Chief Winemaker Bruce Jack
A Capetonian whose curiosity and palate has taken him the length and breadth of the globe. Bruce completed his undergrad in Political Science and Literature at UCT and then read his Masters in Literature at St Andrew’s in Scotland. His subsequent winemaking degree came from the Roseworthy Campus at the University of Adelaide, Australia. Bruce is a pioneer, and in many respects a maverick, and what he brings to winemaking is an articulate opinion about his greatest passion.
Food Alchemist & Kitchen Cowboy Peter Goffe-Wood
Peter is on the judging panel for the San Pellegrino 50 Best Restaurants in the World, as well as the Diners Club Wine list of the year. Born in London, he trained in South Africa and returned to work with some of Britain's top chefs in several award-winning London restaurants.
Back in South Africa, he helped to open the La Couronne Hotel & Winery (now Mont Rochelle) in Franschhoek. Conde Nast Traveller named it as one of the fifty most exciting restaurants in the world.
Peter has worked to develop some of the Cape’s best and busiest restaurants, including Blues, 95 Keerom Str, Balducci’s & Salt. GQ magazine took him on as food editor for eight years and he is a regular contributor to Men’s Health. Peter is author of Kitchen Cowboys and Blues Restaurant – the essence of Cape Town.
He featured alongside Ainsley Harriot on BBC Food’s Off the Menu and now appears as a judge on MasterChef SA.
Editor Andrew Arnott
Andrew studied Literature and Sociology at UCT before setting off on a global trek that saw him working under the seas of the Caribbean, on the snow covered slopes of the Canadian Rockies and writing for a variety of financial and travel institutions. Now at home in Cape Town, Andrew’s passions for wine and writing are married on this blog.
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Time Manner Place by Bruce Jack Posted on October 14 2012 by
Time, Manner, Place in rhythm, meter and intonation by Bruce Jack.
Night-cooled vine leaf
Beneath your fingertip.
Granite crunch underfoot
Flusters a family of Guinea Fowl,
Down the vineyard row.
High on this mountainside,
All is otherwise
Soon the sun will chase,
Deep into steep kloofs,
Leopards, dew and owl eyes.
You bend into the green canopy –
Plucking a bunched-in black berry.
Closing your eyes
To focus taste,
Like pre-dawn purple sky,
Spinning sweetly around your mouth,
Bright with raspberry of slope,
And tied into tannin –
That roguish torque of soil.
Then warming daybreak on your back,
Beckons a Berg Wind down,
Smelling wryly of Buchu,
Warning of dry mid-day dust.
Many years later, well after sunset,
This night-black wine of autumn toil
Opens like a war drum,
Towards the stars,
And seasoning with prayer flags
Rooms of everyday things.
With a finger tip,
You tenderly complete
A wine-whet circle
Around the rim,
Of your night-cooled glass.