Gesondheid!

It still surprises me, although it shouldn't by now, to see South African wines openly offered on American wine lists and displayed on the shelves of American liquor stores. My one visit to South Africa, ten years ago, was during the boycott period, and there was no hope of finding here any of the wines you had enjoyed there, unless you could hook up with an expatriate who knew the ropes and who was importing for his "personal" use.

Of course that was not the case in Europe, where the particular form of posturing that fueled the boycott never caught on. Knowing how snooty the French can be about their own products, but especially their wine, I was astonished to be told that they imported lots of South African May wine. The kick: because South Africa is in the Southern Hemisphere, its May wine is produced in November. The French, being French, wouldn't drink it if they didn't truly like it; but the cachet of drinking May wine in a grey drizzly Paris autumn is admittedly part of the point.

My acquaintance with South African wine, apart from in the glass, came during a visit to Stellenbosch, a lovely university town an hour's drive east of Capetown. At that time, in 1988, apartheid had started to break down, although the laws had not yet been changed. There were intelligent, experienced men of good will who hoped-although white Conservatives said they were naive, and many blacks said they were just trying to hold onto power-that a constitutional solution could be arrived at that would avoid the horrors that had played out in Zimbabwe and Kenya. At the local level, many white employers were consciously seeking to tap the theretofore undeveloped talents of their black and colored employees. These employers too were accused of naivete--in thinking they could change some things without bringing down the whole system--and they were also accused of putting short-term financial gains ahead of principle. I had the impression that the first charge was partly true--that is, that it may have been naive to hope that the good things in the old South Africa could be saved while ditching the indefensible. But as to the second charge, many of these employers were putting a different principle--duty toward the human beings under their supervision--ahead of short-term financial interest.

One of these was Pieter Malan, the owner of the Simonsig winery. He was the head of a local civic group and had carried out a highly regarded housing program for his workers. This had entailed asking them what kind of houses they actually wanted, and then building them what they asked for; the result was very much like the houses in the new American suburbs right after World War II, but it pleased the occupants, just as Levittown, the butt of so many jokes, pleased its.

When we had seen the houses and chatted with those of the residents who spoke English (our host and one of my guides were native speakers of Afrikaans, but I had picked up only a handful of words), we still had some time before our next appointment, and our host asked, almost shyly, if we would like to see the winemaking operation. Having enjoyed many winery tours in France and California (the highlights being purely fortuitous private tours of both Mouton and Lafite Rothschild--but that's another story), I said, Yes, please. And so, accompanied by the boundingly cheerful German shepherd who had also gone round to the houses with us, we saw the vats and the presses and the casks and the rows of bottles, and smelled that wonderful dark, autumn-woodsy smell of the chais.

All the while, Mr. Malan told us of South African viniculture. The grapes are mostly vinifera, and mostly the same varieties used in France, Italy, and California, but modified by the local soil and climate. South Africa has nothing to compare with the first-growth Bordeaux, the finest Brunellos, or the prize-winning Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignons. It does have many very nice drinking wines, both red and white; the Fleur du Cap Chardonnay, the Mulderbosch Sauvignon Blanc, and the Veenwouden Merlot are now widely imported into the States.

How they stack up with the competition in terms of pleasure per dollar--given the greater distance, and therefore shipping costs, compared to every other wine-producing country except Australia--each wine lover will have to decide for himself. But there is one wine that is purely a South African invention and, so far as I know, has been copied nowhere else. It is Pinotage, a hybrid of Pinot Noir and Hermitage, and the result is a light red that to this palate is what Beaujolais is supposed to be but never is. Last year Pinotage became my summer wine of choice to go with those dishes with which it's hard to decide between red and white--braised tuna, chicken provencale, Michael Field's Lamb with Tomatoes, Scallions, and Parsley in the Turkish Manner (although I'm glad for the more recent trend toward culinary authenticity, some of the Fifties and Sixties efforts by gifted food writers to bring modified exotic dishes to our tables did produce delicious results).

I haven't seen Simonsig's Pinotage in my local stores, but a very nice one from Kanonkop is imported. It brings back wonderful memories of Mr. Malan and his German shepherd, the green vineyards with the graceful Dutchinspired Cape houses of Stellenbosch, and the sharp grey-blue ridges of the mountains in the background. Adam Smith once said, "There is a great deal of ruin in a nation." Please God South Africa won't have to drain every dreg of it.