Please Break Up With Your Favourite Grape

There are more than 10,000 known grape varieties in the world. Ten thousand. Yet somehow, we’ve convinced ourselves that life begins and ends with about six of them.

Somewhere along the way, “I’m a Chardonnay girlie” or “I only drink Cabernet Sauvignon” stopped being a wine preference and became a personality trait. It’s often declared with the confidence of someone announcing their blood type. Now, don’t misunderstand me.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with loving Chardonnay or Merlot. We all have favourites. But imagine travelling the world and refusing to eat anything except chips.

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You’d miss out on a lot. The same is true of wine. We’ve already spent time in this column getting acquainted with the celebrity grapes.

Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Shiraz and Pinot Noir. They’re famous for good reason. They’re dependable, delicious and found on wine lists from Gaborone to Geneva.

But fame isn’t the whole story. If wine were Hollywood, those six would be the A-listers. The rest of the vineyard is filled with brilliant character actors quietly stealing every scene.

And lately, they’ve been stealing mine. At our recent June Gathering of the Gaborone Wine Club, we explored wines from two outstanding South African producers, Diemersfontein and Babylon’s Peak. As I introduced the lineup, one bottle in particular caught my attention: a Thokozani Cabernet Franc.

Cabernet Franc doesn’t merely make good wine. It’s wine royalty. It’s one of the parents of Cabernet Sauvignon.

In fact, Cabernet Sauvignon exists because Cabernet Franc crossed naturally with Sauvignon Blanc centuries ago. That’s another of Cabernet Franc’s offspring. Which means many people who proudly declare themselves “Cabernet Sauvignon people” or “Merlot people” are unknowingly in love with one side of the family without ever meeting the parent.

Life has a funny way of doing that. Cabernet Franc, though, is a very different personality. More aromatic.

More elegant. Think cherries instead of blackcurrants. Fresh herbs instead of brute force.

Less boardroom executive, more effortlessly stylish creative director. It’s not trying to impress you. It simply does.

Something else happened. I met Carignan for the first time. Yes, you read that correctly.

Someone who spends an arguably unhealthy amount of time thinking, talking and writing about fermented grape juice had never knowingly tasted Carignan. I wish I could tell you I recognised it instantly with the poise of a French sommelier. That I gently nodded, inhaled once and whispered,“Ah yes… old-vine Carignan from warm Mediterranean soils.”I did not.

My first thought was,“Well, that’s a lovely peppery Shiraz.”Turns out it wasn’t. Carignan, once dismissed as a workhorse grape, has quietly been enjoying something of a renaissance. Old vines produce beautifully concentrated fruit, spicy notes and an earthy character that make it an exceptional blending partner.

No wonder it has become one of the quiet heroes of regions like Swartland in South Africa and Priorat in Spain. Which, incidentally, is exactly why I love wine. No matter how much you think you know, there’s always another surprise waiting in the next bottle.

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