Legend has it he was conceived on a hillside vineyard at dawn on the first day of bud-break.
Touched by the Goddess Demeter. Born on the damp floor of a cool cellar under a full moon on a sweltering autumn equinox at perfect phenolic ripeness. The bastard love child of a visionary winemaker and a cantankerous sommelier. Raised on nothing but bread, wine, and hopeful aspirations.
A vinous révolutionnaire employing his mythical knowledge of the finest terroir to smokkel the most sought-after parcels from the Cape of Good Hope. The answer to prohibition and the age-old adage, ‘n Boer maak ‘n plan.