A class act
A class act
Oh, what jolly good fun to romp through the winelands!
My English cousin, Joanna, is classy, long limbed, long necked, and well travelled. She has properties like charms on bracelets and she shops in Japan. Yep, she's that rare type of woman men love because she looks like she's about to bolt. At 2 to 1 the favourite, she's a real thoroughbred. And, bless, Joanna just rang: "I'm in Cape Town, Cousin, please take me to a wine farm!"
I dash out to The Lord Charles Hotel in Somerset West and there she is, taller than Jack's beanstalk, elegant as a grapevine (a Hamilton Russell Pinot Noir 2004 grapevine, mind you), skin as milky as the beautiful froth on Amstel Adam's breakfast beer. "I want a drink! Take me to Boschendal!"
So off we sped. I pump up the Bagpipe metal punk while my cuzzie rips off the silver foil and feeds me chunks of mountain Alps of Toblerone.
We arrive to pink bubbly, the yummy Boschendal Le Grand Pavillion Brut Rosé. "Wonderful," lip smacks Joanna, holding the glass to the sun through the dappled autumn haze. "Wonderful salmon-pink colour, like 1950s girls satin underwear. Tastes good too. Let's take a case!"
Next, she cradles her glass of Boschendal Sauvignon Blanc Grand Vin Blanc 2008 and, before even tasting it, she says with the mild distaste that one might have, say, of being given a budget guide to Cape Town: "Cousin, one just can't compare this to our heavenly French whites."
"Ah, but the bottle is beautiful," I attempt to soothe her. "It's like a voluptuous Italian maid. And taste it. It's fresh and tropical. It's more than just a fine house wine and I wouldn't pair it with a Woolies TV dinner. It may not be quite like mom's cooking, but it will certainly do."
"M'mm, beautiful body. How unexpected. Let's take a case!" Before we pounce on the reds, we sample the Boschendal Chardonnay Pinot Noir 2008. Now this is not the wine for the girl in the red dress at the wedding. It's more for the girl with the silky, sexy underwear.
Then we sip and swirl and swallow the Boschendal Shiraz Cabernet Sauvignon 2006. "It's certainly not Victoria's Secret.'' "It's Agent Provocateur," hisses Cuzzie. We collectively decide that the Boschendal Shiraz 2007 is "perfectly phenolic" but brazenly adjust the entire meaning of the word, as in "she's such a phenolic bitch" or "he's so phenolic, he must be a virgin".
Cecil John Rhodes (a major 19th century player in Boschendal's development while bringing us exotic English birds and plants, drowning out and strangling all things wondrously indigenous) also once sat under this same 300-year-old oak tree and apparently, laughs Jamille Ryklief (manager of Boschendal's cellar door) "ran through these grapevines naked".
Now the Boschendal Grand Reserve 2005 is well worth the wait. It's like a Roy Orbison song - it stays with you forever. All hail 70% Cabernet Franc..
We slink off to Franschhoek to have lunch at Bouillabaisse, the foxy little champagne/oyster bar and restaurant, where the golden joy is a spicy soaked prawn at the bottom of a shooter glass of seafood soup. And the oysters! "Cuz, they died to give us four and a half seconds of pleasure," sighs Joanna.
And then we hear that dear Ludwig [Maske of La Cotte Inn] has been kidnapped by a Saudi Arabian prince to taste fine wines. Why can't the damn prince taste them himself, or at least get someone madly knowledgeable like me?
