Swartland’s delicate old cultivars attract new followers
Sometimes we take the way cultivars present themselves for granted. This explains the excitement when we trip over new interpretations of the familiar.
Part of the reason why the Swartland engenders so much commentary is that it offers a new take on old varieties. At other times, we come across an unfamiliar grape or style of wine, and there it’s the same surprise, a kind of “shock of the new”. While the Swartland was best known for its old vine chenin and shiraz, it’s now in vogue for clairette blanche, semillon (blanc and gris), cinsaut, grenache and carignan — often from vineyards older than fashionable chenin blancs.
These cultivars were once familiar enough, though not perhaps to the fine wine fraternity. Cinsaut was the primary red blending variety in the era before merlot, while clairette blanche, together with ugni blanche, supplemented chenin blanc at the brandy distilleries. Now made from vines old enough to deliver surprising concentration, wines from these vines have acquired new followers.
Not everyone gets the excitement, however: despite the viticultural forensics that went into their “rediscovery” and the thoughtful wine making that characterises these latest examples, mostly what emerges is neither flamboyant nor showy. Texture and delicacy, rather than intensity and opulence, are more likely to be their hallmark features.
The same kind of aesthetic comfortably describes the Lanzerac Bergpad 2016 Pinot Blanc I sampled a few weeks back for the first time. Pinot blanc is a little-known cultivar from an experiential point of view — a kind of serious though second division premium or noble variety. It won’t displace sauvignon blanc or even semillon on the most planted white cultivar lists, but it also deserves far more attention than it’s enjoyed up to now.
The late Paul Chanson in Burgundy thought it better than chardonnay. Since it’s an authorised variety in the Cote d’Or, he planted it in his Grand Cru Corton Vergennes vineyard. After his death, the land was donated to the Hospices de Beaune, so the Cuvée Paul Chanson is — as far as I know — the only pinot blanc site in the extensive land holdings of the hospices.
I was mightily impressed by the Lanzerac Bergpad. It’s been beautifully oaked, so the wood presents as a kind of delicate marzipan note to go with the grilled hazelnut aromas of the grape. There are faint lime blossom whiffs, followed by a real creaminess on the palate, and all of this brought together with a pomelo-like freshness on the finish. While you could mistake the bouquet and midpalate feel of the pinot blanc for chardonnay, I thought it was more delicate, an expression of restraint rather than intensity.
Another wine that made the same impression on me when I tasted it was the 2014 Fairview Bloemcool Tinto Fino Tempranillo. I had just returned from a trip to Rioja and Ribera del Duero — heartland for tempranillo lovers wherever in the world they hail from — so it was really exciting to find a South African wine that would give the Spanish producers more than a momentary twinge of anxiety.
Certainly, it had greater fruit intensity than almost anything I sampled in half-a-dozen of the best Spanish cellars. The wood maturation has been beautifully managed. It’s there, it’s not subtle, but it adds a sumptuous spice note to the bouquet without drying out the palate.
In the next decade, plantings of both these varieties could increase, which is important for the future of Cape wine. It’s all very well celebrating old vineyards, but they get older and less productive every year. If their charm — and viticultural potential — depends on years in the ground, then they are something of a diminishing resource (though presumably one day younger vines will acquire suitable maturity).
With evidence that our young pinot blanc and tempranillo vineyards can deliver fine wines, we’re assured of even greater diversity in the years ahead.