Blending in

“It smells like a burning hospital!”  No one has ever said that about my work.  But I am not John Glaser and my work is not called The Peat Monster.  If those were true, then it would have been a compliment.  The Bald Eagle and I had the opportunity to blend a whisky that impress the master mind behind Compass Box.   We failed to do so.  So did most of the teams on the evening.  The occasion was an evening tasting whisky, blending whisky and eating good food at Burrata in Cape Town. 

The Range.  Notice great beer tap at the back

We worked our way through 4 of the regulars in the Compass Box range while John explained some history of the blends and himself.  He started out in wine making, moved to the business side of it which got him into the business side of whisky and thereon to the blending of whisky.  If he quits his day job again a lot of people will be very annoyed.  And I told him so.

 

The Great King Street blend is apparently what he wanted to make when he started, but circumstances and the market prevented him.  It is a blend of grain whisky and the lead single malt being Clynelish.  Different ages, different types of oak blended into loveliness.

The first Compass Box whisky Mr Glaser released was Hedonism.  An all grain rarity then and it remains an all grain rarity.  Made from grain whiskies of two different distilleries and two age groups of 12-15 and 18-23 years.  He used this blend to explain the lead whisky.  He says that although the younger whiskies made up only 40% of the blend they “speak louder” than the older ones. 

Range in glasses

The original Spice Tree confused the traditionalists in Scotland.    The technique of putting in a new toasted oak stave inside an old barrel to rejuvenate it without rebuilding it is widely used in the wine industry.  However it is not traditional in the whisky industry and whisky produced this way was not allowed to be called whisky.  Of course all innovation is non-traditional, but that didn’t stop the Scotch WhiskyAssociation.  In negotiations between Glaser and the rulers of whisky they were heard to say “Quality is irrelevant” focusing more on tradition.  This stupid attitude was circumvented by producing barrels with new ends made from newly toasted oak.  Of course now it takes 2-3 years to produce the same drinkable effect that can be done in 6-12 months, but the traditionalists are happy.  So of course are people like me who like this, once again Clynelish led, blend.

Tasting now returned to the burning infirmary.  The Peat Monster is 60% Laphroaig, 20% Ledaig and 20% Ardmore.  The peat influence is therefore obvious and can be over powering.  Very few people are indifferent to the heavily peated whiskies.  Love or hate it territory this and the crowd was split about half way.  The Bald Eagle and I are big fans of peaty whisky and The Peat Monster in particular. 

Small, but very good.

The food was lamb neck and vegetables made in a way that renders them edible.  Dessert was frangipane , within one letter of the flower, but is in fact “Pastry with a creamy almond-flavoured filling”  To show the culinary knowledge at our table it was variously described as “A chocolate brownie type thing”  and “sort of chocolate cakey”.  Luckily the chef was on hand to help us out.  It was without doubt delicious.  This was paired with Orangerie.  A mix of whisky and orange type, well, stuff. At whisky tastings this orange liquer catch you by surprise and are normally dismissed out of mouth.  Here, paired wioth the frangipane, it worked much better.

Four types of whisky were available for us to blend. 

1. 14 year old grain
2. 10 year old Clynelish in American oak
3. Whisky that didn’t quite make it into the Spice Tree from European oak
4. Laphroaig as the peated ingredient
5. Oh yes, and Cape Town tap water.

We blended these together according to instructions:

A             Who is it for?

B             What is the occasion?

Great fun to decide on the blend, try it, adapt it as it turned out different to expectations.  As to our own blends?  We came fourth.  Twenty teams took part.  The top three were announced.  By deduction we came fourth. 

No such thing as a free wine

Signs of students and tough economic times at Hells Hoogte wine farms on a recent visit.  Why I expect to taste wine for free, I am not sure.  Tradition probably.  My local supermarket does not let me taste at all.  Even after I’ve paid.  Never mind for free.  At restaurants or bars it is also not usually done to taste before you buy, but wine farms were the exception.  Sadly at three prominent Stellenbosch farms it is no longer the case, but they way they handle it are very different.  Located in a University town the drain of freeloading students looking for the cheapest way to get drunk is a constant threat to the profitability of the wine farms.  So some policy must be in place.

Lovely wine

I’ve gone on often enough about the great delight that Thelema’s wines give me.   They have a new sign up.  R25 per tasting.  But they don’t mention it.  In I walk with my sandals and shorts (The Runner is better dressed.  As it is always the case, I will not mention it again) and they treat me just like a serious buyer.  Which I was.  Probably pulling out the pre-printed order form helped.  We tasted most of the range, bought less than usual (the new reds only being released late in the year) and did not pay anything for tasting.  Sauvignons of 2012, both the Thelema and Sutherland (from Elgin despite the name), joined their year older Chardonnay sibling, swembad wine and some Late Harvest Riesling in the boot.  The newer version of Rabelais (2008), the top-end blend, was the only red purchased.  Now a return visit in tourist season must be fitted in for the other reds.

Onwards and downwards to Camberley.    John Nel, the charismatic owner and winemaker had a quick chat before disappearing into the cellar.  He charges for tasting, a higher price if you want the full range, which includes a port and sparkling Shiraz ⁽¹⁾, but that is offset against a purchase.  His range includes student-friendly wines, at around R30 a bottle priced the same R/ml as beer.  He also sells snacks, light meals and in summer Jack Black beer.  The idea is to make it a good place to hang out and enjoy yourself.  And when the parents visit, bring them along to buy the more expensive wines.  After graduation and earning proper money, come back and support the place where you have had a lot of fun.

The whole atmosphere is more of a wine bar than a wine farm.  They like you to linger and drink a lot.  As it happens I was there for the wine, so had to hurry them along.  It was nearly time for the rugby and we had to leave.  Not because we couldn’t’ watch it there, no, they showed it at Camberley and that is precisely the reason we had to go.  Seeing the Boks flailing hopelessly against the Big Island South-Seaers, was not going to increase my enjoyment of the day.  Bought the red blends Philosopher’s Stone and Cabernet-Merlot, both 2009.

View from Delaire. Without cars it is even better.

Given the amount of money Mr. Graff invested in Delaire, the attitude towards tasting fees should not come as a surprise. It is a very good view.  We could still see some snow on the mountain tops. It must have snowed on the day, because we didn’t see it in the morning.  That or the mist meant we couldn’t see the mountains.  Sitting on the patio enjoying the view, the wine is brought out to you one at a time.  Service was slick, as always, with the salesperson knowing quite a lot about the wine.  The oaking regime, the origin of the grapes.  That sort of thing.  But it is somewhat spoiled by their payment requirements.  R10 per wine.  It is worth charging for the knowledge and training behind it and the wines are all nice enough and if you are only going to taste, R10 a glass, generous portion to be fair, is not too bad.  But when buying, you really should not pay.  There can be a threshold, even a high one, but six bottles should be enough to offset it.  So I bought Chardonnay 2011 and from the same vintage the “normal” Sauvignon Blanc.  And tastings of 5 wines.

Outside the deli as shown on their web page.

By now, despite the travel sandwiches she made, The Runner needed food.  Across the road from Thelema is the Deli-Cat-Essen at Tokara.   A real deli with different sausages, cheeses, pestos.   That sort of place. ⁽²⁾  Also, given the Tokara part, very upmarket.  This is best illustrated by the children’s playing area.  Not a steel construction as found in most parks.  This is a wooden one with fibreglass slide.  This enables children that are denied the privilege of climbing live trees the opportunity to climb dead ones.  But what stood out for me was the large sunshade in the sand pit.  I realise it is sensible, it just seems, well, controlled.  Why don’t you just put the sand under a tree?

Inside the deli as shown on their web page.  Also in real life.

Lunch was a platter of cold meats, sour dough bread ⁽³⁾, cheeses and, for the first time knowingly in my live, capers.  Not bad, the capers, but I don’t feel I have to make up for lost time now.  Chasing down capers and using it in every dish.  Strawberry shortcake would suffer especially.  With lunch we had tea.  It came with it’s own heater, timer and instructions as to how long to steep it.  Although the latter was spoiled by “If you like it stronger or weaker, just look at the colour.”  The pretty glass tea pots helped with the colour monitoring. 

At some stage during lunch The Runner started to show signs of nervousness.  Did I smell?  Messed food on a passing child and now the parent is coming back for retribution?  What? 

“They are all pregnant.” 

Carefully studying the female patrons ⁽⁴⁾ I too noticed that a very high proportion were pregnant.  Now the nervousness made sense.  In school they told us how to get pregnant, or rather how not to, and it did not include drinking tea with cheese and bread, but back when I was in school, they lied to us about a whole range of things and pregnancy could be one of them. No reason to hang around and take a chance. 

So while all three charges for only tasting wine, it seems they are selling different things.  Thelema sells wine.  High quality, slightly pricey wine.  But if you taste the entire range it comes to R1.25 per wine.  Camberley sells a wine enjoying experience. You can stay the entire afternoon for the tasting fee.  You are encouraged to hang around and if you buy, you don’t pay to taste.  Delaire Graff sells a view. 

(1)    An idea which, like Port Jackson’s, should have stayed in Australia.

(2)    No cat though.

(3)    From the Oude Bank Bakkerij in Stellenbosch.

(4)    Pregnant men being somewhat of a rarity.

Wyn and Wors

A good title will help sell most things.  Alliteration adds activity and action.  So if you are going to have an event with Shiraz, what would you do to spice it up?  How to pick up on the peppery notes so characteristic of the varietal?  What is spicy without being overwhelming?  Salami!  Or it can be.  So Shiraz and Salami.  That’s a catchy title, if a little too specific.  How many salami producers are there in the Cape?  Shiraz and sausages.  That is what I would have called it, but the organisers clearly thought that boerewors will be associated with the event.  The quality of wors in this part of the world is below par, so maybe that decided it.  They went for the upmarket Shiraz and Charcuterie.  How do you say that?   Sharkooturee apparently.  When given a choice I prefer not to pronounce words of French origin, because getting it right seems pretentious and getting it wrong makes you seem uneducated.  Except buffet.  I pronounce it as in Warren.  Always. 

So we went to the “Feast of Shiraz and charcuterie” at Hartenberg.  Where the focus was Shiraz and cold meats.  Having some time before the start, we visited a few wine farms. I find it nearly impossible to drive past Villiera and why would you?  The wine is so good and priced so well.  Tasted all the bubbles, stocked up on the dinky bottles, and tasted some Gewürztraminer and Riesling which also took a ride back to the stock room.  We tasted Port and noble late harvest, with the port going home for a very short stay with the navigator.  Since my last visit with thecyclists, the tasting room changed.  It is more open, modern, professional and less intimate.  Service remains as good as ever.  They don’t rush you through the range and, unusual in Stellenbosch and usual for them, they don’t charge for tasting despite the vast quantities of students that must drink there.

Lured by a MCC tasted at the overcrowded Stellenbosch wine festival last year we went to Mooiplaas. Up into the hills past Kaapzicht on a gravel road you find yourself in real farm country.  The beaten track lies somewhere off in the distance.  The tasting room is in an atmospheric converted stable.  Some of the original walls are visible and the wine served on the troughs.  The troughs are now glass covered, which would have annoyed the horses.

Service was very friendly even if she had some interesting thoughts on the continent Pinotage hails from.  The entire range is not for tasting, including the bubbles, so it was bought on memory.  One interesting aspect was the influence tasting the difference of wines poured with an aerator.  They make a “chocolate” Merlot and coffee Pinotage.  I couldn’t taste the chocolate at all, but the aerator made the coffee flavours more pronounced than without it.  An untasted Chenin joined the bubbles for the trip home.    

And so the main event.  In the cellar at Hartenberg there was a small stand on a barrel every 3 meters.  Some sold meat products, some cheese a bread with filling stand, but mostly wine.  Normally just one wine per stand, but these were heavy hitters of the Shiraz world. To name a few: Boekenhoutskloof, Thelema, with winemaker Rudi Schultz’s own, Rust en Vrede as well as Cirrus, Luddite (with sausages) and Mullineux (bought earlier in the year).  New to me was Kleinood from Tamboerskloof and wine from Boschkloof. Others took some pictures here and here. In general, the best Shiraz in the country all in one place.

At Moreson’s bread and wine a very enthousiastic Niel Jewell , sliced thin samplers, taught a lot about cured meats and sausages.  As an aside I saw how much a bottle of bubbles from Mr Bubbles (Peter Ferreira) was worth in sausage.  It is a lot!  And the sausage is very good.  Had good chat with the gentle genius Nico van der Merwe, he of his own name and Saxenburg.  A very likeable man, just like his brother at Major’s Hill.  In the end the only wines I bought was his own label 2006 and Saxenburg 2007.  He described the Saxenburg wines as lunch and his own as dinner.  With lunch being lighter and easier drinking than dinner.

Soon the noise masquerading as music got too much and we set the compass for Stellenbosch central.  After a few abortive attempts at locating De Oude Bank whilst in the car we took to Stellenbosch by foot.  Much easier on my nerves.  Clearly this town pre-dates motor cars and from their behaviour so does some of the pedestrians.   We eventually found the bakery.  Very apologetically they told us most of the bread was sold out.  We decided on drinks only and then the food of others enticed us to order a platter of remaining breads, cheeses and pestos.  All produced on site or sourced from small producers.  I had InneSense lemonade for the very first time. It is good, but not as nice as Frankie’s. Although very tempted by Eric van Heerden’s Triggerfish on draught, self control won the day.  Any place with Triggerfish on tap, deserves another visit.  So I will be back here, and maybe for the Shiraz as well.

72 hours of Sumptuousness

In a case of coals to Newcastle The Runner dragged me to Hermanus.  The town famous for whales.  For 14 years I have lived 300km from it, yet somehow have not been there.  Maybe some subconscious trepidation at encountering a modern day Ahab prevented me.  I’ve heard about the traffic jams up Sir Lowry’s Pass and wondered what sort of martyr would endure that on a Friday afternoon.  From now on, a martyr like me. The views, the wine, the food and the company came together to create probably the best 72 hours of my life.

The Views

There is a place down the coast, the exact location I will not reveal so as not to have it trampled by tourists.  Other tourists.  From the balcony there is a view across the bay where you can spot whales in season frolicking (or feeding) quite close to shore.  It is not whale season and I did not have mirror, therefore no whale spotting for me.  Never before did I take 2 hours on a cup of coffee.  The views are just beautiful.  No amount of adjectives will do it justice.  Beautiful will have to do.  

  My late father used to describe the sea as “Foul, loud and it reeks”⁽¹⁾. I had to test this, so I ended up on a bench next to the ocean. This is the view I had to endure. In between gazes I was re-reading Dangerous Davies whilst waiting for The Runner. She was off doing that incomprehensible thing she does: Running. Slowly it set on me ⁽²⁾ this is why people endure the traffic.

So that is the view from the bottom.  They also have views from the top.  This I only realised during day 2, because they hide the mountains in the dark and we arrived quite late.  A nicely tarred road leads up to several lookout points.  From here you can look down on the sprawling tourist town, or lift your gaze for something more edifying.  If you have a driver who is not scared of gravel road you get to a piece of Hamilton Russell Vineyards normally only seen by the trial bikers.  Although I had visions of tires bursting on the rocks and having to hike down, she was quite confident (and correct) that all will go well. 

View from the top

 Having an intrepid driver holds big advantages, especially when the navigator got us onto dirt roads due to a dislike of “travelling the same road twice”.  I will not needlessly travel to Greyton the scenic way again, but I am glad my misadventure in navigation took us that way.

In the far distance mountains rise in blue grey splendour.  The gravel road winds it’s way through rolling hills planted to barley and canola.  As it descends into dale you lose sight of the peaks and your whole world becomes farm.  Cresting the next hill the mountains are suddenly a lot closer and more impressive.  They are no longer just shades of grey.  More greens become visible as the trees take on definition.  Every time it is revealed it impresses more until finally you round a bend and spot the village nestling on the slopes.   Quaint villages like this nestle.  They simply cannot do anything else.  Across a babbling brook ⁽³⁾ we return to tar to enter the tree lined streets. It is a pretty place, this Greyton. On some streets the branches arch over the road. You can cycle or hike in the mountains, but I suspect a lot of just sitting and watching the beauty happens here.

The Food

At Klein River Cheesery they have a great playpen.  In daylight it is full of children on slides and swings.  I am sure that at night the cows use it.  How else to explain the great cheese?  The cows must give happy milk.  I like the smoked one best.  This comes from the cows that are too cool to play on the swings.  They stand next to the fence smoking, thinking they are superior.  The Gruyere is another favourite of mine, luckily available at my local supermarket.  They also have a very nice shop that, besides the cheese, sells other artisanal products.  The best find was wasabi flavoured chips from Crispies.  Even better than wasabi flavoured peanuts.

Continuing in a cheesy vein, what about a mostly cheese breakfast?  At the Hermanuspietersfontein Saturday market there is a cheese guy.  A self admitted ex-advertising man has a table full of cheese and a couple of plates of ham-like meat.  We put ourselves in his hands, figuratively, as to how to fill the breakfast plates with a hard cheese preference for the boy-plate and a runny cheese preference for the girl plate.  At R50 a plate we thought “This is going to be an expensive breakfast!”  Yet strangely satisfying and no need for extra food.  A good start to the day helped along with some coffee and wine.  I am still trying to find that elusive good breakfast wine.

Dining at Season Restaurant is a worthwhile experience.  We were slightly taken aback at dropping the average age of the patrons by about 20 years, but as no one took out their teeth during dinner, it didn’t bother us long.   Judging by the events in the kitchen, seen through a semi opaque window, I was not alone in eating the steak special.  Here, for the first time, I saw the bobotie spring roll on a menu.  Apparently a standard in this part of the world.  Across the table from me a curry was inducing happy noises.  A bottle of Raka Sangiovese at only R4 above farm price (to check on the quality of the untasted one acquired earlier the day) and some Hermanuspietersfontein Posmeester accompanied the meal.  Inducing yet more happy noises.

Lemon Butta.  I detest names like this.  Puns I like, but deliberate misspellings ⁽⁴⁾ annoys me.  So it was with some trepidation that I mounted the stairs to this irritatingly monikered restaurant.  After a short wait upstairs in their bar with a view (slightly diminished in the dark), my opinion of the place changed.  The wine list is very good.  Not just the great local stuff, but Springfield as well.  The selection really impressed.  So, my prejudice would have tripped me up again.

The menu impressed even more.  We came here for sushi, it’s been two days since The Runner last had raw fish and you could see it was starting to hurt.  A slight shaking of the hands, nervously looking around, making inappropriate comments.  It was time for her fix.  I had my stomach set on the wasabi glazed tuna steak.  I like tuna steak and eat it far too infrequently.  Unfortunately the whales ate all the tuna so I settled on a mixed tempura platter.  A delight.   The owner remembered my name from giving it to book.  A nice touch.  Graffiti on the walls can be a bit off, but here it seems like genuine appreciation for the good food, friendly and efficient service of, uh, Lemon Butta.  Like the ex-governor of California, I will be back.

If one needed an unpretty reason to visit Greyton, Von Geusau Chocolates provides it.  Sold next door to Oak and Vigne where very good coffee and delicious chocolate croissants reign.  I have a soft spot for croissants.  The size of half my rump I would say.  A very big soft spot then.  The range of chocolates is vast.  My favourites are the ones with rock salt and the one with crunchy bits.  Besides slabs they also produce those little squares jobbies with fillings and stuff.  Words fail me here, so I will stick to bloody lovely! to describe them.

The Drink

The main attraction of the trip was the wine.  The chance to taste the highly acclaimed Chardonnay and Pinot Noir from the Hemel and Aarde valley in their birthplace appealed to me.    So naturally the first stop then had to be a brewery. 

Birkenhead is a long established micro brewery just outside of Stanford.  The beers over the years have increased in quality and consistency so always worth a shot these days.  We had a taster set (pictured) for R20.  The Honey blonde ale is my favourite and probably their best seller.  Snakebite, the Ale, Stout and Brandy blend, is a bit all over the place with flavours, but I bought a six-pack.  It will make for good winter time drinking.  

From the brewery it was a short drive to Raka.  I knew their wines from shows like Wine-X and am glad to report that their entire range is worthwhile.  The cellar is next to the road, which makes it easy to get to.  We sat in the sun and looked across at the burnt mountainside.  Earlier the year large fires devastated a lot of the area, sparing the vines though.  The first wines to book a trip home were 2011 Chenin, 2011 Viognier and 2010 Sangiovese.  The latter, as stated earlier, bought untasted for eating with Italian food.  Friendly service, good prices and above all, good wine makes this one to put on your list of wineries to visit. 

Bouchard Finalyson was the winery I most wanted to visit.  For years I tasted with pleasure the Kaaimansgat Chardonnay at wine shows.  Never bought a bottle before, but as we entered the tasting cellar, they had a sale.  Great quality wines, no tasting fee, no pretentious snobbery.  It was fairly busy with just one woman on duty, so very efficient and business like.  Slowly we worked through the entire range and in the end bought??? Kaaimansgat Chardonnay of course.  Also some Sauvignon Blanc and a 97, 03 and 08 Pinot Noir. These reds destined for a taste-off trying to answer the question: Does age matter?

Where Bouchard Finlayson has no views in the cellar, but lots of atmosphere, Newton Johnson reverses that situation.  Chardonnay sold out, Sauvingon not great, by now I am all Pinoted out, so best purchase here?  Chocolates assembled from Madagascar, Venezuela and Sao Tome.

In valley of double barrelled wineries Bartho Eksteen had to choose a special name to stand out.  Hermanuspietersfontein is the old, full name of the town.  He also makes very good wine, so he gets away with a name that goes round the bottle.  Prices cover most of the spectrum, but concentrates on the high end.  Deliberately so, we learn.  They go for a price that just sells out so not to have a dry period.  Good problem to have.  Bought some Arnoldus, Martha and Sauvignon Blanc, including a 03, continuing with the plan to find wines like me.  White, South African and just past their prime. 

Honourable mention here of the one wine I took along for the ride.  A Muratie Vintage Port from the previous century.  Prominent tenderpreneurs were still failing woodwork when these grapes were harvested.  What a lovely wine, which due to tiredness, caution and other incomprehensibles I drank mostly on my own.  Still two bottles left in stock, will savour them on a good day.

It all came together at Creation.  The Views, the Food and the Wine.  I had probably the best wine tasting of my life here.  Except for the obvious tasting out of Claudia Schiffer's belly button it will be difficult to improve on the Creation experience.  I should have booked.  The place was filled to the gills on that overcast Saturday and afterwards I understood why.  Our tasting needs were accommodated in the overflow mezzanine area and a more serendipitous wine event is difficult to imagine.

A few couples were seated in various unmatched chairs and sofas.  The lovely lady from Worcester delivered each wine in its designated Riedel glass. I remain unconvinced that a different glass for each wine is necessary to enjoy it properly, but the logistics of fetching the glasses led to long intervals between tastings.  During these intermissions we took the opportunity to talk to some of our companions.  And we just clicked.  Brought together by our fascination with wine.  From the restaurant the chocolate, olive and bread platters were delivered to make food and wine pairings possible.  One thing I found interesting was that everyone had a designated driver that held back on the drinking and except in our case it was the man.  But I was spitting, which confused the others.  Why would the non-driver not take advantage of the good wine on offer?  The concept of designated buyer was new to them.  Although the designated buyer cannot endanger others, as the driver can, the bank balance can be damaged by purchases made under the influence. 

After tasting the entire range, a space opened up in the restaurant.  So I went through it again.  This time each wine comes paired with a little snack.  Canapés apparently.  I am used to a hit rate of these food and wine pairings of about 50%.  Here most worked. The one that worked best was the chorizo espanadita Syrah combination.   Now espanadita is a rare kind of word.   Even Professor Google shows only 14 references to it and all of the food ones are linked to the menu at Creation.  It is a small pie with chorizo and salsa inside also known as empanada.  Pie as in Cornish, not the Springbok pie that refuelled the driver across the table. 

And so at the upper end of the Hemel and Aarde valley, famous for Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, I found my Sauvignon Blanc grail.  One that smells unmistakably like guava.  I don’t care if some wine writers find this undesirable esters from fermentation.  I love it!  For the three years since I first tasted the Saint Clair from New Zealand I searched local wines to try and reclaim that ecstasy.  The 2010 Arendsig tasted like that for a while, but the guava disappeared after a month or so.  By the time I got the 2011 there was nothing like it.  Both the 2012 Diemersdal (the normal version) and Altydgedacht have it, but time will tell if it will last. It was the 2011 vintage of Creation which to me means it will retain the smell for a while.  Thus keeping me happy for a long time.

Loot in the boot!

From now on my leisure time will be measured against these three days.  Filled as they were with the building blocks of hedonism: food, wine and afternoon naps. 

(1)    “Dis vuil, dit raas en dit stink” were his exact words.

(2)    If it happened at the other end of the day it would have dawned on me.

(3)    It stands to reason that if the village nestles, the brook will babble.

(4)    nite, lite and other shite

I DO give a Hoot

I went looking for Morgan’s Wine shop and Champagne Bar in the upmarket Bellville party street named Edward.  When I could not find it there (allegedly moved to Tygervalley Shopping Center), I was lured into Hooters.  A bit of a let down, this branch of Hooters.  With a name like that you would expect that the staff should have some.  On the back of their shirts it says “Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined”. ⁽¹⁾ They might as well have put it on the front as it would still have been very readable.  Not disturbed by undulations at all. 

I had the second biggest pair in the room. I wasn’t even a close second.  You should have seen the guy that beat me to the title.  There was a coin operated breathalyser mounted on a wall.  What a good idea.  I had no need that day as I drank only sugary fizzy drinks.  Traffic in town now scares me so much I need all of my meagre wits to drive.  For nourishment I ate a burger as both the idea for the venue and the food originated in America.  Hooters offers you the patty rare, medium or well done.  What sort of pretentious snob orders a rare hamburger patty?  One like me, I found out.  I also found out that rare means cold.  The baked beans made for an unusual side dish.  Verdict on the food: passable.  But then again I don’t think that is their main selling point.

On to the USP.  The very lovely girl, Johanni, served me.  Girl?  Yes, because that’s what the staff were.  They had lovely legs, even if their upper bodies did not conform to the establishment’s name.  Back to my delightful waitress with the cool green eyes, flowing brown hair and a smile that lit up the room, pierced my heart and punctuated my age.  The way she bit her lower lip when she poured the coke; not wanting it to foam over.  I just wanted to mother her ) ^{(2) )}.  No stirring in the loins.  No suppressed lust.  Just a warm feeling inside me.  Like a Care Bear ™ I wanted love to flood from me. That, I guess, is it.  The end of an era that never was.  Me the stud.  Did I still tip her R100 on a R100 bill? But of course. She came back to thank me when the she did the sums.  What a well mannered child. 

How to top a day where you became acutely aware of your age?  Find out that you are losing testosterone ⁽³⁾.  It must be that.  I bought something primarily because it was pretty. Sure it has alcohol in it, but still the primary motivation was prettiness. Swartland Winery did a 3 in 1 port, hanepoot and jerepigo gift pack baby bottles fit into each other. When did I buy this?  While manfully waiting for the new tires to be put on my car. 

Told you they were pretty

(1) Also describes me

(2)   Yes, thank you.  You are not Sigmund Freud.  Leave it.

(3)   Probably more a problem that boy readers will associate with.