Tim James: The latest Sadie releases

The Swartland has, like the ANC flag, three colours: In summer there’s the pervasive ochreous gold of the harvested wheatfields, in winter the brilliant green of growing cereals and lush cover crops around bare vines; and always the hills have patches of the renosterbos whose sombre darkness the early settlers, we surmise, named this part of the country for – when there was no wheat or vine to push it aside, and the newcomers had not yet shot all the zebra-like creatures for which they named the Paardeberg.

It was the Paardeberg I was driving towards, to taste the latest Sadie releases at the home-farm. And as a symbol of the expected and much-feared drought, there on the left was a huge green field of wheat being irrigated by one of those vast overhead systems of pipes and wheels and water. Irrigation, in the middle of the Cape winter! Drought is a looming threat to the grape-farmers too in this dryland area – though I’d been earlier in the week at the Mullineux’s Roundstone farm, where the dams are full, thanks to the run-off from the Kasteelberg mountains during the April downpour.

The Sadie dam is well short of full and, introducing the tasting, Eben spoke of what he called the current “groen droogte”, or green drought. But we were there to sample, mostly, wines from last year’s altogether benign harvest. For once, it seems, we can safely generalise about a vintage across the whole of the Cape: 2025 was great, and Eben spoke of how promisingly wonderful the grapes looked as they arrived at the cellar.

We started with the reds, as usual, and Eben warned that the first two were reduced (a complex matter read this piece by Jamie Goode if you want to know more). It can produce some off-odours, sometimes paradoxically welcome ones, and Eben says that time in bottle will deal with the “problem” – even six months should help. All the more reason to not drink these or any of the wines early, though aeration via splashy decanting or vigorous swirling should serve.

With Soldaat, the Piekenierskloof grenache, I thought the aromas were rather masked at first, but the characteristic red fruit (cherries, cranberries) came through with a lovely perfume. With more substance than the wine occasionally has, it seemed an excellent example: nervy and understated but not too light and certainly not austere; quite airy yet the flavours intense and lingering.

The aromas of Swartland cinsault Pofadder I found more difficult to penetrate, but there’s no doubt from the palate about how good the wine is and I’m sure the aromas will regain their glory. It’s richly textured, with a sweet charm at its core that’s also a succulent dry and complex fruitiness intertwined with tannins of great finesse. A joy to have in the mouth.

Eben Sadie in the young Sonvang vineyard.

The second vintage of Sonvang, the multi-varietal blend off home-farm youngish vines, is very pleasing too, a touch more “obvious” than the two wines just tasted, and with the feeling that something is being held back (waiting for more vine maturity perhaps?). Full-fruited with spicy and herbal overlay, a hint of youthful rawness and a firm tannic presence. Should benefit from a good few years in bottle.

Introducing Treinspoor, as always Eben argued his belief in the potential of tinta barocca to make great varietal wines, although this is inevitably the hardest sell in the range, he says. And, as always, I edge closer to being convinced, without quite arriving there. It’s intense, serious wine with big but sufficiently balanced tannins and persistent dark-fruit flavours. Balance yes, but seamless harmony no. This will come and the wine will undoubtedly age well and beneficially; tasting it in ten or 15 years will make one regret not having bought a case of the stuff.

The final red was Columella, from the rather more difficult year 2024. Difficulties, if any, have been surmounted, and the wine is presenting beautifully. Floral, syrah-suggestive perfume, not overstated, with dried herbal notes. Very complete and remarkably drinkable now, I fear, although I thought the tannic structure (steely but Swartland-characteristically melting around the fruit) more forward than it often is, though there’s plenty of flesh and presence.

And so to the excitement of the whites. Skerpioen as always showed the saltiness that the chalky soils on the edge of the sea up the Atlantic Coast  produces, and a characteristic bright lemony acidity. But although it has finesse and focus, with a dry stoniness, there’s a lot of fruit-forward flavour – with chenin at this stage showing more than its equal partner palomino, I thought.

‘T Voetpad is always wonderful for me, and that’s only partly because I know the extraordinary, unique vineyard alone in its far corner of the Swartland. It’s rich and full, with ripe flavours, yet also restrained, the generous texture matched by a grippy structure. Altogether intense and profound, and well worth laying down.

Eben didn’t mention reduction on Kokerboom, but I thought there was some, light and even rather attractive “gunflint”. But there’s no denying the zesty lemon and lanolin of semillon (mostly white, some red), along with a sweet-fruited core that’s almost peachy in the midst of a stony minerality. As always, perhaps even more so here, a special wine from the magical (if rather scruffy) Skurfberg Citrusdal Mountains.

The Skurfberg connection was broken (so the chenins could be tasted together), by a return to the Rotsvas farm on the Paardeberg and the other field blend, Twiswind. Again, the argument with the wind was won by the vines – all dozen varieties of them, gathered in just two pickings, for the earlier and the later ripening.  Pretty aromas I thought, with both apple fruit and apple blossom present. Grippy and firm, with some character, complexity and charm. Surely this is going to be a great vineyard.

The chenins then. Skurfberg shows a lot of sweet-fruited ripeness, with even a tropical edge of pineapple alongside the peach, at 14.5% alcohol – though Eben says that that is not an unusual level for this wine. The firm, grippy acidity holds it all together, however, and it’s fresh as well as textured, and the structure carries the fruit to a long finish. This should be as popular a wine as ever.

If the home farm has some great emerging fieldblends, it already has a truly splendid chenin vineyard. The 2025 is the fourth bottling of Rotsbank and probably the finest, which is claiming a lot. A stone-and-steel expression of chenin, pure and brilliant, superbly balanced, both elegant and gorgeous, really alive. Only Mev Kirsten could not be a disappointment after that wine, but this very different expression of chenin was as satisfactory as ever. An incredible intensity of sweet fruit in its lovely, refined elegance, though “intense” seems almost the wrong word for something as gracefully weightless as this. It reminded me, though I’d be hard put to explain the connection, of a German dry auslese riesling.

And to complete a remarkable concluding trio (which was for me the highlight of this truly impressive tasting) was Palladius 2024. Eben’s notes list 15 varieties for it, from 17 vineyards; made in clay pots, concrete tank and old wooded foudre. Could it be less than complex, to say the least? To mention lemon and peach (as my inadequate notes do) is just to make a start. Penetratingly intense, without losing refinement; lifted and light-feeling.

• Tim James is one of South Africa’s leading wine commentators, contributing to various local and international wine publications. His book Wines of the New South Africa – Tradition and Revolution appeared in 2013.