Tale guide
About
My spirit world
My first encounter
My desire to play with the big boys started when I was in high school.
It was during my teenage years when I accompanied my parents to a new year’s dinner in the old Cape Dutch Hotel near the top of St Lawry’s Pass in the heart of the Elgin apple farms. It was there that I met two young navel cadets, sons of a local landowner, who decided to tolerate the little whippersnapper during the night and probably deliberately let him have his way with the drinks.
Away from the main table and prying eyes of my parents, I joined my newly found friends in the pub where under the aged oak beams and subdued lights I chose a vodka and lemonade as I had been told that vodca doesn't smell on the breath and therefore my parents wouldn't discover that I had had a drink, or so I thought. It was quite nice and grown up so I tried another, and another, and another.
What transpired behind my back between my father and the landowner apple farmer with a double-barrelled name, and his two sons, I have no idea, but that suitable arrangements were put in place to deal with the somewhat intoxicated and very tired young fellow, is not disputed.
I do recall being gently placed into the back of a large limousine in the early hours of the next morning and taken off to the said apple farm a short distance away where I collapsed into a warm and soft king size bed in one of the many guest-ensuites in the landowner’s mansion.
I slept soundly although for most of the few hours until daybreak the ceiling kept spinning in circles around my head and I found it impossible to slow it down.
At daybreak the very English gentleman with the double-barrelled name strode into my bedroom dressed a little like Sherlock Holmes and with a hearty cheer, greeted me with “Good morning,” and “I’ve organised you a splendid mountain breakfast young man, if you wouldn’t mind coming through to the dining room.”
I stared at mine host through half closed, swollen eyes. My head was pounding. I swear I hadn’t had more than two hours sleep. But I was young and readily intimidated by seniority and I had been brought up with good manners and an inherent need not to be discourteous to my seniors, let alone a kind and thoughtful host. I stumbled out of bed realising that I was still fully dressed save for my shoes, which I clumsily laced up before cautiously making my way to the dining room.
I recall the dining room was more like a banqueting hall. The traditional sash bar wooden windows stretched the length of the room and overlooked a manicured lawn that rolled gently down an incline to the edge of a large trout dam. I sat down at a place setting at the banqueting table and mine host sat next to me at the head of the table.
I didn’t want to eat anything. In fact, I really didn't even want to smell food. I was feeling incredibly unwell, but I could hardly back down in the face of such caring kindness. I failed to notice his rather mischievous smile as I put on a brave face and gathered my limited strength to step up to the task.
The doors from the kitchen swung open and the chef, adorned in a neatly ironed chef whites, stepped up to the table and placed before each of us a large whole, head to tail, steaming and very fresh grilled trout.
Under any other circumstances, the trout would have been magnificent. Under these however, I felt last night’s dinner and liquid suddenly decide to rise up from my stomach, through my oesophagus, heading directly towards my mouth. I rose instantly and ran for my room. I only made it as far as through the bedroom door before every last bit of my bodily content made a brutal and explosive exit.
I was allowed to clean myself up as far as that was possible and at sometime during the day, I was transferred by limousine back to our home in Somerset West. I was simply too washed out to feel embarrassed or in fact, to feel anything other than on my deathbed. No one said a word to me after that incident. It disappeared into my memory, never to be erased and established a point of reference that I’ve carried with me throughout my years since.
The wine connoisseur
Notwithstanding that vodka crash, I went on to discover the taste of beer and for a good while thoroughly enjoyed a couple of frosties with the boys. But as I started to climb the ladder, as it were, I discovered that understanding and savouring the fruit of the vine was considered an important part of a highflyer executive way of life. Not that I was a highflyer, more like a highflyer wannabe!
We were invited to dinner by a client of a substantial national winery to celebrate the conclusion of a national contract renewal meeting while on a visit to the Cape of Good Hope.
The venue was none other than the magnificent Lanserac estate, an historic vineyard that lies in the Jonkershoek valley very near the historic town of Stellenbosch in one of the most beautiful wine growing regions on earth. We were not surprised to discover that our client was a wine connoisseur given that he had lived and worked in the wine industry most of his life.
A really jolly middle-aged fellow, that I shall call Leonard, (Len for short), was in fine fetter and carried a mischievous sense of humour.
We settled down at a circular table in the main dining hall of the hotel. The ambiance, decor and presentation are still old school and elegant. The waiters and waitresses that hover around to respond to your every wish were neat, warm, friendly and efficient. Things were set for a super evening and as it was one of the very first experiences in such impressive surroundings, I was all ears.
“Are you a wine drinker, Richard?” asked our host.
“Well, yes indeed,” I replied. “I enjoy a glass of red but I can’t say that I know very much about wine,” I explained, a tad reservedly.
“Well, the thing is that the best wine for you is the one you enjoy,” explained Len. “You needn’t take too much notice of what connoisseurs suggest should accompany various dishes or occasions. The trick is to savour the liquid and try and relate to the taste and aroma that describes it. If you like it, it’s a good wine.”
At this point he summoned a waiter who was about to hand him a wine list when he said, “We are in the mood for a good quality red. I would like the maître de to select his recommended vintage on our behalf.”
“Certainly sir. Any particular variety?” asked the waiter.
“No. I’d rather not specify. I’m really interested what your choice will be.”
It was certainly a most unusual way to order wine, I thought. I mean, he would have no idea whether it would be any good and more importantly, I wondered how was he going to deal with whatever it would cost. I was aware that you can buy a bottle of wine from anything from R120 to a couple of hundred thousand Rand a bottle. But I guess, he knew what he was doing!”
The bottle arrived wrapped in a white serviette. The waitron corked the bottle and proceeded to pour a little more than a smidgin into Len’s crystal clean, red wine glass.
Len raised the glass and swirled the content around looking at the tell-tale sign of the liquid left on the side of the glass. “The tiers on the glass are an indication of the richness and quality of the wine,” he explained.
He raised the glass to his nose and took a small sip of the contents. After a moment he declared “ This my friends, is a Merlot/Cab blend and if I’m not mistaken, it comes from Jonkers vlei which lies in the Franschhoek region.
By this time the maître de had arrived at the table and upon hearing Len’s declaration, smiled knowingly and quietly nodded in agreement.
I was bolled over. “That’s absolutely incredible,” I blurted out. “How can you tell with such accuracy?”
Len ignore my question and raised the glass to his nose and once more took a sample in his mouth.
“1991 vintage I’m guessing,” he announced confidently. The maître d nodded again.
“No way!” I chirped again in utter amazement.
Len turned to the waitron and asked if he would decant a drop more for tasting purposes as he felt that “there is something else unique about this particular vintage, I detect.”
Again, he took a measured taste of the rich red liquid, pondered a moment and then declared “Jonker’s vlei’s vineyards lie on the sides of the Jakkelspoort mountain and the interesting thing about that is that some of the fields are south facing while the others face to the west. The western vineyards enjoy longer periods of sunshine which provide a richer sweeter tannin that it’s southern friends. I’m pretty sure this particular batch comes from the grapes harvested from the western side.”
We sat in awe of the man. It was absolutely riveting to witness such incredible skill. Before anyone could say anything more, he continued with a slight puzzle on his eyebrow.
“I still detect something peculiar about this wine,” he announced, taking yet another small sip from the sample.
Our host settled back in his chair, swirling the liquid from cheek to cheek in his mouth for a long minute before finally allowing it to trickle down his throat. Finally, he sat forward and gestured to the waitron to decant to each of our glasses before finally raising his glass and proposing a toast.
We all took our first taste of the exotic wine. It was good. Round, rich, sweet, chocolaty aftertaste. Really a quality wine indeed. What an experience I thought. The real deal. A proper wine connoisseur!
“So Len, were you able to detect what is peculiar, because it tastes great to me?“ I asked placing my glass back on the table cloth.
“One of the really unique processes at Jonkers vlei that has been practiced since the early 1800s, is that they still press their grapes from a particularly quality harvest, manually. In other words, they stamp the juice from the grapes with their feet. There is no doubt that this bottle comes from such a batch and I’m pretty convinced though, that one of the labourers must have pissed in it whilst pressing.”
We looked at him in shock. His face remained expressionless for a moment until the Maître de couldn’t contain himself any longer and burst into laughter. Len joined in and eventually after a reality check pause, we finally understood that we had been taken for a ride by an outstanding performance and we joined in laughing more at our gullibility than anything else.
Cheers for now.
