It’s not about the wine

  • 0

South Africa’s Cheese and Wine Festival at Sandringham this past weekend is a favourite for the nearby students. There was, however, more reason to celebrate than drinking wine all day. Nicholas Glanvill looks at the different paths to cheeses, and how they savoured the occasion.

Walking back to the entrance past the rows of cars can help falter a moral compass. “I’m thirsty … am I allowed to have a glass of wine midmorning?” Everybody just kept walking to buy their glass for the day, but first they needed to dodge family pictures, prams and gallivanting children.

Or choose to be a part of it.

Gleefully, “I’ll have the chenin blanc,” says Roberta Lusaco, a 3rd-year humanities student from the University of Stellenbosch. The first tent was greeted with T-shirts that read “Keep calm and eat more cheese”. Keith Chenoweth, a 3rd-year politics, economics and philosophy student, disagreed. He came more for the wine. “I’ll have the chardonnay,” he said. The wine and the floor put a spring in the couple’s step, while the sunblock wasn’t needed.

The tent insulated the smells of cappuccinos, roasted macadamias and pomegranates. The décor was glittered with macaroons and chocolates. The background chatter was, however, standard. “Can I have the sauvignon blanc?”

Watching the tilted glass underneath the Peroni tap, Malcom Gray tells the bartender to “Make it two.” Children definitely asked the same when getting their puppy-printed balloons.

Gray, who is president of the South African Society of Dairy Technology, says, “I’ve been coming here since 2002 when it first started.” His Boska range of cheese knives, graters and shiny paraphernalia is eight years younger than his business of supplying ingredients to some champion cheesemakers. “For Boska, I supply, Fruit and Veg, and Pick ‘n Pay, online stores like Yuppiechef and Kalahari.

“The family day always falls on the holiday, and serious traders follow the day after. We’ve already seen the students.”

“It’s a word called marketing,” says Malcolm. His Swiss cheese hat, matching shorts, tie and top to boot say something, but so does his turnover. “It’s an association between a memory and a product.” His cheese outfit is testament.

Cue background music: Adele’s “Don’t you remember?”.

Be cautious when choosing which stall to approach. When there’s a queue and a variety of free food, people show you they’re hungry. Manners quite often do not apply, but there’s room to adapt. Everyone looks for the quickest route possible.

Shade was sorrowful. “Sorry, we’re saving place for people” and “Sorry, they’re taken” were common replies. Glasses were neither half-full, nor empty; they were continuously being filled.

The exhibition tents were similar to the shaded tables: people waited to eat, and shared with the person beside them.

Standing one after the other, and eating cheese accordingly, the adamant queue could not be ignored. Situated cosily in the corner opposite the big-business stalls, the taste for Domino Farm seemed worth the wait.

“It’s like comparing apples and oranges,” says Jeanette O’Toole, an ex-pat who uses her English charm to lure customers while husband Simon labels garlic, chilli and wasabi goats’ cheese. Bent over to pack the cute bar fridge for stock, Simon says, “We had some land, and friends who herded goats ran into some difficulty, and so we got into it by accident.

“We don’t have a massive amount of land, so economically speaking whatever you make you have to increase the value of it.” His hands are continually working. “We’ve had the farm a few months, and about five people working on it. We just need to start marketing.”

“It’s a full-time job,” says Jeanette, who often has to work by herself. Simon is once again just back from a work trip to Trinidad-Tobago. As a self-employed geophysicist, he consults with oil companies, and not the pungent olive, avocado kind.

The O’Tooles had their share of business, and so had Laerskool Buffeljagsrivier.

Donald Hayes and FC Kriel had neat uniforms and handshakes. The principal adopted two goats in 2002. Now children have something worthwhile to learn in Life Orientation. “Our headmaster takes us to the cheese factory, and we learn to make cheese,” says FC.

They were “Yes” men. Yes, they were missing school the next day. Yes, they’re getting paid for it, and yes, they had permission. As if they weren’t lucky enough, they sat opposite promo girls for pudding-flavoured shooters.

Liquid lunches usually lead to normal ones. The food court had the staples and smells, but people were eating cheese, dips, olives, bread and crackers for free. Some were lucky enough even to get pudding.

“We have only mascarpone and fig left.”

“I’ll have two,” I replied.

Tickets sold out three days in a row. Roughly 24 000 feet trotted through the to the cattle and goats, where a man with a clipboard standing next to a bull entices, “Guess his weight, for R10, and you could win R1 000 of Angus steaks.” It’s like asking how much a huffing Land Rover weighs. While one is trying to take in the size of this bull, the grandeur of Beethoven’s “Für Elise” in the background seemed appropriate.

Arlene Opperman was looking for the Johnnie Walker and the witblits stall. “It doesn’t seem like there’s one this year, but all the previous years there was.”

“It’s the first year they haven’t got the witblits stall where the goats are,” said Rita Sumpton.

The array of wine stickers on Rita didn’t suggest they came off second best in 2014.

“I think this year there’s more cheese, definitely more goats’ cheese, and before it seemed more about the wine, but now we feel a balance,” says Opperman, moving toward the aircon. Their jeans may have been better suited for the previous two days, but their boots had played their part.

They certainly walked for their wine, and their stomachs, not least to their parking. The long trek back to the car would have been a struggle for some, but others paced themselves in more ways than one.

The approaching olive ciabatta suggested it was time to rest.

“Guys, this looks delicious,” says Keith, cutting the bread with his hands. Roberta poured the wine and turned the paper bag into a platter. The scent of garlic, olives and mature cheddar made going to the Mediterranean unnecessary.

Under the fading light, Roberta reaches for the camera. “Guys, I don’t want to forget this.” It seemed the wine would have objected to this, but it wasn’t in the way. She moved it over to get the food and her friends in the frame.

This contribution was produced as part of a collaboration between LitNet and the University of Stellenbosch's Department of Journalism in 2014.

 


 

Teken in op LitNet se gratis weeklikse nuusbrief. | Sign up for LitNet’s free weekly newsletter.

  • 0

Reageer

Jou e-posadres sal nie gepubliseer word nie. Kommentaar is onderhewig aan moderering.


 

Top