Pierre Wahl is without a doubt one smooth operator, but make no mistake: the rather stylish, softly spoken manner of the man in suede loafers sans socks, artfully arranging. 'Rose and Mary' from his herb garden on his piece prime fillet, disguises a bit of a rugger bugger. Especially when the beleaguered Boks, having lost badly in the preceding Tri-Nations, are playing Wales in their opening match of the 2011 Rugby World Cup... and are down 14-10 at halftime.
A Springbok supporters' jersey has been pulled over his crisp white cotton shirt.
He's preparing Sunday lunch while wife Anli cuddles newborn first-born Lienke. 'Go and dress her in the pink Springbok rugby babygrow I bought her, toe you,' he chides.
After pouring flutes of bubbly for guests and checking on the oven, he disappears into the couple's spacious open-plan dining and living room with sweeping views across the Tulbagh Valley.
There's a strangulated cry of 'Go Bakke!', before he reappears, smiling serenely.
'The wis ref’s a dwis.' That's no compliment. 'It's what we all call one of his Pierre-isms,' explains Anli, referring to her husband's 'naming of things', from humanising herbs to softening colloquial Afrikaans insults not meant for mixed company.
'By the time I left Elsenburg, I'd played just about every position on the rugby field - except hooker.' One can't imagine him playing hooker, or prop, or any kind of forward. But if there was a game of club or social rugby to be played, he'd do whatever was required.
The rugby gene (together with his second name that he bears with some pride) comes from grandfather Lionel, of whom he cherishes fleeting childhood memories.
An old black-and-white photograph in a stylish shabby-chic collage of family portraits on the living-room wall shows Lionel, fullback for the Paarl Rugby Football Club's III 'B' team, winners of their league in 1933.
'Jan Pickard Senior was treasurer at the time: the father of the famous Western Province lock. The club was established in 1883 and several of its members became Springboks back in the amateur days of rugby.
One of my grandfather's cousins, Bailie Wahl, played scrum-half for the Springboks against the touring New Zealanders in 1949.'
After a bit of thought, he adds: 'Actually, anything to do with balls, I enjoy...' A pause, the glint in the eye, the naughty smile, and then he follows it with: 'rugby, squash, golf...' He tries to play 'nine holes times two' at least once a month at the Ceres short course.
As for mountain-biking, an ideal sport given the rugged, mountainous Tulbagh terrain and enjoyed by winemaking friend and neighbour Dewaldt Heyns: 'I've tried it; it's not for me.
It gets boring, just sitting there, pedaling round and round and round. I'd rather be chasing a ball around the field or hitting it down the fairway.'