Constance Craving: Vin de Constance 1992-2017
BY NEAL MARTIN |
In Jane Austen’s novel Sense and Sensibility, one of literature’s finest works detailing the ups and downs of courtship and matters of the heart, Mrs. Jennings suggests to Elinor Dashwood that she drink a slug of finest old Constantia to recover from a fever brought on by her romantic interest, John Willoughby. Jennings counsels that the sweet wine not only cures “colicky gout,” but possesses “healing powers on a disappointed heart.” While poor Elinor might have remained distraught over her wayward and untrustworthy lover, I am sure the Constantia served as a momentary balm to her heartache.
When I attended a brief but insightful vertical tasting of Vin de Constance on what transpired to be my last day in the capital before lockdown, thankfully I showed no feverish symptoms of either COVID-19 or a disappointed heart (or, for that matter, any colicky gout). But like those characters in Austen’s novel, I do appreciate one of the iconic sweet wines of the world – one that, as I shall describe, is undergoing a quiet revolution.
Before we get to that, a bit of history.
Simon van der Stel, the first governor of the Cape of Good Hope, established the original Constantia estate in 1685 and found that the valley facing False Bay was ideal for growing grapes, thanks to its decomposed granite soils and cooling sea breeze. But it was Hendrik Cloete who elevated Constantia and its sweet wine to an elixir a half-century later. He planted Frontignac, Pontac, red and white Muscadel and Steen (Chenin Blanc) and tended the vineyards meticulously. Crucially, long before laws were introduced governing wine origin on labels, Cloete called the wine “Constantia,” instead of “Madeira” or “Sauternes,” both established names that would have been an easier sell. Constantia sounded like a distant and exotic location to Victorian minds, and it quickly became renowned and highly sought after, particularly during the era when Cloete’s son Hendrik junior and grandson Jacob Pieter, who spoke fluent French, served as ambassadors based in Paris. They promoted Constantia around the Continent, and the wine further consolidated its renown after winning medals in several competitions. European courts demanded Constantia in preference to Tokaji Eszencia, Madeira or even Yquem. It was Napoleon’s favorite tipple in exile on St. Helena; consignments of it were regularly sent to royal families; and it was mentioned by Baudelaire, Charles Dickens and, of course, Jane Austen.
Unfortunately, pernicious phylloxera pays little heed to reputation, and decimated Constantia’s vineyards in the late 19th century, financially ruining winemaking families. Constantia as a wine was snuffed out, and for many decades it lived on only within the pages of literature. It was not until Duggie Jooste bought the estate in 1980 that plans for a phoenix-like resurrection began. In 1983, vines were planted; further expansion followed four years later. The 1986 vintage signaled the return of this historic wine, albeit to a limited audience during apartheid’s dying days. Only after the end of apartheid and the subsequent opening of the South African market did Vin de Constance retake the stage as one of the world’s iconic sweet wines.
In May 2011, Czech-American investor Zdenek Bakala and UK businessman Charles Harman bought the 146-hectare estate. The following year saw the addition of two shareholders from Bordeaux with winemaking in their veins, Bruno Prats (recently replaced by his son Jean-Guillaume) and Hubert de Boüard, proprietor of Château Angélus. Credit must go to winemaker Adam Mason, who improved both quality and consistency before he left for Mulderbosch in 2011 (his last day, if I recall, coinciding with my maiden visit).
In Jane Austen’s novel Sense and Sensibility, one of literature’s finest works detailing the ups and downs of courtship and matters of the heart, Mrs. Jennings suggests to Elinor Dashwood that she drink a slug of finest old Constantia to recover from a fever brought on by her romantic interest, John Willoughby. Jennings counsels that the sweet wine not only cures “colicky gout,” but possesses “healing powers on a disappointed heart.” Like those characters in Austen’s novel, I do appreciate one of the iconic sweet wines of the world – one that, as I shall describe, is undergoing a quiet revolution.
