Not only was I eager to purchase some representative specimens of my tasting adventures, but I also had an order or two from the gang. The Squid wanted at least one can of his favorite beer in the world, Windhoek - brewed in Namibia and to my knowledge obtainable nowhere outside southern Africa - or at least, not at Wegmans or our local beer distributor. Sir was less specific in his request and heartwarmingly trusted me to use my judgement when selecting a suitable souvenir. Feeling guilty for having deserted him for two weeks, I was determined to get him something fabulous.
TIA's duty free is fairly awe-inspiring. Not only are the usual bottles of gin, vodka, and rum to be found, but the shelves are full to bursting with litres and litres of peculiarly South African nectar. I was spoiled for choice! Should I buy of bottle of excellent Cathedral Cabernet, some Klipdrift Gold, or Nederburg Potstill? Perhaps a bottle of Wild Africa, Cape Velvet, or Boschendal Chenin Blanc?
Vexingly, my allowance only permitted two bottles of wine and one bottle of spirits - but this challenge did help to focus my thinking. I decided to allot the spirit to myself (Amarula, of course - so handy for gussying up ice cream, buttercream, and custards) and splurge on wine for Sir. Reasoning that we can obtain palatable New World Grenache, Semillon, and Chardonnay at our local state store, I decided to go the sweet and syrupy route. Sir is a big fan of fortified wine, having cut his teeth (as it were) on port and madeira during the various gala functions that punctuated his somewhat rarified experience of higher education.
I chose two bottles for Sir's delectation. The first was a full cream sherry that I thought would appeal to his liking for enamel-challenging wine. Did you know that South African producers' use of the designator 'sherry' is commonly reckoned to be in violation of the EU's TRIPS (Trade-Related Aspects of International Property Rights) agreement? Apparently, the Spanish believe they have sole right to the descriptor (a corruption of Jerez, as we all well aware), in the same way that Champagne can only come from Champagne and Stilton can only come from Stilton. This belief persists in spite of the fact that much Spanish sherry production takes place outside Jerez, thus rendering the term meaningless even within its own country. Every time the South Africans are hauled into court (I take it this happens with some regularity) they argue that nobody could possibly think a bottle stamped 'Stellenbosch' might have originated in sunny Spain and, regardless, it is tacky and demeaning that they be required to label their fine products 'sherry-style fortified plonk'. They continue to call their elixir 'sherry', bless them, and the Spanish trade delegation continues to get its ropa interior in a twist.
Sir thought his sherry was delightful and managed to drink about a third of the bottle in the first sitting. His enjoyment belied the fact that he doesn't particularly care for sherry - for my part, a late and unwelcome discovery after approximately 102 years of marriage. Oh, well - it's the thought that counts!
Tragically for the Squid, there was no beer available at the duty free. Suspecting this might be the case, I had earlier secured for him several consolation prizes, including two Bok van Blerk CDs; a new 'Bush Lover' T-shirt to replace the one I'd unwittingly shrunk in the dryer the day we returned from our last SA trip; and a huge bag of springbok and kudu biltong. As an added bonus, I unearthed at the big fair-trade market in Cape Town a beautiful and unusual elephant sculpture constructed from - you guessed it - an empty Windhoek can.
As I said: it's the thought that counts.
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