Review: Delaire Graff, South Africa

A few nights in the Cape Winelands is one of the classic, great South Africa itineraries. Cape Town first, then the vineyards for slower mornings and liquid lunches, before heading off on safari to, somehow, drink even more wine.  And when that Winelands stop comes up, Delaire Graff is always one of the names mentioned near the top.

So, naturally, I went to have a look.

Getting there

Around an hour by road from Cape Town, depending on how many people have decided to leave the city at the exact same time as you.

Setting

Delaire Graff sits between Stellenbosch and Franschhoek.  And when the weather behaves, it is undeniably impressive. Big views, dramatic scenery, vineyards, mountains.

But let us not get carried away.

Not every angle is some cinematic sweep across the Winelands. Depending where you are, you may instead be looking at a road, another villa, landscaping, or likely some pissed tourist on a day tour.  What makes Delaire Graff so different from its competitors is that this is not simply a peaceful retreat with a few rooms hidden among the vines. It is also a functioning wine estate, restaurant destination, and somewhere plenty of non-residents come to eat, drink, browse, and generally annoy you.

But when you come here, you can see why.  There’s art everywhere.  Absolutely everywhere.  Corridors, restaurants, gardens, lounges, wineyards, inside of your eyelids.  They claim more than 400 pieces across the estate, much of it from Laurence Graff’s private collection.  And it is part of the joy of staying here, similar to Villa La Coste, where there is a sense that the property is meant to be experienced, not just occupied.  Some pieces you will like, some you will look at and assume the artist hated people, but it all adds something.

Whatever else I can say about Delaire, no one can accuse it of being dull.

Facilities

There was a feeling of arriving at a hotel, not a lodge.  There’s something remarkably unpersonalised about Delaire Graff.  I don’t want to use the word soulless, but soulless adjacent?  Maybe.  The crowds, the number of people instructing our driver where to go, the rush of getting lunch as it closes at 2 pm.  Which is always what you want after arriving somewhere supposedly luxurious: the sensation that you are late for a conference buffet.

There are effectively two Delaire Graffs.

The first is the hotel side: reception, spa, gym, restaurant, wine tasting, lounge, art everywhere.  This part works well enough.

The second is the public-facing estate side, where it appears everyone within a hundred-mile radius has decided to spend the afternoon.  This area made me wonder if I had accidentally wandered into a shopping centre.  Yes, there are attractive water features and glass views into wine barrels.  But there are also shops, crowds, busy restaurants, movement, noise, and everything that makes me go eurgh.  There is, of course, a Graff jewellery boutique on site, should you wish to combine lunch with the purchase of something that requires its own insurance team.

The issue is not that these facilities exist.  It is that they dominate the atmosphere. This is luxury without warmth.  

Spa & Gym

The gym is solid.  New TechnoGym equipment, cardio machines, weights, strength stations covering most basics.  Not enormous, but more than enough to train properly.

Oddly, it plays spa music.  Nothing gets you through a heavy set quite like the sound of a whale playing the flute.

The spa itself is less impressive than the description suggest.  Sauna and steam room are available, though needing to book them felt strange.  The 22m infinity pool is heated and includes a hot tub, which is all very nice unless the clouds are pissing it down, as it was for us.

Room

We stayed in one of the Presidential Villas, a two-bedroom setup, and this is where Delaire makes its strongest case.

The villa is large, genuinely luxurious, and extremely well equipped.  Spacious entrance, living room opening out ahead, bedrooms on opposite wings, generous bathrooms, kitchenette, dressing areas, underfloor heating, handsome marble finishes, see-through wardrobes, heated pool, outdoor dining, loungers, privacy.  Serious money has been spent here.

And then, the moment I had almost given up hope on the continent entirely: Japanese toilets.  Technically, Geberit rather than Toto, but still.  Progress.  African luxury hospitality has entered the future.  Admittedly, ours seemed mildly possessed, and the remote worked only when it fancied it, but, you know me, I choose to focus on the positives.

The tech is excellent.  Probably the best implementation I have seen in an African property.  There are roughly eleven million light switches, yet somehow they mostly make sense.  Lamps can be controlled without leaving bed.  Motion sensors gently illuminate spaces at night.  TV hidden in the mirror.  It all feels considered.

The layout works too.  Guest bathroom at the entrance; living room with almost full ceiling-to-floor doors, with lots of natural light coming in.  Massive, heated pool, but little in the way of views.  And let’s not forget the free minibar.  

But perfection remains elusive.

The design is too sparse for my taste.  Expensive, yes.  Elegant, arguably.  Warm or charming, not especially.  Some spaces feel as though the furniture has not fully moved in yet.  But just cos I didn’t like it doesn’t mean money was not spent, and it’s not luxurious.

The bedrooms themselves are the weakest part of the villa: minimalist, slightly harsh, nothing especially memorable.

The power kept switching itself on and off during the morning rains.

There were also noises.  Many noises.

One persistent squeak in the wind sounded like a grieving bird haunting the corridor.  My dad slept poorly on the final night thanks to the pool pump sounding like it was equally upset about the decor.

We could hear a party one evening.  We could hear the motorway.  We could hear the pipes occasionally shriek like a banshee having an orgasm. I didn’t tell them on departure cos if I have to suffer this, so does the next guest.  

The view from ours is partly blocked by the villa in front, though the trade-off is that it feels very private.  We also visited the other Presidential Villa, which has a slightly different layout with doors leading directly from the living room into the bedrooms rather than long hallways, but no separate dressing rooms. That villa faces the mountain, giving you the view you might expect when you stay in their top suite.

Still, as pure accommodation, the villas are the best part of the property.  It is when you leave them that the regret begins.

Service

Service is competent, pleasant, and occasionally very kind. It certainly did not initially feel like it was heading in that direction.

They went through all my preferences on arrival, which was considerate. The welcome amenity, however, was four tiny snacks presented in a box like it was a diamond necklace. The note was a rather tacky invitation to visit the Graff jewellery boutique.  Lucky me.  I also asked for a tour and received more of a brisk point-and-wave. Here is the main building, off you go.

And yet

When our TV would not work and reception proved hard to reach, they eventually came up, discovered the remote was broken, and offered us another suite to watch the game in.  Genuinely thoughtful.  Staff remembered who we were without asking for room numbers.  Departure planning and breakfast arrangements were handled proactively the night before.  Preferences were noted.  Nothing was ever disastrously wrong.

And yet

The service feels reactive rather than intuitive.  If you ask, things happen.  If something breaks, it gets fixed.  If you need help, help arrives.  There is nothing they do wrong, exactly.  The issue is what does not happen unless prompted.

At La Residence, you meet management, the GM is always around, conversations happen, WhatsApps is used for regular communication, and there is a clear sense that people actively want your stay to be excellent. Here, the feeling is more that they stand ready to assist should a ticket be raised.

A good example: it poured with rain on our final morning, but by 2pm the weather had turned glorious. The outdoor area of our villa still had not been reset. I have no doubt it would have been sorted immediately had I asked. That, however, is the point. Good service notices first.

Fundamentally, there is nothing necessarily wrong with this place. It just never becomes great. It never feels like a standout property.

Food

Food was inconsistent rather than bad.

Hoseki, the Japanese restaurant, was the standout.  Well, it had to be, as it was the only option, unless you wanted to venture over to “Delaire Graff: Eternal Damnation Edition”, home to Lorenzo’s and Delaire Graff Restaurant, which are basically Olive Garden with fewer olives and more regret. Chronically busy, entirely forgettable, mass produced gruel for people who believe they’re getting quality, but are in fact getting conned.

Even Hoseki was not all roses and puppy dogs. Our first lunch was unbelievably crowded. It felt like going for a pub lunch on the wrong side of town on Mother’s Day, where you booked 15 minutes earlier and now have to pretend this was the plan all along. Ignore the one-star hygiene certificate, the screaming from the kitchen, and the man outside everyone refers to only as Psycho Bob, clutching something ominous in his pocket.  Come Monday, there were still plenty of cars around the estate, but the place was vastly quieter. Whether that was because it was Monday, because of the rain, or because Psycho Bob finally snapped, I cannot say.

But the food at Hoseki was actually alright.  Sushi, not so much, but everything else was a good standard.  Breakfast is served at Hoseki too: small buffet plus à la carte, with sensibly sized portions that allow multiple choices without requiring emergency trousers.

I love Japanese food, but being expected to do lunch and dinner in the same restaurant day after day is a bit much. Variety remains one of hospitality’s finer inventions.  I did, of course, venture to Lorenzo’s in the name of journalism. What can I say?  Is it too late to quit this job and retrain as something else?

Activities

Fuck.  All. 

Well, ok, they have a load of activities off-premises if you really ask them nicely.  On premise: look at some art, taste some wine. Now, I fully accept that reviewing a winery hotel as someone who does not drink is a little like when I reviewed Courchevel as someone who does not ski.  But you do not need alcohol to recognise what genuine luxury feels like.  However, you might need bucket loads of it to enjoy yourself here.

Kids Friendly

Children of all ages are welcome.  I cannot imagine bringing my kids here, though.  They are already alarmingly judgmental.  They would take one look around, know better, and think less of me.

The Good

• Setting

The Bad

• No exclusivity
• Crowded public areas

The Luxurious

• Rooms

Conclusion

I appreciate this is a review of Delaire Graff, but you cannot write about it without speaking of their nearby competitor La Residence, and that comparison is not especially flattering.  There is warmth to La Residence, a sense that the entire place exists for your enjoyment.  La Residence feels like somewhere built for guests.  Delaire feels like they personally selected you to buy something….anything.  Ultimately, La Residence feels like a wonderful lodge that happens to have vineyards.  Delaire feels like a successful vineyard that happens to have accommodation.  In summary: this isn’t a lodge with vineyards, it’s a winery with rooms. Here, you are more customer than guest.

I salute the website and marketing, because they sell an experience far more seductive than the one I found in person.  There is also absolutely no sense of exclusivity.  Rows of cars from outside visitors line the pathways, and the main area can feel more Vegas than peaceful luxury retreat.

It never once made me feel lucky to be there.