I really couldn’t see how it was a wine at all. By definition it is fortified, unfermented grape juice. That’s fruit juice with a kick to me. I thought wine was the fermented product of the grape, yet there Jerepigo was, sitting on the shelves and in the text books as wine. Even Platter’s in its ‘Wine Styles’ section defines it as, ‘red or white wine, produced without fermentation..’ Egh?
It is very pleasant, syrupy, rich and the best can be better balanced than expected. Some serious producers create a fairly classy product, but I’m always left worrying that it is a fruit juice.
I guess it sits on the wine shelf purely because of the alcohol content. Fair enough, at around 17% by volume it doesn’t want to be thought of as anything but an alcoholic beverage and be nestled with Port and Sherry styles.
A clever wine student helped me understand by explaining that the neutral spirit that fortifies it is the product of wine via the grape, hence it is a wine product, and that is as good a reason as I have heard. But that is less than one-fifth of its content, the rest is fruit juice; I’m still not convinced.
I’d far rather go straight for a Hanepoot, or even better, a Muscadel. It amazes me how underrated these wines are in South Africa. I rarely find students who regularly imbibe them (about one in ten, the same number that drink Riesling) though they offer tremendous value.
The Muscat grape is a grape of many disguises. Despite dozens of mutations, one has proved itself worthy, the Muscat Blanc à Petit Grains and known also as Muscat de Frontignan. It has a rather less esteemed cousin, the Muscat d’Alexandrie which, in SA, goes mostly into Hanepoots and Jerepigos. And what a grape Frontignan is, as well as being possibly the oldest vine known to man, it put Constantia on the world map in the 18th Century, and is the only wine that smells of, well, grape, as well as white flowers in bloom.
The best are not syrupy, some are just medium sweet, and most are beautifully balanced and delicious from the fridge. Of course, if you want to go all-out, then the ultimate dessert wines, Noble Late Harvests, championed by Nederberg, offer serious acid-balanced sweetness, but they surprisingly offer around half the residual sugar of a Muscadel. It is hard to believe the sweetness levels of some Muscadels; maybe 150 to 200 grams of sugar per litre, because many feel quite fresh and nimble-footed. The best offer a delicacy, sweet and yet crisp and this might arguably make them an easier food match. They might even be just right with the sweetness found in some vegetables, such as onions, carrots or parsnips.
Here are some recommendations, ascending in price;
Nuy Red Muscadel fruity, red-berried and a wine to enjoy chilled. It has an obvious pedigree and is generous and yet graceful, with a spicy, long finish. Sumptuous is the word.
Orange River White Muscadel rich without being sticky, lovely ripe orange, honey and melon notes, quite delicate in some ways yet leaving a succulent, fragrant wiff. Ridiculous value for money.
Graham Beck Rhona Muscadel my personal favourite. Ages to a golden amber and retains its unique perfumed opulence. Sweetness held beautifully by acidity. All satin and silk, suave and compelling.
Rietvallei Muscadel 1908 for history buffs, 100 year old vines offer perfumed summer pudding, raspberries and strawberry, as well as layered unctuous pleasure. The aristocrat of Muscadels.
To be honest, I have yet to find a Muscadel that I haven’t enjoyed and that wouldn’t pair with vanilla ice-cream, or Malva pudding or my favourite combo; treacle tart and ‘Rhona’. Now I am hungry.