David Biggs

Let me introduce myself…

I stumbled into wine writing, more or less by accident, back in the 1970s and produced a weekly wine column for the Cape Argus newspaper for about 30 years.

It’s a funny thing, wine. I hadn’t really considered it much until I was given an assignment for the newspaper and decided to do some background research in wine.

After a one-week wine course, offered by the Gilbeys Company, I was hooked.

I attended more courses with Gilbeys (this was before the Cape Wine Academy had been formed) and read up everything I could find.

In 1998 I wrote my wine judging examination and was frankly surprised to pass, but I did. It was by far the most terrifying examination I had ever entered — two days of intensive tasting and analysis under the watchful eye of Professor Joel van Wyk.

I was invited to be on the judging panel of the first Stellenbosch Bottled Wine Show, and later the Robertson Bottled Wine Show. Before that there were only regional young wine shows, of interest mainly to wine producers. The bottled wine shows were the beginnings of what developed into the annual Veritas Wine Competition, which is the biggest wine contest in South Africa. I’ve served on judging panels in every Veritas competition since its inception, usually judging the sweeter wines and fortified wines in particular.

I’m also a founder member of the very successful Wine-of-the-Month Club tasting panel, and have helped with the judging of the annual Muscadel Competition.

All this involvement in wine is rather odd, really, because I came from a family that didn’t regard wine with much respect. We were Karoo sheep farmers and mostly beer drinkers. My mother enjoyed a glass of gin and tonic every evening, but wine was for special occasions and usually very ordinary plonk, which was all that was available in our local Karoo villages.

Wine prompted me to write books, too. I felt there was a need for a really basic book on wine, so I approached wine guru Dave Hughes and we co-operated on a little book called Enjoy Wine, now long out of print, but I believe still a very practical guide.

I followed this with a series of annual pocket books called the Plonk Buyers’ Guide, which was produced for about 10 years until the wine industry became too big to handle.

In 1998 I produced a little book on port, brandy and fortified wines, called Any Port in a Storm, published by Ampersand Press.

It the intervening years I’ve produced several books of cocktails of all kinds …all readily available from Amazon. Feel free to click and order.

Apart from the wine and booze books, my collection of Karoo stories titled Karoo Ramblings, is once again available, after being out of print for two years.

But there’s more to life than wine, of course, and I find great joy in producing a daily column for the Cape Argus newspaper, under the heading of Tavern of the Seas. The column has been part of the Argus for many years and was started by the great South African author, Lawrence G Green.

(His books are out of print now, but if you should find one in a second-hand book shop, buy it. He wrote in a delightfully gentle style that has lost none of its charm over the years.)

The Tavern column gives me freedom to write about any subject that crosses my mind.

I like to think it’s an on-going public debate and it’s pleasing to see how many readers send me suggestions and comments on the stuff I write.

I hope readers will use this website as a public debating forum too.

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It’s a funny thing about sweet muscadels and jerepigos – most of your sophisticated wine friends will tell you they like only dry white wines, or maybe an occasional Noble Late Harvest at the end of the meal. But pour them a glass of jerepigo and it vanishes like the morning mist.
Leave bottles of various wines out and invite your guests to help themselves and you can be sure the muscadel or jerepigo bottle will be empty at the end of the evening.
Some might say jerepigo is not a true wine at all. Wine is defined as the “fermented juice of the grape (vitis vinifera)” and jerepigo isn’t fermented at all. It is made by letting the grapes ripen very fully and then pressing them and adding grape spirit to the juice to prevent any fermentation.
What you’re getting is actually preserved grape juice.
Which is just fine by me.
Badsberg’s 2011 Red Jerepigo is made from South Africa’s own Pinotage grapes that were left on the vine until they were almost raisins. The sugar content of wine grapes is measure on a scale called degrees Balling. To give some idea of the ripeness of the Badsberg jerepigo, grapes for table wines are usually picked at about 24 degrees Balling. For sparkling wines the grapes are picked very young, at around 19 dergree. The Pinotage grapes for the Badsberg Jerepigo were allowed to ripen all the way up to 30 degrees Balling.
This sweet delight has harvested awards and accolade by the barrel-full. It received a gold medal at the 2012 Veritas Competition, a silver at the 2012 Michelangelo Awards, four stars in the Platter Wine Guide and was voted Best Value in 2013.
It has a deep ruby glow to it and the flavours that flow across the tongue remind me of plum jam and sweet tomato jam. There’s an almost savoury hint to it.
Very more-ish indeed.
I think it’s a very versatile wine to have around, too. Apart from just enjoying a glass on a chilly evening, you could pour it over ice-cream for a delicious dessert, mix it in equal proportions with vodka to make a “vodkatini” cocktail, or pour in over a tall glass of crushed ice to make a refreshing poolside drink.
No wonder Oom Schalk Lourens needed a sip of jerepigo to get his story-telling tongue in good shape.

Photograph: alluvia wine estate

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I find it interesting that our modern wines are, generally speaking, far higher in alcohol than the wines of 50 years ago.
I was privileged to taste a line-up of wines dating back more than 30 years and many of those older ones had lasted amazingly well, in spite of having an alcohol content of 10% or, in some cases, only 9%. 
Today we consider a 14% alcohol content nothing unusual, and many of our table wines go as high as 15%.
This is partly because winemakers now allow their grapes to reach their full potential ripeness before harvesting them. And the riper the berries are the more sugar they contain, and that translates into a higher alcohol content. (Not to mention a fuller, richer flavour.)
At the same time some of our muscadel and jerepigo producers are lowering the alcohol levels in their delicious sweet wines.
Badsberg’s 2011 Red Muscadel, for example, has an alcohol level of 15.5%.
They can do this because the sugar in those grape is not allowed to ferment dry. The alcohol is added to sweet juice to create the wines. All they need do is add a little less.
This is very good news for those of us who appreciate these wonderful sweet treasures.
I no longer feel obliged to pour a teensy little glass of Muscadel for myself when I settle down to watch 7de Laan.
I can pour a great big glass full and not feel at all guilty. “Look, it’s no more alcoholic than Klein Constantia’s 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon, which comes in at 15% and nobody suggests pouring that into a sherry glass.” 
So let’s stop pretending we don’t enjoy our glasses of bottled sunshine. They’re South Africa’s best kept wine secret. Make them your standard winter drink. You’ll be warmer and happier for the change. 

Photograph: Nuy

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At the risk of repeating myself, I am constantly amazed at the apparent lack of enthusiasm for our wonderful South African fortified sweet wines.
Somehow wine “connoisseurs” seem to think anything sweet isn’t serious. It must be a “dray whaite” or a noble red. The snobs claim to prefer a good wooded Chardonnay or a well-aged Cabernet Sauvignon.
These are all very well, of course, and have an important place in our wine enjoyment.
But so do our muscadels and jerepigos.
Whenever I have introduced overseas wine lovers to our sweet wines they’ve been totally blown away by them
“Why don’t we get these great wines in England?” is a standard reaction.
The truth is that the EU has loaded the dice so heavily against us that they are simply too costly for most British wine buyers. EU customs rules make us pay a heavy import premium on wines with a high alcohol content, while the Europeans can sell high alcohol wines without penalty.
With winter now upon us it’s time to take a look at some of the sweet gems on offer and stock up on some winter warmers. The good news is there are many of them at real budget prices.
Watch out for the De Wet Cellar red Muscadel from the Worcester region. It’s been named the Best Value Muscadel for 2012.
Muscadels from Nuy, near Robertson have a long history of superb quality. The wonderful thing about these sweet delights is that they last for decades, growing more and more elegant with each passing year. I recently tasted an 80-year-old muscadel that was warm and rich and wonderful. Of course, I had to stand to drink it. Wine tradition holds that a drinker should always stand respectfully whenever you drink a wine older than yourself.
I recently enjoyed an excellent White Muscadel 2010 from Namaqua Wines on the West Coast. There’s far more to a wine like this than simple sweetness. You’ll find nuances of fresh citrus, chocolate and sun-warmed honey in it.
They’re versatile, too. Try a “muscatini” as a cocktail  — white muscadel with a splash of vodka and a twist of lemon zest, the invention of that great champion of sweet wines, Swepie le Roux.
Or serve muscadel in a tall glass, filled with crushed ice as a delicious summer cooler.
Some friends have asked me: “But when do you actually drink muscadel? As an aperitif, as a digestif with the pudding?”
My answer is that I enjoy it anytime, sometimes just on its own as a warming sipper while watching TV.
It also goes well with spicy Indian curries. Try it next time, with a couple of cubes of ice in the glass.
Like Winnie-the-Pooh with his jars of honey, I count my bottles of muscadel lovingly at the beginning of winter and get that smug feeling.
I’m ready for anything the weather throws at me.

Photograph:thelowdownskinny.com

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I was interested to note that the annual Calitzdorp Port Festival has been renamed the ABSA Calitzdorp Port and Wine Festival.
This makes a lot of sense as there are some really fine unfortified wines coming out of the Klein Karoo and it would be a pity to miss them if you travel all that way and tasted only ports.
This year’s festival takes place on May 18 to 20.
I held an informal tasting of wines made from unusual grapes at my home last week, and the “port varieties” – Tinta Barocca and Touriga Nacional – scored very highly and were enjoyed by the tasters.
Of course, winemakers like Boplaas and De Krans, make some excellent non-port wines. There are good Vabernets, Pinotages and, of course, deliciously sweet Muscadels.
The festival offers some unusual and even amazing events, including the world’s very first ostrich spit-braai.
There’s also a demonstration by wine personality Emile Joubet, of cooking with port wine varieties like Tinta and Touriga Nacional.
For some, the highlight of the festival will be sitting back and listening to local inhabitants telling their “stoep Stories.” Every Karoo town has its local story-tellers and it’s an unforgettable experience listening to a really skilled country raconteur.
Of course, there will be port tastings at every Calitzdorp cellar for the duration of the festival, and that’s what most visitors go for.
For more details, and accommodation arrangements, visit the website.

Le nouveau est allé
Older wine lovers may remember the Cape’s brief craze for “Nouveau” wines – simple wines made and bottled almost immediately after the harvest.
They were made for immediate drinking and never claimed to have any lasting power.
The fashion started in the Boujolais region of France and was, at one time quite popular. There was an annual race to see who could get their Nouveau wines onto a London restaurant table first.
A local annual Nouveau Festival was held on the Paarl mountain and winemakers devised unusual and eye-catching ways to bring their wines to the fairground. They arrived by donkey, radio-controlled model helicopters, tractor, motorbike and semi-naked slave girls.
A great time was had by all and Father Bacchus blessed the new vintage.
There was only one small drawback. The wines were dreadful. Almost all of them were sickly-sweet and grossly unbalanced. I don’t actually remember enjoying a single one, although, like everybody else, I consumed a good deal and was heartily ill afterwards.
The festival seems to have died a merciful death.
I believe they’ve abandoned the Nouveau race in France now too. The message must eventually have got through to even the most cardboard-palated boozer that it was all much ado about yucky.
I was reminded of this brief venture into bad wine when I discovered a bottle of 1990 Nouveau lurking at the back of a cupboard.
“I wonder what would have happened to one of those horrors after 22 years,” I asked myself and opened the bottle.
It certainly hadn’t improved. An aroma of dead mouse and a palate best left alone.
Nobody will mourn its passing.

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I’ve heard several friends say virtuously, “I enjoy wine, but I never drink when I’m on my own.”
This seems to imply that solitary drinking is a vice – one of the signs of drunkenness, something to be ashamed of. I wonder why.
We often say wine should be regarded as an essential part of good living, like the appreciation of music and art, like good food rather than a snatched hamburger. Good living is surely something for every day, not merely when we’re showing off to friends.
We all eat alone at times, so why not enjoy a glass of wine as well?
I very often have a glass of wine with my lunch, whether I have company or not. A glass of muscadel goes very well with a plate of bobotie, and a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon certainly enhances a bowl of warming winter stew.
Even if I’m just having a bowl of vegetable soup, it’s turned into a good meal with a glass of Chenin Blanc.
One of my most peaceful moments comes when I sit on my stoep in the company of my two cats at sunset and watch the ocean while sipping a generous glass of a wine selected to match the mood.
Right now the Southern Right whales are back in False Bay for the spring season of calving and mating. We sit enjoying the deep organ notes of their blowing and the slap of great flukes on the water’s surface, and I raise my glass of Shiraz to them in welcome and life seems pretty good.
My cats, however, remain devoutly teetotal. Oh well, everyone to his own.

Photograph: davidbiggsonline.com

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For some years now the Muscadel Producers’ Association have been trying to improve the image of the delicious fortified wines that are so typically South African.
Producers are urged to create packaging that shows off muscadel as an elegant, sun-kissed drink, rather than simply a high-alcohol bottle of booze.
I’d be delighted to hear from readers what sort of bottle shape you feel reflects the image we’d like to see for this charming drink. I’ll pass on your suggestions to the association.
Some producers, like Boplaas and Bon Courage, have opted for the short, tubby bottle often associated with port.
That’s a problem, some critics say. You look at it and think “port” instead of muscadel.
De Krans Muscadel comes in an elegant slope-shouldered bottle. Is this typical of the category?
Rietvallei and Rooiberg bottle their muscadels in beautifully  slender, tall bottles, but how will the wine shop manager display these? They are too slender to stand upright safely, and will be lost if it they’re laid down. The danger is the store boss might simply stack them right on top of the shelves, where it will never be seen.
Unusually shaped bottles may be eye-catching, but will they fit into the normal wine rack? Will they require special machinery for filling and labeling?
What about labels? Should they be ornate or elegantly simple? Shiny or matt?
Then there’s the question of the ideal sized bottle for a muscadel.
These sweet dessert wines are usually sipped in small glasses at the end of a meal. Some enthusiasts (like myself) also enjoy them as tall summer drinks, served over crushed ice.
Should they be packaged in 500ml or 375ml bottles rather than the normal 750ml bottles?
I like a lot. A half bottle depresses me. Some people sip muscadel. I drink it.
If you have definite thoughts about muscadel and its packaging, please let me know and I’ll pass them on to the Muscadel Association.
It would be easiest to contact me by e-mail on dbiggs@glolink.co.za.
Or you can reply through the website.

Photograph: makinghomemadewines.com

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My wine friends know I’m rather partial to the great sweet wines we make in the Cape. I love a good Muscadel or Hanepoot Jerepigo, and of course our noble late harvest wines are just superb. But people often say: “Yes, I like them too, but when does one actually drink them? After a meal? With pudding? When?” I find this rather sad, really. It reminds me of the old story about the African tribesman many years ago, telling his children about the amazing oddities of the white man. “They are strange people,” he says. “They wear shiny little bangles on their wrists, that tell them when they are hungry.” We’re still obsessed with the “right” time for everything. We must have a time to eat and a time to drink white wine and a time for red wine and a time for love-making and a time for sleeping… No wonder the old tribesman was fascinated. How much more sensible to eat when we are hungry and drink when we are thirsty and make love when we are in a loving mood. Once we surround ourselves with rules we take away the joy of spontaneity. It used to be very acceptable to have a glass of sherry with a biscuit in the afternoon. Very few people do that now. So when to drink sweet wines? I sometimes enjoy a glass of red Muscadel with plenty of crushed ice at midday on a hot day. On a cool evening I often pour myself a glass of Jerepigo and sip it as I watch the news on TV, accompanied by my two cats. After a good meal I usually offer guests a Muscadel to round off the evening. Most of them are soon looking wistfully at the bottle, and gladly accept a second glass. The wonderful world of wine offers an infinite variety of styles and flavours – deep, serious reds, fruity whites, crisp bubblies, sweet noble late harvests, easy-drinking quaffers and elegant aristocrats. If we limit ourselves to the world of tight-arsed rules – red with the meat, white with the fish, champagne with an anniversary — we miss half the fun. Set your taste-buds free. You enjoy meringues? Créme brulée? Chocolate truffles? Tipsy tart? Then don’t pretend you don’t enjoy sweet things. Avoiding our sweet wine delights is like having a guitar with only three strings, or a piano with half a keyboard. In life we should play all the notes available to us.

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When I arrived in the Cape from the Karoo, more than 35 years ago, I knew nothing about wine and wasn’t particularly interested in it. Then I met a fascinating character called Laurie the Fish.
The Fish was not like anybody I had ever encountered in the dry old Karoo. He lived on – and from – the sea. Worldly stuff meant little to him.
Laurie was, as his nickname implied, a fisherman. He was also a great lover of wine in the best possible way. He cared nothing about wood maturation, skin contact, or elegance, or tannin or acid balance or pH. He just knew what he liked and drank plenty of it.
Winemakers wish there were more like him.
As far as he was concerned, there were only two kinds of wine – soetes and vrottes (the sweet ones and the rotten ones).
He enjoyed muscadels and jerepigos and sweet hanepoot. When he went fishing he took along a bottle of Old Brown sherry as an essential part of his equipment.
Laurie the Fish introduced me to the delights of sweet wines, and although my palate has changed over the years, I still enjoy an occasional glass of rich, sweet fortified wine. Indeed, I’ve developed something of a reputation as a soetes lover.
My professed love of sweet fortified wines landed me on the panel of the annual Muscadel Competition and it has become one of my aims to get more people aware of these wonderful sweet delights that we make so well in South Africa. They deserve far more recognition than they get. I believe they reflect the warmhearted sweet spirit of South Africa’s people.

Divine dessert wines
And, talking of sweet wines, I was delighted to taste the Fort Simon Viognier Noble Late Harvest recently. One doesn’t often get a NLH made of viognier, and Fort Simon is not usually associated with sweet wines, but this one is a treat, full of luscious fruit and floral flavours with an added hint of vanilla from some time in French oak.
The world of wine is full of delightful surprises.
Another very charming sweet wine recently enjoyed was the Opstal Chardonnay Barrel Dessert. Here again, one doesn’t often find a sweet fortified version of Chardonnay, but this is really pleasant and packed with layers of complex flavour – a fine example of imaginative winemaking.
From Robertson we expect fine muscadels, so it was no surprise that the Rooiberg 2006 Red Muscadel proved a sweet delight. It has all the warming, raisiny flavours that make a good muscadel so special, and it comes in an elegantly tall and slender bottle that tells you this is not just a casual sweet plonk. It’s made to grace the finest dinner table and should provide the perfect end to a memorable meal.
Enjoy them.
When the weather turns warmer I shall probably find myself switching easily to cooler, dry white wines, like chardonnay, chenin blanc and sauvignon blanc.
In the meantime, it’s still “soetes” time, so let’s raise a glass of warming bottled sunshine in a toast to life.

Karoo photo: Courtesy of Martin Heigan on Flickr.com

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Among the many grape varieties it is often said that Cabernet is king and Chardonnay is queen.

This may be so, but not all of us enjoy the social strain of associating with kings and queens every day. Sometimes we prefer to relax in the company of a favourite uncle instead.

And when it comes to favourite uncles among grapes, mine is undoubtedly shiraz. Shiraz (or Syrah) makes warming, comfortable wines for everyday enjoyment.

It’s a surprising versatile grape, too, and can add an appealing dimension to a red blend.

David Frost uses shiraz as one of the components of his very easy-drinking, and well-named, Soft Smooth Red. The other ingredients are cabernet sauvignon and cinsaut. The result is a comfortable and unpretentious red that’s great for drinking by the fireside or with a meal.

(I may add here that cinsaut was once the backbone of the Cape’s wine world, used in such great names as Tassenberg, but it has sadly fallen out of favour and there’s very little left. Such a pity.)

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Still on the subject of Shiraz, when I visited Opstal winery in the Breedekloof Valley recently I was delighted to taste their very charming pink wine labelled Opstal Blush 2009. Unusually, it’s a blend of a red and white grape.

Most South African rosé wines are made by giving red grapes just a few hours of skin contact before separating the juice from the skins.

With Opstal Blush the shiraz (which they have called syrah) is grown and harvested together with viognier grapes, and the two are vinified together. In other words, it’s blended in the vineyard.

The result is a very grown-up wine, pretty salmon pink and loaded with peppery fruit flavours with a clean, dry finish.

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Shiraz makes a good everyday budget quaffer too.

The Obikwa shiraz 2009 was recently voted the Best Value wine in the Wine Magazine Shiraz Challenge, scoring a very creditable three stars.

I first encountered Obikwa wines in Canada before I’d even heard of them in South Africa. They’ve grabbed a big slice of the wine market in more than 40 countries and represent excellent value for money.

The Obikwa Shiraz is full-bodied and full of fruit flavours, with a nice clean tannin bite. It’s easy to see why it sells well.

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It’s always interesting to see how sweet wines are sneakily appreciated by wine lovers who would never admit to enjoying them.

I like to offer a muscadel to guests, who usually turn it down, claiming to prefer a chardonnay or a elegant red wine. However I leave the muscadel bottle out and invite people to help themselves, and there’s seldom very much left at the end of the evening.

The latest muscadel to bite the dust in my house was a lusciously rich Dutoitskloof Red Muscadel 2009. It provided a comfortingly warm end to a chilly winter’s evening.

Our climate and soils are ideally suited for the production of sweet wines and we produce some deliciously juicy fortified wines that are sadly under-rated by local wine lovers. I believe they capture the warmth of our country and its people perfectly.

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Photo: Courtesy of Opstal Estate and Restaurant

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