Why Should You Care About Cider?
The wonderful (and painful) thing about cider, despite its production in Western Europe dating back to at least the Iron Age, is its reputation is muddied: lacking the refinement of wine or the ubiquity of beer. On the surface cider is bereft of the culture, agreed lexicon and, really, identity, of its beery and winey cousins. This is largely because many of these things in the world of cider have been passed along by an ancient, oral tradition. Conversely, entire forests have been cut down to provide the books and articles and treatises that give wine and beer their vast reservoirs of resources and cast of strange and charismatic characters. Cider, comparatively, has been left behind.
So why should you care?
Well, hopefully, by the end of this article you will. But first let us address some elephants in the room:
“Cider gets me too drunk”
“Cider gives me the worst hangovers”
“Cider is too sweet”
“Cider? Isn’t that what scallywags in the park drink?”
Or as one man reliably informed me in a pub in Herefordshire - “I can’t drink cider because it makes me violent”
A core pillar on which Burum Collective rests is the idea of breaking down the fences that we’ve built up around certain ideas in this industry, whether personal or structural. But I have met far too many people who are supposedly open-minded about what they drink but point blank refuse to try cider. “I’ve tried the best cider ever made, I don’t need to try another, I didn’t like that one,” I was told once by a wannabe Cicerone. Anyone who knows beer or wine knows that there’s no such thing as “the best drink ever made” (except Irn Bru obviously) so the same should be true for cider.
Cider definitely has an image problem
There’s a lot of sweet, sickly, and recently pink and fruity drinks out there masquerading as cider that will attract, like Blue WKD before it, new drinkers. A sizable number of the readers of this article will probably remember their first sip of cider and I’ll bet it was one of two things: (a.) outside; or (b.) underage. For me it was both. Unfortunately, too many of us drank it like lemonade, forgetting it’s 7.5%, and learnt the hardest of ways to respect alcohol before vowing never to touch the stuff again. And as for the gentleman who told me cider makes him violent; I hate to be the bearer of bad news but all alcohol is equal when it comes to making bad decisions.
It’s our responsibility as professionals to cut through the nonsense and create space for high quality, flavourful, thought-provoking ciders. So how do you identify them? What exactly is cider?
Now there are scientific definitions across the globe and to the chagrin of many UK cidermakers; our legislation for juice content actually lags behind other nations in the world. But therein lies the problem (and almost certainly an entire series of articles), the scientific, legislative defining of cider is being fought over by cidermakers, big and small, lobbyist groups, business interests and the odd politician. Let me break it down really simply.
Cider is made from fermented apple juice. The cidermaker, big or small, pro or hobbyist, should endeavour to use as much pure juice as they can. They should try not to use adjuncts if they can help it (but some are traditionally added to make cider-like products). And they should select whichever yeast they wish to suit their vision for the cider. As much as certain actors in the cider industries of the world would like to draw nice, neat legislative boxes around this wonderful drink. That is not cider. The more you restrict what the maker can do; the less variety there will be in the end product.
Cider, like just about everything that is tasty to put in your mouth, is about variety. I fell in love with cider at Broome Farm, a place many people reading this have probably never heard of, but if Broome Farm were a winery or a brewer with the same level of not just success but overall influence they have had on the world of cidermaking we would be talking about something akin to Wild Beer Co or The Kernel Brewery. Their cider company, Ross-on-Wye Cider and Perry Company (Ross Cider), produce orchard to table ciders with plunging depths of flavour and aroma, and gorgeous slate-like tannins. And their ciders love food.
Contrast that to Tinston’s Anatomy: 100% Bramley apple juice fermented with champagne yeast. It’s apple champagne. I can pay it no higher compliment. For something sweeter try a keeved cider, an arcane and difficult fermentation style that results in latent, unfermented juice that imbues the cider with a natural, complementary sweetness. Pilton, Oliver’s and Bartestree to name a few, produce these tremendous, juicy nectars.
For those that like sour beer, ciders made with bittersharp and sharp apples like Foxwhelp, Browns or Kingston Black bring more than enough masochistic acid alongside some of the most delicate flavours in the cider world. The variety of cider is endless and is only limited by the creativity of the makers.
Ross-on-Wye Cider and Perry Company (Ross Cider)
Pilton
Foxwhelp
Smash those fences and try different ciders, educate your palate and expand your mind. If you give cider the chance, like we all did with beer (show me the eighteen year old who liked their first taste of West Coast IPA), you’ll find something to fall in love with. And that’s not even the best part, quite unlike any drinks culture on this planet today, you can contribute to and shape the world of cider: the vocabulary, the styles, the drinks of the future. The world of cider is intimate and welcoming and you will enjoy a level of access that you would never find in beer or wine. And now more than ever it needs you.
Ben
@cidervoice
Further Reading
Read: Ciderology: From History and Heritage to the Craft Cider Revolution. Gabe Cook.
Read: Full Juice Mag. Pete Brown, Susanna Forbes, Bill Bradshaw, Gabe Cook.
Listen: Cider Chat. Ria Windcaller.
Follow: #rethinkcider and Susanna Forbes
