Low-key winemakers who make low-key — in other words, refined and subtle — wines are a little like the most sought-after sightings on safari. You didn’t know you needed to add them to your wish list until you discovered their existence. Part of what makes them desirable is their inaccessibility, and part of what limits their appeal is their absence of visibility. In wine terms these are not the big five, but nor are they obscure. Once discovered, they can be surprisingly rewarding.
There are, of course, very visible winemakers who produce low-key wines: it is because they recognise their wines do not obviously sing their own praises that these winemakers do their best to engage your attention. This strategy serves a dual purpose: it lifts the wines from the vast ocean of otherwise unflashy product in the market and it explains, through the producers’ performance art, why they are worthy of your attention.
But what of the winemakers who live their lives exactly as they make their wines — no song and dance, just an almost conversationally toned narrative of how the grapes became the wine in your glass? You might still discover the wines, even if they don’t trumpet their virtues from the top of the glass. But you need to be paying attention as you take your first sip: the thing about quiet wines is that it’s easy to miss them if you’re distracted, or if you’re so used to grandstanding examples that you simply don’t hear what they have to say, sotto voce.
Sebastian Beaumont of Beaumont Family Wines fits — perhaps even defines — the paradigm. The Bot River winery near Hermanus has been producing wine for more than 30 years: the appellation — like the winery itself — is not mainstream. It doesn’t claim any special attributes that make it an obvious destination for wine buffs. Sebastian is easy to engage with, as are his wines, and he’s anything but pushy. Even when he’s enthusing about a breathtakingly good wine, you have to listen carefully. His approach to selling is the polar opposite of Donald Trump’s.
You could probably guess this from the slightly arcane brand names he attaches to some of his wines: Vitruvian, Raoul’s Blend and New Baby don’t exactly beckon the senses. You can be sure that the wines — all the wines — are better than their names, and some (like Raoul’s Blend) offer extraordinary value. Beaumont is best known for its Hope Marguerite chenin, from two vineyard blocks almost 50 years old. It’s always good, and sometimes spectacular.
But the real hidden treasure at Beaumont is the entry-level chenin, which (amazingly) is simply called “Chenin Blanc”. I recently tasted a few older vintages alongside the current release (and next to a similar small vertical of the Hope Marguerite). The 2011 was simply splendid — and with years of life still in reserve; likewise, the 2021. The latest (2025) is a finely nuanced compote of stone fruit and white pear, perfect and harmonious and a gift at R175. A third the price of the 2024 Hope Marguerite, which is admittedly more layered and delivers more tension and complexity, the Beaumont chenin 2025 is irresistible.
Sijnn — the Malgas winery developed by the Traffords of De Trafford in Stellenbosch — is another laidback, almost invisible gem. Again, there is a well-priced option for those looking for fine wine weight and complexity at a reasonable price: the Low Profile 2022 (shiraz with grenache and a splash of chenin) is paradoxically generous yet restrained, opulent and still a little austere. At less than R300, it’s an extraordinary buy.
Equally worth pursuing — for immediate indulgence now and for special occasions later — are the Estate White 2025 and the Estate Red 2023. The former is bright, fragrant, spicy, succulent and savoury. The latter is full-bodied rather than rich, burnished rather than polished, ready now for a roast or casserole, but destined to engage in more serious conversation with those patient enough to wait for the right occasion.
This article was first published in Business Day.
