In all my writing I don’t think I have shared how my love affair with Brandy was born. Like many young men in their early twenties I was obsessed with name brands, wearing the latest brands regardless of what it looked like if it was Armani or Versace and the like I was happy, trying by all means to show what label I was wearing. When I went out with friends I would ensure that I bought liquor that made a “statement” and at that time expensive whiskey served that purpose just fine. 

Buying expensive bottles of whisky was to say you have arrived, and if we couldn’t afford it on a particular weekend we would find our empty bottles and packages from the previous weekend, buy cheaper whiskeys and transfer the contents into the more expensive bottles thus maintaining the image of balling, funny enough people would never tell the difference. This led me to conclude that no one really knows what they are drinking.

This transferring trick is one that I picked up from a close family friend. He used to call this ichange marobane, but being from a different school of thought he used it for a very different reason. For him it was to discourage abashendeli (i.e. those who consume at the expense of others but never provide). In the township there is an unspoken rule when drinking from someone’s bottle; expressed in the form of a question and it goes, “uzokwazi uyivusa xa iwile?” Translated the question is, “When this bottle is finished, will you afford to provide another (since you did not contribute to this one)?” If no then you won’t be drinking there.

So you see two different generations executing the same strategy (i.e. change marobane) for completely different ends. Apart from the amusement of it all, the idea of spending so much money and yet not being able to tell the difference became increasingly bothersome to me. I then began to read more and saw myself change the way I consumed my drinks; paying more attention. I began to buy my drinks not for recognition but to experience and to learn. I was also growing; no longer just buying my drinks to impress women, which in hindsight was a bullshit concept because they were attracted not to what I was drinking but what I could afford to buy them.

I was then introduced to cognac and immediately, I found it more palatable to my tastes. But more than just the drink itself was the experience around that first contact. A friend had invited me to an event at the One & Only hotel at the V&A Waterfront in Cape Town; at some point we went to get ourselves some drinks. At his insistence, I ordered a double of Hennessy cognac, clean. When the bartender brought our drinks and placed them in front of us, what was before my eyes was nothing I expected.

There were 2 glasses, and I mean for each of us. One glass, a rocks (whisky) glass, containing about a quarter of warm water and placed on its side atop it, was a snifter with cognac. It was positioned diagonally, such that the cognac inside looked as though it was suspended in air inside the rocks glass. This was a work of art, a sightly piece to be appreciated for its aesthetic value. I looked at this thing thinking, “… what the hell am I supposed to do here now?”

Reluctant to risk embarrassment, I refrained from making any kind of move, I asked the bartender and he explained that the warm water was just to warm the cognac slightly so as to bring out the flavours and not for mixing (I later learnt that if you don’t get the water temperature right, this method can evaporate the alcohol too quickly and concentrate it at the top of the glass and you lose the natural aromas of the spirit so I don’t recommend it).

I thanked her and proceeded to take my first sip and oh! that seductive mistress who seduced me with her perfect silhouette, curves in all the right places, her complexion the perfect balance between dark and light; none of this yellow bone what-what. As she came closer and closer to my lips, the aromas that escaped from her contents were hypnotic as they filled the air.

She was rich and golden, that first sip encapsulated my being, as I suckled on her bosom rich summer fruits, her hints of pineapple and honey captured my essence. It was love at first sip. I knew from that moment I was forever taken; like a boy who has tasted a woman’s virtue for the first time it left me wanting, longing for more of what this world has to offer and thus began my love affair with brandy and I’ve since never looked back.

randy led me to a world of bitter sweet indulgence, a universe of a mixture of flavours and aromas; complex in their genetic make-up. Exploring the synergy between barrels and the wine spirit, how the barrels release a magnitude of flavours, and colour the liquid into a golden amber that is equalled to liquid gold, this my good people is how I stayed in love with brandy.

So as you can tell brandy and cognac are not just a side job or a hobby, Brandy is ibhenki lam, my skhanda love, ipillar mtshana, my liefde (the love of my life). You know each time I take a sip of brandy or cognac I taste the life’s work of each master distiller. I appreciate the blood, sweat and tears that has gone into each tipple, because it’s only right that you give thanks. Similarly in African culture where the first shot is poured for the ancestors or “for the fallen niggas” for our African American brethren, I also see it as patronage to the master distillers of yesteryear and those in practice today, paying homage to the art of making brandy; an unappreciated art.

And so Cognac Chronicles came into being out of that union; out of a desire to share this love with the world, andigcisi ngento emnandi (I’m not stingy with the good things life has to offer).

And so my love affair continues…