Achim von Arnim comes to Johannesburg roughly every three months to promote his wines, but this is a special trip: he has just turned 60, and just published Naked, a book of his writings and paintings over the past 40 years.
A fourth-generation South African of German descent, he has devoted his life to wine. He always dreamt of having his own farm and spent a decade at Boschendal before starting Cabrière - initially while still working days at Boschendal - in 1981.
Tall, grey and distinguished, with fearsome eyebrows, he looks the part: one can imagine him sitting on a veranda in Tuscany or the Moselle valley, watching the grapes grow.
But appearances can be deceptive: many of his views, which come out in a torrent of words, are iconoclastic.
"Don't call me a winemaker. We're wine farmers," he says. "We've spent decades developing the land and the most appropriate cultivars. Sun, soil, vine and land: that's what creates good wine."
He's also dismissive of the hype surrounding wine.
"Wine must never become a cult: it must be a culture, accessible to everyone, from a peasant breaking his bread in the fields to directors in the boardroom," says Von Arnim. "The great André Simon was once asked what the finest wine he'd ever drunk was; he said he couldn't remember what it was, but it was one evening when he'd been with some people who were having a great time."
Despite this seeming insouciance, he's surprised and pleased that The Conservatory can serve his latest offering, Tranquille. It's a pale orange colour, and he calls it low-alcohol - though at 11%, that's relative.
It's a nonvintage blend of 55% pinot noir and 45% chardonnay, and, he says, like all good wines it's designed to complement food. "It's tremendous with asparagus."
But The Conservatory doesn't have any asparagus, so he settles for spaghetti, advertised as with a touch of chilli. I opt for a burger.
He continues his dissertation on SA wines. "Too many have enormous upfront bulky flavours - they're cultivar and tannin driven - but they're not wines you'd want to sit down with over a meal. They compete with the food."
He enlarges on this when the food arrives, insisting I taste his spaghetti. "The chilli's just right, and notice how Tranquille has enough carry-through to handle it. If it had a big upfront bouquet, it would be knocked out."
I can only agree, and assure him that the burger is excellent, too. True, the accompanying salad is the standard dire limp lettuce, onion rings and soggy tomato, but the burger patty itself is quality beef, resting on sliced aubergine and (I think) courgette, adding an unusual, distinctive but attractive taste.
I take the opportunity to change the subject and ask him about the book. He has been writing and painting since youth, in what is obviously a form of catharsis, summed up in the verse that gives the book its title:
Naked/is/naked/nothing more/nothing less/but a fearless/expression/of self.
Or, as the blurb says, he draws his inspiration from courageous artists who have bared their souls for art. Naked, though, he stresses, is about reality, not exposure.
And he practises what he preaches: asked why there's a hiatus in the output between about 1970 and 2004, he says bluntly: "When I started to work, I had no time for anything else. By 2004, my son Takuan was working on the farm and I suffered an emotional trauma - I lost someone I loved. That combination drove me to start up again."
Encouragement - and collaboration - came from artists like Arabella Caccia and Barend de Wet. Then came the decision to publish.
"I took out a R150 000 overdraft. But if I can sell the print run of 3 000, I hope to clear R50 000-R100 000, which will go to St Luke's [which looks after Aids patients] and the Franschhoek hospice."
What drives a man who has achieved so much?
"It's all about happiness, and comes from having the courage to allow things to happen positively," says Von Arnim. "If you ask me what I want most in life, it's to keep growing and developing. The saddest thing is to see somebody stagnate."
Not a bad humanist philosophy, though one suspects it hasn't always made him the easiest person to live with. But his wife Hildegard has not only put up with him for 35 years; she has borne four children and handles all the estate's selling and promotion.
That's a true partnership, and there's no doubt he greatly appreciates it.
By now it's coffee time: espresso for him, cappuccino for me. Then he's off to spend the afternoon marketing Tranquille - and, no doubt, his other wines, too.
