By Malu Lambert

Photography supplied by Van Ryn’s & KWV

Wheels and spokes spin aimlessly in the air. My brother is sprawled beneath his upturned bike, his little hands scraped red. “Graneeeeeee,” he wails. As quick as a shot Granny is out through the door, spoon and bottle of brandy in hand. Granny was a nurse in the war, and brandy was used to treat soldiers in shock. It was the Valium of her day.

After a spoonful of the amber liquid my brother gets a chocolate too. In no time he’s beaming again.
Granny may not have been aware of it, but she was pioneering what was to become a foodie’s dream combination—the alchemy of brandy paired with the ambrosia of chocolate.
So today distilleries do chocolate and brandy tastings.

“In the old days you couldn’t drink brandy without a shudder,” says Christa Olivier, wine and spirit adviser for KWV. We’re sitting in the tasting room, it’s 10.30 in the morning, and I haven’t even had breakfast. I taste the brandy without the chocolate first so I can make an accurate comparison. I pick up glass number one; it’s the youngest of the four, the KWV 5-year-old.
“Don’t swirl your glass,” Christa says quickly, “the flavours of the brandy will get lost in the volatile alcohol.” And, as I’m about to stick my nose in the glass, she says, “Not so close, sniff from a distance, the alcohol will assault your nose and you won’t be able to smell anything.”

A vision of smelling a rose and a bee going up my nostril floats into my mind. Wisely, I decide to hold it half a ruler away and inch it closer and closer. In this way I not only get my nose used to the alcohol, but I’m able to pick up the top fruity notes of the brandy, as well as the woodier, more nutty aromas at the base.

I taste the next three brandies. With each one I take small sips, as tasting brandy is completely different from tasting wine. Forget the swirling, deep sniffing and the sucking of air. Brandy sipping is a delicate exercise.
At last it’s chocolate time. I’m right back at the beginning with the youngest first. Christa urges me to take a big bite of the chocolate, “Really coat your mouth with it,” she says. The chocolate in question is a Belgian hazelnut praline. With my mouth coated and ready, I take a sip.
 
The smooth creamy texture of the hazelnut praline complements the high alcohol, and on the finish the fruitiness is heightened by the nutty aftertaste. The chocolate and the brandy are both elevated to a higher place, greater than where they would be individually.

Each different chocolate brings out a different characteristic in the brandy. The selection has obviously been chosen carefully. The Imoya VSOP, which is a blended potstill brandy, has a spicy, fruity, almost sweet flavour.  This brandy is paired with a dark chocolate, Belgian 70 per cent cacao. The bitter and sweet flavours meld harmoniously.
Then the last one. I pop a thin slab of Belgian white chocolate in my mouth, and take a sip of KWV 20-year-old potstill brandy. This brandy has spent a long time in the barrel and the creamy vanilla flavours are sure indicators of this. The chocolate compounds the vanilla, and makes a match that is elegant as well as angelic.

What is most surprising about the whole tasting experience is that, with the chocolate coating my mouth, I can easily drink the brandy. It in fact becomes moreish, not a shudder in sight.
Later in the week I’m at Van Ryn’s distillery, where I am greeted by Nicole Solomons, PR controller, handing out peach and brandy cocktails. Once again I haven’t had breakfast, so thank goodness for the juice.
We’re a team of girls this morning and we’re left to wander around while we drink our cocktails. The interior is rich and sumptuous; lush furnishings, granite floors, with copper pot stills quietly glowing in the corner.

Nicole wants to take us on the tour before we get down to the tasting. She leads us into the heart of the distillery. We’re in a room filled with copper pot stills; it resembles a Salvador Dali painting, strange elongated machines from another world.
“The word brandy (brandewyn) is Dutch and it actually means burnt wine,” explains Nicole, “because that’s exactly what we’re doing. We make a wine using Chenin Blanc grapes and we distil this young wine twice. The vapours to emerge first from the still are known as the head. In time, the heart is produced, and this is the part that is used to make the brandy. After the heart comes the tail, and we discard this as well as the head.”

The Van Ryn’s tour is nothing if not thorough. Soon we’re meeting Oom Abie, the distillery’s resident cooper. He sets to work showing us how he puts together a barrel in a matter of minutes. His 34 years on the job show. When it’s time to seal the lid on the barrel, Oom Abie produces a rather medieval looking implement. “This is the devil,” he says looking mischievous. He slots the black tool into the barrel’s mid-opening and lowers the lid, sealing it. “The devil does his work best in the dark,” he says smiling. Next thing we know his hammer is out and with a resounding clanghe circles the barrel, sealing the metal hoops to his very own rather catchy cooper’s tune. “You can dance if you want to,” he says. “In the old days we used to play our tune when we had finished our barrel, just to let the other coopers know.” Show-offs.

At the tasting, wooden tasting trays are placed in front of us, complete with brandy-filled balloons and slivers of chocolate.
“We just need to wait for the coffee,” says Nicole. “We use it as a palate cleanser, as it removes the waxy layer left by the chocolate.”
Four mini-cups of hot Honduran coffee are set down and the tasting begins. Nicole wants us to acclimatise our palates to the brandy, “Your first brandy of the day will always sting,” she says, “so have a small sip.”
With only a small wince the four of us have our first brandy for the day. Nicole smiles, “Now you’re ready.”
We start off by matching the 12-year-old single potstill brandy with a cappuccino-flavoured chocolate. Once again, the magic of matching chocolate and brandy surprises me. The combination becomes like a liqueur.

I pick up the 15-year-old single potstill brandy next. I inhale citrus and honey flavours intermingled with cigar smoke. The chosen chocolate is flavoured with orange and cinnamon.
I pop the last chocolate in my mouth, 70 per cent dark chocolate. I take a small sip of the 20-year-old single potstill. The texture it creates is a reflection of the room we’re sitting in, velvety, rich and decadent.
I’m converted. For my next dinner party, instead of dessert, I’m bringing out a bottle of potstill brandy and an array of chocolate. Not only will it be delicious, but a talking point too. Maybe I can get Granny to come along.