In Vinum Fairy Dust

Introduction

I've wanted to get out of the city for years. Thirty years if you want to put a number on it. That's two tours through school and a masters degree. But you know, there were things like getting a degree and getting a job, getting married, having kids, getting divorced, putting kids through school, alimony, starting over. The usual.

At the age of 54 my wife and I finally got it together, put our house on the market and made the the long anticipated move from Jo'burg, the city of taxis and potholes, menace drivers and streetlight beggars, to Cape Town, the city by the sea, the home of the mountain, the wine lands and celebrity chefs, right in the middle of the biggest pandemic of the century and the very bottom of the property market crash. But the roads and the airports were empty.

This about 30 years after I first fell in love with Cape Town and decided one day I was going to live there.

I first visited the Mother City when I was eighteen and just finished high school, on a budget so tight my accommodation was literally a converted stable with walls so thin I could hear the deaf neighbor's TV blaring 24/7. It was in the days of map books and printed travel guides, the days when you had to have a navigator in the car to turn pages to find the continuation of whatever route you were on. The days before food bloggers and internet reviews. By the time the best places to visit on five dollars a day ended up in the hitchhikers guide to South Africa, the review was at least a year old but you never for a minute thought that the recommendations in the book were wrong.

At the time I was with my girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé and now ex-wife, so my early memories of Cape Town have been blocked a little. I remember driving along coastal roads that I could never find my way back to, roads so congested that I figured out why Cape Tonians are always so chilled and laid back. My entire recollection of Cape Town was one road in the entire city and everybody was on it, and it only had space for so many cars. In short, wherever you wanted to go in this town, you were bound to be on a single lane road, and it was going to be a long ride in traffic. Of course I now that I know Cape Town better, I know exactly where that one road is, and I know just when to avoid it, which happens to be any day when the sun is out.

I also had the added pressure of having my future in-laws join the holiday after a week, which, although it came with the added benefit of a few free meals at fancy restaurants, also came with the subtle stresses of feeling like I had to measure up to some invisible standard that kept on moving upwards the nearer I got to the bar.

But even so I fell in love with Cape Town. There was something magical about this place. I couldn't put it into words, but it had a peacefulness about it, something soothing yet inspiring. Being close to the sea invigorated me. The golden beaches, the long summer days - it all played over and over in my mind every time i found myself looking for something to hold on to in the busy city of Jo'burg. It would be years until I found m way back to Cape Town, and when I returned for the first time on holiday years later, the desire to become part of this world grew stronger and stronger.

And speaking of bar, in the land that basically exists to support vineyards, I was a complete tea-totaler. I was at that age where I could have a chocolate milkshake and a plate of spare ribs. I can hear you gag as you're reading this. I'm not proud either, but our journey on the road to being refined has to start somewhere. Mine started at a deficit.

I was introduced to wine as a kid at the Shabbas table. We didn't have a proper Shabbat at my mom's house but I'd occasionally get my fix of Jewish heritage when we'd go to my grandparents or to aunts and uncles on a Friday night. The wine was always sweet, and whether or not you kept a kosher home, Shabbat wine is always kosher. What kid doesn't enjoy seriously over sweetened grape juice.

My first introduction to wine wasn't my proudest moment. As a Jew with a very weak connection to my roots, about as much connection as I have at the age of 55 to the roots on my shining, hairless head, I went with my future fiancé and her mom to church on Christmas Eve. I remember arriving at her house, and her mom fussing over making sure I had something to eat before we left the house in case I should starve on the way. She warmed up a plate of spaghetti bolonaise and there I sat in front of the girl I was trying to impress and her mother, eating while they watched because they'd eaten earlier. To make the occasion special, i was offered a glass of wine, which I politely accepted. The ride to church was a very long one during which my stomach had an internal conflicting debate about where dinner and the wine would be best - inside or outside. We arrived at the church, I bolted into the flowers at which point, the team arguing for "out" promptly won hands down. To this day, everyone swears it was the wine.

When I say I was a tea totaller, I'm not exaggerating. I was one of the last in the country to have to do National Service, and during my twenty one months in relative captivity, there were many times when I'd have a coke in my hand while everyone else was drinking beer around the braai. Even at the Bachellor party the guys threw for me. Or rather threw me into. If you can call being handcuffed to a street pole outside the South Afrikaans's Weermag Industrie shop while everyone else enjoys beers around the braai a party.

And that's one thing I have to highlight as an underlying theme throughout my life - timing. Mine has always sucked. Like really sucked. I finished school, did my B-degree and went into the army. One more year at university and I'd have missed national service altogether. I moved to Cape Town during the biggest pandemic in 100 years. There's more but I don't want to spoil whatever surprises there might still be in my ramblings. Timing. I swear.

So here I am, 37 years and two lifetimes later, finally living the dream in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I Have to confess to my three snobbish passions in life - coffee, wine and thanks to Masterchef, food. My love for wine has become one of my trademarks. In my house you can tell the time by the sound of the wine cork popping every day at five, just like the noonday gun, only mine goes pop and there's only one of them.

The Western Cape is rich with vineyards and some of the world's best wines. Every year, you find South African wines getting accolades and top honours in international wine shows and competitions.

And the wines, oh my word, are we ever spoiled for choice. You don't get all the good wines at most bottle stores. The regular wine shops and supermarkets stock the commercial ones which are mostly what I call the entry level wines. Some stores have to be level up, and speciality stores have some of the finer ones. But you only really discover what you're missing when you visit an estate and see what the tasting options are. When I arrived in the Western Cape all eager to get stuck in to visiting wine estates, so had no idea just how many really good wines there are. Every time I'd go to a wine farm I'd buy 6 bottles here, a case or two there. I'd join the wine producer's mailing list. And very soon I didn't so weed this thing called a harvest. Every year, there's a whole new range of wines out there, like new models of cars hitting the market. Last years best wine isn't always this years best wine. They change, every harvest. So now, having bought enough wine to not only last another season of Corona, but become an unofficial supplier to the neighborhood in the event of, I start getting news of new versions of wines I thought I already knew. I had to start all over again.

This city for people who love life. It just isn't possible to live in Cape Town way people do in Jo'burg.

Also, if I drank a different bottle of red, white and rosé every day of the week, I still wouldn't get through all the wines that get produced in a year in The Western Cape.

New restaurants open regularly. Celebrity chefs live here. They're part of our vocabulary.

So I started doing what I love most. Exploring the restaurants, the wineries and the wines of the Western Cape, and writing about them all. The good ones, the okay ones, the special occasion ones, the regular every day ones, the ones that blew me away and the ones that didn't. I hope you'll enjoy the journey, and that I'll inspire you to visit this magical place.