What’s the deal with South African Chenin? It has been a variety that I have espoused with vim and vigour since I became a wine consumer of serious proportions. I thought it offered excellent value for money, and offered a range of styles – “I’ll find one for you” I have cried to unbelievers. But had I been fooled by overt sweetness? Was my praise of this variety ill-founded? Had I been hood-winked by easy drinking cheap wines? Did my wallet guide my palate?

These thoughts have plagued me recently. Especially since, when I cast my eye down the list of Chenins in the new blonde and blue eyed Platter Guide, I noticed there is a dearth of red-coloured Chenins (red meaning four stars or more). Wooded Chardonnays trounce them almost 2-1; a similar result with Sauvignon Blanc. I know that Platter is no Word of Bacchus on SA wine quality, but it is not a word of lie either.

I have heard so many people sing Chenin’s praises that this does stir a little worry in my gut. I thought Chenin was “South Africa’s rising star”, but could it be instead that we are still producing, as Oz Clarke in Grapes & Wines* believes, “a sea of forgettable dross”?

Chenin’s home is in the Loire Valley. Where? Here:

It’s a pretty old variety, and has been hanging around in these parts for more than a thousand years. In France it makes wines from steely and dry, to a hug warming-like sweetness. They can be incredibly long lived. I’ve had sweet Loire Chenins from the 70’s that I thought were only 10 years old, and have read of others drinking fabulously that are pushing past 100.

The point is, the great Chenins of the world come from the Loire.

South Africa took the quantity over quality route for many years. Brought over in the very beginning – 1652 – Jan van Riebeek and Co were probably happy with Chenin’s ability to produce loads of grapes that hold their acidity in warm climates. This also suited the other Dutch passion – apart from pancakes, weed and porn that is – Brandewyn. So good is Chenin for making brandy that we have ended up with the largest plantings of Chenin Blanc in the world. Although it has dropped a chunk in the last 10 years, it still makes up around 18% of all vineyards in the country.

With all that Chenin you think we would be making brilliant wines out of it? Well we are, kind of, just not as many as there should be. And this seems to be a problem inherent with the variety itself. Back to Oz. He posits that to make Chenin of any real quality, the vines should not be producing more than 50 hectolitres per hectare. The more grapes a vine produces the more bland the flavours are going to be. They get diluted. Now here in SA we have been known to produce up to three or four times the recommended 50 hl/ha limit. To make top-quality wine out of that would be like trying to herd cats whilst blindfolded and drunk.

And with the allure of British supermarkets, we used these massive yields to stock their shelves with cheap-as-chips Chenin Blanc. This has been rather detrimental to brand South Africa, and South African Chenin in particular. For years now we are the country that comes to the party wearing knock-off Mr. Price, holding a half-jack of tassies, while the others are bringing magnums of the good stuff. This is the “sea of forgettable dross.”

It’s not only Oz. At the feedback session of the Old Mutual Trophy Wine Show, the judges lambasted our Chenin Blanc for its cynical sweetness. Had I been conned by residual sugar? Was my tongue that vulgar?

It has been known for birds to have their feathers ruffled. Now if I was a bird, you could say that mine had been plucked. Here I had been telling everyone what a great variety Chenin is, and banging on an on about it, as is my nature, when in actual fact I was duck-diving waves of dross!

Of course there are top examples, from the high-octane FMC from Ken Forrestor, to the more subtly oaked Vinum Africa from Winery of Good Hope. There are also brilliant sweet wines made both by the help of Noble Rot and from drying out the grapes before pressing – Nederburg dominates the former, while Mullineux are killing it with the latter. But it seems the majority of Chenins we produce are forgettable, bland, wallflower wines. A shame, as it has made all my proselytizing seem rather silly.

My spirits were raised this weekend when I tasted two wines that do not suffer at all from this problem.

I was at the launch of the second vintage of Eben Sadie’s Ouwingerdreeks. This range of wines I consider to be the most revolutionary thing happening in the Swartland currently. These are wines produced from staggeringly old vines scattered across the Swartland, Olifantsrivier, and a single vineyard in Stellenbosch. These are mostly vines whose grapes, before Rosa Kruger (viticultural hero) and Eben Sadie (winemaker) came along, were finding their way into big-ass blends that went into bag-in-box wines. The vines, some older than 100 years, are important vinous historical documents. Working closely with the farmers who own the land, Eben and his assistant, Bryan MacRobert are making wines of interest and personality that express a history of the areas the vines come from. Can I read this history perfectly? No, but at least the book has been opened.

Old Oz would be delighted to know that the yields of these vines are minute. The first of the two Chenins is the Skurfberg 2010 from three parcels of vines in the Olifantsrivier, which produce 18-22 hl/ha. The three parcels are vinified separately – basket pressed and naturally fermented in old-casks for 12 months – before being blended. I found there to be a whiff of alcohol at the start, but returning to the wine it seemed to lessen in importance. Bright bruised pear on the nose, with a touch of thatch – a shy nose I thought. The palate, though, was bountiful: rich pear, lemon and a dizzying line of acidity. Fresh, with a salty middle, it is a dancingly joyous wine with real depth. Not the easiest to describe, its character was more in its width, depth and freshness than straight flavour. It was giving and shy at the same time. Reluctantly open, enthusiastically recalcitrant.

The other was the Mev Kirsten 2010. This is a special wine coming from the oldest Chenin vineyards in the country. Still owned by Mev. Kirsten, most of the vineyards were planted in the 1920s and are slowly dying, but hard work in the vineyards are resulting in fruit still being produced in tiny amounts; the 2010 harvest produced just 7 hl/ha. Rumour is this year will be a bumper crop, and more than the single cask will be produced.

When I started out at this wine drinking business I heard that there was a Chenin selling for R800 (at the time) a bottle. I thought, “What the fuck could that be like? And who the fuck would be that crazy?” I promptly started a single-minded mission to taste every single vintage of the Mev Kirsten. I have been successful in this endeavour, and found Sadie to be smarter than I thought crazy. The current vintage is the freshest yet – the fruit is very prone to oxidation – as a result of the team getting to know how better to handle the fruit. There is still some oxidative, nutty spicy notes, accompanied by a tight knit acidity, and a really interesting texture – like a cross between a seashell and a candle, a waxy salinity perhaps? It is perfectly balanced, and a wine that will age – it will be weird, not to everyone’s tastes, but I think wonderful.

There was also a truly wonderous wine made from white and red Semillon called the Kokerboom – sleek, fresh, big, structured and light; keep this and you will be rewarded. A Cinsault called Pofadder, a white blend called T’Voetpad, and a sweet wine the Eselshoek, which still reminds me of  koeksisters on the stoep with black tea, dusty roads, and hot dry summer nights. Are these these wines the country’s very finest? (The Kokerboom is up there.) Probably not. But that is not the point, these are truly interesting wines, and the Chenins are further from dross than I from getting married to Oz Clarke. For R170 a bottle for the Skurfberg it is, for all the history, work, and care that goes into it, a bargain.

Club together with your friends this christmas and try something really different. Try wines from ancient vines, from remote areas, wines that are to supermarkets what my drivel here is to Milton’s Paradise Lost.

For more info on the wines, contact office@thesadiefamily.com.

*A brilliant christmas present for wine loving friends.