Cider

I have something to say that will rock the basis of some of my valued friendships. I like fizzy cold cider. I like fizzy cold beer. Despite the fact that there is, in fact, no such thing as “pear cider”, I even like that.

This is heresy to a great many people. “You just haven’t tried the good stuff” might be the mildest approbation I face in making such a confession, with “You have no taste” or, “You are a complete and utter heathen, and irredeemable”, being more likely to be thrown my way.

However, I can’t even retreat and plead ignorance of the ‘good stuff’. The Castle Inn, in Lulworth Cove, was graced by the presence of my family, the dog, and my in-laws as guests during a recent foray into deepest Dorset. Now, leaving aside the great unresolved feud between Somerset, Dorset and Cornwall about the true origins of cream teas and ‘real’ cider, this fine establishment features no less than twelve of the southern regions’ finest ciders and perries on tap.

I tried the Orchard Pig “Light” Medium cider. I tried the Cider by Rosie. I tried Weston’s Country Perry. I confess to being scared shitless of the Snakecatcher Scrumpy. This is the description they had for it:

“Percentage: 7% | Units: 4 per Pint | Producer: New Forest Cider
Seriously strong, intense in flavour and character, being aged in spirit barrels. The ignorant might call it rough, but the knowledgeable connoisseur would consider it a robust English artisanal country beverage.”

Gack. Other than that, I tried every damn thing they had in there, and finally resorted, in desperation, to getting a ‘top’. This spritzing of a shot of ‘lemonade’ (7-Up or Sprite for you Yanks) on the top of your cider or ale is naturally frowned upon by pub cognoscenti as being an immature teenager drink. But at least I could pretend to the other patrons that I was drinking a pint of something decent (even if the publican himself knew better). In spite of a lot of what an old beer ad used to call “bitter beer face”, I couldn’t bear to cop out with a bottle of Bulmer’s pear ‘cider’ with a glass of ice.

So give me a nice, cold, sweet pint of fizzy Strongbow off the tap, or, if I find myself back in the Pacific NorthWet, pull me one of McMenamin’s ciders or give me a bottle of B.C. Grower’s or even an Okanagan, but leave me out of the tepid, bitter, flat local “artisanal”, “real” cider and perry tasting next time, thanks.

I can hear the rush to “unfriend” me on Facebook, as my “Friends” count drops: 303, 302, 301…