By MidaMoo
A few weekends ago, I was invited to accompany a friend to a wedding in Wellington. On accepting the invitation, I warned him that I had embarked on a month of frugal eating and no alcohol and was therefore likely to be a sub-par wedding date. But he threw caution to the wind and insisted that I tag along anyway. Perhaps he had already heard about my notorious rubber arm.
So off we set for Wellington on Friday afternoon. Less than half an hour into the trip, I had already lost serious brownie points, firstly for failing to bring the directions (as designated navigator, a serious faux pas , I’m sure you’ll agree) and a batch of my legendary brownies (which I had raved about ad nauseum during a previous limoncello-induced moment of euphoria).
I won’t bore you with details of the wedding, although I will say that it was one of the most elegant events that I’ve attended in a while. That is until one of my new buddies started a conga line, and a flimsy one at that, but that’s a story for another day.
What inspired a fresh blog post was my magical morning in the Wamakers Valley.
The Wamakers Valley is just outside the town of Wellington and is one of the most picturesque parts of the winelands I have ever had the pleasure of stumbling upon. It’s just as beautiful as Franshoek, if not more so, but has a rustic, down-to-earth, sleepy quality to it that I can only describe as magical.
Enough with the soppy descriptions.
We stayed at the guesthouse at Nabygelegen, an old something or other (wasn’t paying attention at this point) that has recently been very tastefully renovated, with such thick walls that the word “pregnant” springs to mind. It was so gorgeous that I would have happily forgotten about the matrimonial purpose of the weekend and instead spent it swimming in the pool, strolling through the vineyards or jumping up and down on my super-deluxe-triple-extra-large-king-size bed. Which I thankfully didn’t as I would have missed out on an exceptional morning.
We started the morning with a wine tasting at Nabygelegen led by James McKenzie – winemaker, owner, carpenter, builder, plumber and anything under the sun at the farm. (Yes kids, a wine tasting. Not very “Paleo” of me.)
The tasting began under the big oak tree outside, above an old tank previously used to store the sweet wine produced for the slaves working on the farm. James started us off with his white and pink offerings. If you’re into having butterscotch explosions in your mouth, you’d love his Chenin Blanc. His dry Rosé, made from Merlot grapes, surprisingly sparked a series of splutterings and “bleeaugh’s” from some of my tasting companions, to the point where James muttered “Jeez, man, I’m still here”. But I really liked its strawberry peppery deliciousness and could have happily sipped away at it under the oak tree all morning.
Things got a whole lot more exciting when the tasting moved into the crypt below the cellar. Because the temperature outside was steadily rising and because the crypt, housing James’s wine collection, is just so damn awesome! Mystically lit and with the majestic Mr McKensie at the head of the table flanked by eager tasters on either side, it resembled a scene from the Last Supper.
As we worked our way through some of Nabygelegen’s reds, it didn’t take me long to realize that I had already had two of them at two separate occasions during the previous year. Which, considering that I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning, speaks quite highly of the wines.
One of them was the Scaramanga, a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Malbec and Tempranillo. Tempranillo is a Spanish varietal, quite tricky to deal with, both in the vineyard and in the cellar, but James has done both superbly. As the wine coats your tongue, it feels like having a Spanish dance happening right inside your mouth. But not the foot-stomping, castanet-clicking kind. Rather a sultry, supa-sexy, hip-swinging number. So darned drinkable! I would have licked my glass if I could. But that just wouldn’t have been elegant.
The villain Scaramanga. “Mr. Fat has just resigned. I'm the new chairman of the board.”
The other one was the Snow Mountain Pinot Noir. As far as I remember, it was the 2009 vintage. Oh so fresh and smooth and bursting with cherries (picked on a cool summer morning and promptly flung into mouth, dust and all). James’s Snow Mountain range of wines are made using grapes from his vineyards on the slopes of the Sneeuberg, where they benefit from the higher altitude and cooler temperatures, resulting in more delicate flavours in the wines.
We also tasted the Snow Mountain Shiraz (which I need to buy a case of) and the Seventeen Twelve, a Bordeaux blend comprising Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Petit Verdot. Both lip-smackingly delicious. And like all of Nabygelegen’s wines, incredibly reasonably priced.
It goes without saying really that not a drop went to waste. Levels of euphoria were steadily rising amongst my tasting buddies and “gregarious Greg” was waxing lyrical about the “temperamental Tempranillo”. And all this before 11am.
At some point we noticed that we were half an hour late for our next appointment, which doesn’t sound particularly disastrous, but given the amount of wine consumed and what was still in store, a decent afternoon nap and grooming session were essential if we were to arrive at the wedding looking fabulous and remotely sober.
So off we sped. But not before sneaking a taste of Nabygelegen’s lovely grappa. The FOMO was particularly strong that day.
More on said “next appointment” to follow. In the mean time, check out Nabygelegen’s website. Or better yet, go and see the place for yourself.
