Neil Pendock: November 2006
Author:
Neil Pendock
Published: 05 Feb 07
Where were you when the lights went out? - undoubtedly the worst film of Doris Day's career.As the movie poster teased: "Oh, the liberties that were taken
the night New York flipped its fuse… and becam
e 'Fun City'".
Liberties were certainly taken when the lights went out at the Soweto wine festival, - mostly by the media! According to the Sowetan, the lights went out two hours into the evening "while the visitors were stepping up the carnival atmosphere. At that moment, wine etiquette went out the window as visitors plied themselves with copious amounts of free wine… there was a flurry of free shopping too as some visitors raided the stalls Nicodemusly."
Alas, I missed all the excitement as Cape winemakers "panicked, packed and grabbed whatever they could" before "speeding off in the direction of 'the city of lights'". I was chatting to Jeanine Wardman, fragrant editor of www.winenews.co.za, and missed the whole thing.
We'd been at the show since kick off time 6.30pm and the lights went out for us at 9.55pm - in fact, I initially assumed it was management's way of saying the show was closing, as 10pm was advertised pumpkin hour. With lights out, it was out with the cell phones and the hall was converted into a light show worse than an Elton John concert.
As far as an increase in consumption in the dark, wine was freely available with the lights on and serious drinkers were massed around the brandy stalls, anyway.
And as for Nicodemus shopping, theft was a problem with the lights on. Someone nicked the Tokara whites before I got to them while Groot Constantia staff marveled that the thief who brazenly swiped a bottle of red, at least took the best wine: the Gouverneurs Reserve.
But perhaps the biggest calumny was the breathless report of the abandonment by "frightened macho colleagues" of "one white female exhibitor [wfe] at the Engelbrecht Els stall, a picture of solitude as she stoically packed her wares, having been deserted unceremoniously by her white male colleagues".
The EE stall was adjacent to Welbe-dacht, manned by both big and little Schalk Burger, so the wfe had fortunately been abandoned into the hunkiest hands by the most obvious candidates for "frightened macho colleagues": Jean Engelbrecht and Duncan Woods - two of the burliest exhibitors, until they left for dinner ten minutes before lights off.
In spite of fleeing in terror from the Sowetan's apocalyptic reportage, Engelbrecht had the grace to praise the show: "It can become huge and should become the premier wine show in Gauteng within the next five years. I was very impressed with the venue and the level of questions asked by the visitors."
The show was judged important enough by Time magazine and the Financial Times to send along stringers to cover the shifting spittoons of SA social tectonics. Not that spitting was popular: when big Schalk let fly a well-aimed spurt into the giant spittoon cum rubbish bin, the dusky beauty standing next to it let out a shriek: "Sis, don't spit on me!" Until Schalk gently filled her in on the finer points of social expectoration. A skill her beau had yet to master as he leaned upon her for support, eyes spinning alarmingly.
Wines popular with punters were another point of difference, with Philip Myburgh from De Meye reporting three times the consumption of his off-dry Blanc de Noir over his juicy reds. Bevan Newton Johnson from the winery of the same surname and Paul de Wet from Zandvliet agreed that their value for money rosés were the wines of the evening.
But perhaps the biggest difference between Soweto and those Sandton wine shows was the beat, blasted out from giant speakers on the stage, that had tasters rolling their hips sinuously as they sipped Shiraz, many for the first time, until that dreaded Eskom moment of chaos, confusion and fear I thankfully missed.
Liberties were certainly taken when the lights went out at the Soweto wine festival, - mostly by the media! According to the Sowetan, the lights went out two hours into the evening "while the visitors were stepping up the carnival atmosphere. At that moment, wine etiquette went out the window as visitors plied themselves with copious amounts of free wine… there was a flurry of free shopping too as some visitors raided the stalls Nicodemusly."
Alas, I missed all the excitement as Cape winemakers "panicked, packed and grabbed whatever they could" before "speeding off in the direction of 'the city of lights'". I was chatting to Jeanine Wardman, fragrant editor of www.winenews.co.za, and missed the whole thing.
We'd been at the show since kick off time 6.30pm and the lights went out for us at 9.55pm - in fact, I initially assumed it was management's way of saying the show was closing, as 10pm was advertised pumpkin hour. With lights out, it was out with the cell phones and the hall was converted into a light show worse than an Elton John concert.
As far as an increase in consumption in the dark, wine was freely available with the lights on and serious drinkers were massed around the brandy stalls, anyway.
And as for Nicodemus shopping, theft was a problem with the lights on. Someone nicked the Tokara whites before I got to them while Groot Constantia staff marveled that the thief who brazenly swiped a bottle of red, at least took the best wine: the Gouverneurs Reserve.
But perhaps the biggest calumny was the breathless report of the abandonment by "frightened macho colleagues" of "one white female exhibitor [wfe] at the Engelbrecht Els stall, a picture of solitude as she stoically packed her wares, having been deserted unceremoniously by her white male colleagues".
The EE stall was adjacent to Welbe-dacht, manned by both big and little Schalk Burger, so the wfe had fortunately been abandoned into the hunkiest hands by the most obvious candidates for "frightened macho colleagues": Jean Engelbrecht and Duncan Woods - two of the burliest exhibitors, until they left for dinner ten minutes before lights off.
In spite of fleeing in terror from the Sowetan's apocalyptic reportage, Engelbrecht had the grace to praise the show: "It can become huge and should become the premier wine show in Gauteng within the next five years. I was very impressed with the venue and the level of questions asked by the visitors."
The show was judged important enough by Time magazine and the Financial Times to send along stringers to cover the shifting spittoons of SA social tectonics. Not that spitting was popular: when big Schalk let fly a well-aimed spurt into the giant spittoon cum rubbish bin, the dusky beauty standing next to it let out a shriek: "Sis, don't spit on me!" Until Schalk gently filled her in on the finer points of social expectoration. A skill her beau had yet to master as he leaned upon her for support, eyes spinning alarmingly.
Wines popular with punters were another point of difference, with Philip Myburgh from De Meye reporting three times the consumption of his off-dry Blanc de Noir over his juicy reds. Bevan Newton Johnson from the winery of the same surname and Paul de Wet from Zandvliet agreed that their value for money rosés were the wines of the evening.
But perhaps the biggest difference between Soweto and those Sandton wine shows was the beat, blasted out from giant speakers on the stage, that had tasters rolling their hips sinuously as they sipped Shiraz, many for the first time, until that dreaded Eskom moment of chaos, confusion and fear I thankfully missed.
