Seven harvests in the making
It started with a spilled glass of Chenin at a friend's harvest lunch outside Paarl. Ruan apologised for twenty minutes; Amara told him he could make it up to her with a better bottle. He took that as an invitation, and he was right. What followed were seven summers of Sunday drives over the Franschhoek Pass, a sourdough starter neither of them will admit to killing, and a small flat in Observatory that never had quite enough shelves.
“He asked at the top of the pass, at sunrise, with two coffees going cold on the bonnet.”
The planner
He has a spreadsheet for this weekend. It has tabs. One of them is called “Contingency braai”.
The heart of the table
Every friend we have, she met first, fed second and kept forever.
Where we always end up
Every big decision we have made was made on that drive. It felt right to make this one there too.