment and one of the best goals of the tournament.  All witnessed by me, none caused by me.  Of course it also dragged me into South African criminal justice system and eventually took me to the SAB World of Beer.

When we left the story someone stole The Skinny One’s ticket.  Distraught, he started shouting his ticket was missing.  An apprentice police constable apprehended a guy scurrying along for no reason.  He had no ticket to a sold out game, therefore we safely assumed he was there for nefarious purposes.  His guilt remains unproven as he did not have the ticket on him.  We then proceeded with a police escort through the first security checkpoint.  I haven’t mentioned the totpacks ⁽²⁾ The Skinny One put into his gloves and beanie.  He was determined not to be cold all the way back on the train.  With a police escort, you don’t get searched by security ⁽³⁾ so the industrial alcohol made it through the first layer. 

There I was, 1500km from home, watching 83000 of my best friends going in to watch the game.  I recorded a video of the poor policemen that had to stay outside the stadium in an attempt to record the anthems.  On the replay it sounds like a lot of vuvuzelas.  Just like the rest of the Nameless Tournament 2009+1.  I also disposed of the alcohol.  In the plastic recycling bin, because it was in plastic.

At one stage the suspect started crying.  I got the feeling that in the absence of witnesses he might have fallen down (or up) some stairs.  By now we were resigned to missing some soccer.  We waited for a detective whilst The Skinny One’s statement was taken.  The police was friendly and efficient right through.  The detective found us eventually, he had to walk all the way from the stadium to what I will call outer perimeter security interrogation room 1.  He escorted us to the Match offices in an attempt to get a new ticket printed.  The people here were most unhelpful.  They probably took some tests in intelligence when applying for the job.  Those that scored above “troglodyte” were rejected as too smart.  The rest were happily accepted as productivity partners of Match.  Named with the same sense of irony as Hopefield.  With half time approaching I was sent in as secret agent double o dikkes.  If I found someone sitting on my brother’s seat, I was to contact my friendly neighbourhood policeman.  Small impediment at this stage, we did not know which seat his ticket was for.  Clowns to the left of me; jokers to the right.  We had to get the other ticket’s number.  This Skinny and the detective forced from Match in the end and was smsed to me.  In code.  No not really. 

Soccer City (or the First National Stadium as a bank would like it to be called) is impressive.  She is beeg.  Very beeg.  Signage can improve somewhat.  I walked quite some distance, humiliated myself by asking for directions, did not take the friendly vendors up on their offer of paying R30 for insipid, barely beer and found a scoundrel sitting in the brother’s seat.

The view from the seat

Now I am not one to shy away from confrontation.  I am one to run like a rabbit from a hound from it.  So there was a bloke sitting in the seat.  This was going to test me.  Suddenly I come over all clever.  I take the camera and do a panorama shot to the right covering the stadium, pan left and capturing the thieving bastard on film.  I took a few more pictures.  Sat for a bit and watched some football.  I came all this way to do so, so I did so.  I saw Forlan curling it round the wall, one of the goals of the tournament.  And this the first time I watched live soccer!

By now guilt took over from cowardice so I went to the nearest ushers (they were police) and explain the situation.  They are not too interested; they are trainees, until i used a phrase The Skinny One used outside.  “In possession of stolen property” That got them going. They checked his ticket against mine, yup same name.  Then they went to fetch the cavalry.  The arresting officer was a woman, who, when seen in civvies was quite attractive, but in uniform, all business. 

A bloke in body armour arrived.  Flak jacket, shoulder protection, boots with built in knee guards.  Like a knight in Kevlar armour.  If this officer told me to lick his boots, I would be on my knees slobbering all over it.  As they escorted the bloke to the charge office under the stadium, he casually asks how quick this bastard is.  Not too bad he reckons.  “Well”, he said while touching his gun, “we just have to inform you that should you run, we will have to shoot you.” 

After what felt like seven kilometres (I really am that out of shape, it is probably 1km) we came to the inner charge office.  Just as we walk in a woman says to my brother “I’m sorry sir, there is no one sitting on that seat”  I tap her on the shoulder, real TV dramatic style, and declare:” Here he is.”  Here, publically, I want to apologise to the colonel running the show there. 

Sorry mam.

The rest of the game we spent giving statements.  The police were brilliant once again.  Whilst my brother waited, clearly in distress, the police behind the counter invited him to watch the game with them behind the counter on the small TV they had there.  Good to know they care. 

If you missed the Ghana vs Uruguay quarter final you missed a great game.  I know, because I saw it on TV in the middle of the night.  It went to overtime as a 1-1 draw.  An idiot, named Suarez, handled the ball in the penalty area denying Ghana a semi final spot.  Ghana missed the penalty.  So the game went to penalties to decide the winner.  The police finished with us as the penalties were taken.  I showed my brother which way the gates were (remember he never went in as he was with the detective the whole time) and he ran into the stadium to go blow his vuvuzela.  The team from South America won.  Cheating ##%*! 

The stadium empties quite well.  It is a new generation stadium so it should.  We walked back to the train station to catch our train the lovely transport company kept waiting for us.  So if Suarez did not handle the ball, The Skinny One and the Fat One would have walked home.  Well, walked some of the way and got a lift with an ambulance the rest of the way.

After an exciting day train travel is the best way to unwind

The train ride back was uncomfortable.  A packed train, a distraught sibling and lack of tot packs.  At the station the police and private security waited patiently for us to collect the car.  We collect some sugary drinks and go home.  All the Skinny One had to drink was tequila.  So we ate the food left by The Long Suffering One (Very good, thanks) and drank very ordinary tequila.  We talked about forgiveness, plans not working and bonding with your brother.  And watched most of the game on TV.  Went to bed before the hand ball.  Had to read that in the papers.

In part 3 we will get to a happy ending, a triumph for justice and further bonding.

(1)    By me
(2)    Cheap booze in a small plastic bag
(3)    The Police

Wine with a view

Beer is my first love.⁽¹⁾ I do get disappointed with the selection we have in this country, which is why I started brewing my own.  But this part of the world compensate for being a beer desert by producing great wines at affordable prices.  Vines are just another agricultural crop, but somehow, they manage to be cultivated in the better looking parts of the earth.  Wheat fields at harvest time are supposed to look golden.  To me it looks suspiciously like Highveld grass in winter. Dead yellow.  Sunflowers sure look perty when in bloom, but the area around them is normally dull and flat.  You won’t visit a brewery for the scenes of the barley growing all around it.   But wineries mostly avoid the duller areas and surround themselves with these happy grapes.   As it is basically a weed, it grows on slopes. That would be the lovely mountainsides that contribute to great views.

Last Saturday I had the opportunity to go wine hunting and, in passing, I fell over some spectacular views.  On the way to Stellenbosch I drove past my favourite⁽²⁾ winery, Villiera.  It was 08:30, but the gates were open, so I took a chance.   The wines here are very good and offer value for money at all price points.  For the last ten years I have stocked my cellar with wares from this emporium⁽³⁾.  The vin du jour has evolved over time⁽⁴⁾.   Currently it is the Tradition Brut that is my favourite.  Tradition Brut is their Methode Cap Classique (bubbles with second fermentation in bottle).

The view from the tasting room is not the place’s best asset, but the view in the tasting room that morning was beautiful.  Turns out I arrived just as she was opening up.  Her day job is in the cellars, so she was just helping out on the weekend in the tasting room.  Between us we figured out the credit card machine and I left with 12 dinky bottles of bubbles.  “Is it for a function?” she asked.

“Home consumption”, in my poshest voice.

“Why the small bottles?”  What a fantastic view on life!  The small bottles are to stop me from drinking a whole bottle in an evening and to supply bubbles to The Blonde, who has been known to take a week on a full bottle.  This, missing the bit about The Blonde, I explained to the lovely girl.  And in my special stupid move ⁽⁵⁾ I did not even ask her name.

The breakfast of flapjacks, bacon and syrup was a mistake.  Don’t misunderstand me, it was very nice, but following it with Sauvignon Blanc at Tokara was unedifying.  They win numerous awards for their wines at Tokara.  I was slightly underwhelmed. The wines I liked most, was the easy drinking ⁽⁶⁾ red and the very expensive red. And the very expensive brandy. In the end I just could not buy a bottle of wine for the same price as a bottle of good brandy.   Did I mention the spectacular view over the student town of Stellenbosch?  Normally I would go the Helshoogte neighbour, Thelema, but as their new wines will only be released in September we went across the road to Delaire.

Part view from Delaire

The picture shows part of the view.   But only part of it.  You will have to visit to see for yourself.  Luckily there is a hotel on site that shares the view.   For R8000 a night you can stare at the mountains all day long.   You won’t have to get up to do anything as a butler is included in the price.  Now for that much money I want more than a butler.  I want Claudia Schiffer.

If you are too cheap for the hotel, go for the wines. Ask for Jacky to help you. See knows her stuff. She can tell you about the wine, where it comes from, how it was made. She also keeps it at the best temperature. The sauvignon blanc and rosé slightly colder than the chardonnay. Something they should start doing at Tokara, where the whites were too cold to taste properly. The rosé, by the way, is excellent. Dry, yummy. The sauvignon blanc is very good here. The one that won all the awards is sold out, but the remaining one is also very nice. The reds are less impressive.

So down the other side of the pass to red only Camberley. You walk through the barrel maturation area on your way to the 1st floor tasting room. On the wall of the stairwell hangs pictures of World War II , the sequel, aeroplanes. Behind the counter of the tasting room that Saturday, stood Wikus. He treated us, his first customers on his first day on the job, brilliantly. We tasted through the entire range, tasting interspersed with anecdotes about winemaker Johnny. The only thing I don’t understand about this place is why there are bottles left to sell. It is so good and so well priced that I can only assume no one knows about the place or else it would have been sold out. I bought bottles from just about every type of wine they make. Just couldn’t get to grips with the sparkling shiraz. The view here will be easier to get to once the deck is built, but in the meantime, just look out the window.

A not so hidden view

After an unmemorable lunch the day ended at the double misnamed Hidden Valley. It is on a hill and signposted. Not so hidden then. Owner is Dave Hidden. Maybe that’s where the name comes from. Valley, Valley? See picture for view. The two sauvignon blancs from StellenboschElim differ stylistically. I like the fruity, Stellenbosch one that smells a little like guava. The reds were not very special, the boot was full, the plastic exhausted and the palate jaded. So with the sun setting on a glorious day I turned the Honda’s head north-north-west and listened to the Bulls losing 15-12 to Province. So at least the day wasn’t perfect.




(1) After oxygen, food, sleep, blondes,...
(2) I don’t limit myself to just the one though
(3) At least one pompous sentence per post
(4) Maybe more
(5) Patent pending
(6) And cheap

Of cows and pigs

It was Women’s Day here yesterday.  Like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Valentine’s Day I celebrated without the eponym ⁽¹⁾.  But at least it was a public holiday on a Monday so Yeeehaaa, long weekend!  Luckily I did not spend it on something productive.  I spent the day sleeping and grazing; like a cow ⁽²⁾.  I did not get milked.  But I did do two things worthy of mention.

The culinary skills table of NO37 got an extra tick.  I now do eisbein.  If you read that in the wrong light it could be strange.  Let me rephrase; I can now make eisbein.  Did it the old fashioned way.  Looked up a recipe on the internet, improvised the ingredients I did not have (all except the eisbein), and just did it.  Came out very well.  Meat falling off the bone, skin as crispy as the grill could make it before tripping out.  Did not even need mustard to get it down.  Nothing reminds me more of my German heritage than a fatty piece of pork.

The other good thing was watching State of Play.  The BBC series, not the movie.  At 6 hours long it has more twists than the movie.  The production values are as good as normal for the BBC.  Acting by John Simm and David Morrissey are brilliant.  Although it has commentary on some episodes, I watched it with normal sound first.  It is that good.

I received an email from my CEO today.  I felt special until I saw it was sent to the entire company.  Apparently I will now become a shareholder as part of a BBBEE deal.  This came as a surprise to me as I only qualify for two of the B’s ⁽³⁾.  For a short time I had this perverse idea of writing back, saying I am not interested in being a shareholder of any company willing to employ someone like me.  But I chickened ⁽⁴⁾ out.

(1)    Yes I know it is pompous, but I couldn’t say I didn’t have a woman for woman’s day.  That would be crass.
(2)    What?  You wanted me to say I did a bovine impersonation
(3)    I am not black
(4)    Just need a dog and we have the whole farmyard

At last a plan for the rest of the year

In August a trip to WineX is in order.  19-20 August.  One day wearing my white wine bib and the next my red bib.

1 September should see the release of the new Thelema's.  I see the credit card people a week before this. Most of the wines I keep for ageing, come from them.  This month also see the return of the SouthYeasters to Boston.

15-17 October will be the annual trip to Robertson.  All the wine from the region at farm prices in one location.  I fill the boot on this trip too.  Plus the SouthYeaster competition.

November 3-5 is Whiskylive Cape Town.  The workshops are the best.  If you get a chance to see Dave broom or Richard Patterson, do so. 

A month later and it is bubbles in Franschoek. 

In January my liver will be asking for a raise and my bank manager will get edgy.