What is great cider to you?

This is a somewhat subjective question and as such there will be a plethora of answers and a plethora of people who might give different answers at different times. To some, great cider is a cold Strongbow after a long week or on a hot day. To others, great cider means made from bittersweet cider apples, bottle conditioned and aged in oak casks. People will have preferences for brands, styles, varieties, regions. And some will say that great cider is cider that comes in a pint.

My own take on cider which is great; or rather which I perceive to be great, has formed through a process of evolution. Few, if any ciders, will have such a profound effect on me as the Strongbow I tasted in 2007 that was the first alcoholic drink I properly enjoyed. Through my university years and for a few more thereafter, the gold standard, to my mind, was Aspall’s (which I later learned was, certainly at the time, the only ‘big’ cider still made with full juice – but we’ll get back to that). When I began to take more of an interest, around maybe 2015 or thereabouts, I remember a special fondness for a particular bottling from Orchard Pig, though I can’t remember what it was called.

Chalkdown represented my first significant epiphany since that initial Strongbow: cider made the same way as champagne? My mind couldn’t conceive of such a thing. At the time I had staff discount on it too (a reason I didn’t review Chalkdown for a long while), and it was Chalkdown that led me to properly burrow into cider, buying Pete Brown and Bill Bradshaw’s World’s Best Ciders and using it as a roadmap to uncover as much of British — and, ultimately, international — cider as I could. 

This led me, primarily, to Somerset and Herefordshire cider, which for a long while — in part guided by the book — I concluded must surely be the Gold standard of British cider, far over and above eastern counterparts. And as the journey progressed I realised that I was an idiot, and that varieties like Discovery and Egremont Russet, the low-tannin (or zero tannin) ciders of the likes of Kent or Germany or America could be every bit as great in a wholly different way.

A little under five years ago — coming up in a couple of weeks, in fact — I published my first cider article, then on malt-review.com where I wrote predominantly about whisky. It’s an article I’m still proud of, but looking back I can see a clear gulf between then and now in my understanding, knowledge and experience. I suppose you’d hope as much, after five years. In the three and a half of those that I’ve been writing about cider on a regular basis I’ve reviewed 626 ciders and perries, tasted probably five or six times that number and, I hope, gradually developed my own take on what makes a cider great. I dare say if I’m still at this in another five years (or even if I’m not) that take will have developed further nuances again.

Whilst a full definition of what I believe makes a cider great would probably fill a decent-sized book, what it ultimately boils down to is simply something that I am excited to sit down and write to you about here. Something that is worthy of, and that I feel comfortable and positive about, championing. The foundational premise of Cider Review is, if anything, that ciders and perries exist which can be great. Which deserve highlighting — in terms of their orchards, their makers and themselves. Ciders that are harder to make; can only be made once a year; require a higher level of skill and care; which sit apart from the ubiquitous efficiency-and-concentrate-driven ciders which have tainted the drink’s reputation in the minds of much of the British public.

Occasionally my much-missed co-editor James and I would discuss the future shape that we wanted the blog to take and the ways we wanted it to develop to better deliver on our blurry sort of mission statement. And one of our final joint ideas was that from today onwards this site will no longer review ciders or perries which we do not believe to be entirely made from fresh-pressed juice.

A couple of terms and conditions worth raising there. There has long been an odd line of reasoning amongst the British cider community that runs ‘no cider is full juice because water is used to clean the equipment’. I think we can dispense with this pedantry straight away: every drink uses water in the cleaning process and only cider (and perhaps only British cider) feels the need to sound a note of caveat about it. If I was a cynic I’d wonder if it was a line of reasoning which sprung from producers who add water to their ciders, and wanted to suggest that they were no different to those who didn’t. And I am a cynic, so consider it wondered.

I will throw up a couple of asterisks though, the first of which is to say that I and my co-contributors will still review ciders to which other adjuncts — hops, spices and so on — have been added, so long as the juice component has not been diluted. These drinks are fascinating, are of historic importance and interest, and when made well can be superb. Consider them allowed. ‘Full juice’, moreover, does not mean ‘and only from apples and pears’; all fresh-pressed friends remain welcome in these pages, though anything from concentrate is no longer, in playground parlance, coming to our party.

One exception to my ‘no water’ rule comes in the form of ciderkins and perrykins. Why? Again — I find them interesting cerebrally and satisfying organoleptically. They have been made for hundred of years, and today they are made not in the name of cynicism and efficiency, but by producers who care about making an interesting and tasty product. The ‘kins’ can stay. Also still permitted are grafs – cider/perry-beer hybrids and co-fermentations – which of course will have seen water added as part of the brewing process. Since this is inevitable part of making this style and not an efficiency choice, that is obviously fine. (Even though I will continue to do my joke about the shocking lack of full-juice beer.)

Enforcing — and even self-enforcing — this new rule won’t necessarily be easy. Producers and PR departments, you will be shocked to learn, aren’t always forthcoming if you ask them about juice content. There is a chance that something may slip through our nets, but these will be innocent mistakes, and if something is found to not be what we thought it was, we’ll remove that tasting note. (Though tasting notes we have written up to this point for non-full-juice drinks will remain, as a sort of archive). If we’re not sure about a drink that we’re offered or are considering reviewing, we’ll be asking the producer or marketing team for clarity. If they don’t respond, we won’t be reviewing that product. If a producer tells us that something is full juice and we later discover that it isn’t, we probably won’t review from that producer again in a hurry.

Probably not very much will change. I imagine well over 90% of the drinks we’ve covered here have been full juice already. We’ll just be adding an extra level of pickiness and vigilance. Ultimately, it comes down to the sort of site we want this to be. All of us who contribute here love full-juice cider and perry; the orchards that nurture them and the people who make them. It’s our world and it’s one we want to see be successful and celebrated. And whilst I know that not all 100% juice ciders are, or can be, great — indeed that there can be some full-juice ciders which are less ‘tasty’ in simple terms than non-full-juice alternatives — they are at least trying to be the most complete, untarnished version of themselves. I think that’s a good place to start.

Why from today? Well, when James and I came to our decision I had a cider or two which I had already been sent and thus felt obliged to review which I wasn’t convinced would qualify under the new rules, so I wanted to ‘clear my decks’ first, so to speak. 

But also, today is my birthday, and my traditional celebration for the last three years has been to review the new vintage of probably my favourite repeat-expression cider, Raison d’Être from Ross on Wye (whose creator, Albert Johnson, is a 22nd August birthday gatecrasher. So, you know, happy birthday Albert I guess. 364 other days to pick from but whatever).

For those who haven’t encountered Raison d’Être before, I’ve shared the full Raison d’Être origin story in an interview with Albert here, and I’ve since covered the 2019 vintage as well as last year’s full flight from 2016-2020. It’s likely the full juice cider I’ve drunk more of than any other, making it all the more apt as a bottle with which to launch our new policy.

Funnily enough, and I dare say I’ll take some flak from Albert for this, something I don’t think I’ve ever confessed before is that when I tried my first Raison d’Être, the 2016 vintage, in September 2018, I didn’t think it was all that great. I was still relatively new to the scene in those days, and my default was still to put all bottles of cider in the fridge. In Raison d’Être’s case (a dry, oak-aged, bittersweet cider made from Dabinett and Bisquet apples, which is still young even at two years old) this had the effect of ‘clenching’ the tannins, heightening astringency and reducing perception of fruit. As I’ve grown in confidence around cider, and learned a little more, I’ve come to appreciate that this was the equivalent of sticking something like a young Bordeaux in the fridge — and recommended serving temperatures have become a staple of the Cider Review tasting note. Evolution again.

Not much else to say about Raison d’Être that I haven’t already; after the anomaly of the 2020 vintage, which for the first time contained a higher proportion of Bisquet than Dabinett, 2021 returns to a Dabinett-heavy blend (75:25). Unusually though, for this cider, the oak barrels used previously held unpeated Irish whisky rather than a mixture of peated and unpeated Scotch. So this will be the first Raison d’Être to date with no element of smokiness. (Which I know will make some people quite happy — some folk just don’t like fun, I guess.) Anyhow, prompts a similar question to last year, which is: will it still feel like Raison d’Être?

As usual I’m reviewing this cider slightly before its release, which will be at the Ross on Wye festival from Thursday 31st, at which point I imagine it will cost the usual £10 per 750ml bottle or thereabouts. It’s also worth noting that this was an unusually-late-bottled vintage of Raison d’Être, so there’s a chance that my review bottle (tasted on Thursday 17th August) may not have finished its conditioning, and thus may be slightly different in terms of its level of fizz from one you might drink from September-ish onwards. But I suspect the difference will be minimal. Also worth noting that my bottle was a free sample provided by Ross on Wye. And finally, this is the much-lesser-spotted single review on this site, as I couldn’t think of or find a suitable sparring partner in time. Mea culpa and all that.

Enough of the quibbles and caveats. The sixth edition of Raison d’Être awaits. (With a return to the old 2016-2017 label style incidentally, which although I liked the new version, my heart soars to see). Let’s get into it.

Ross on Wye Raison d’Être 2021 – review

How I served: Room temperature (definitely not in fridge)

Appearance: Hazy old gold. The lightest spritz (not quite fully conditioned, I think)

On the nose: The seam of smoke may not be there, but make no mistake: this is Raison d’Être, instantly recognisable as such and indeed, to my mind, closer to the classic Raison as I understand it than the 2020 vintage was. It has all the earthy, dusky, autumnal, old-oak undertones that I find so addictive yet there is a particularly marked juiciness here, above and beyond any edition since the 2018 (and even that may not have expressed as juicily at the point of its release). An almost jellied apricot-orange medley of heightened ripeness. Yellow and orange citrus marmalade, augmented by vanilla and bitter dark chocolate. Soul-thumping sweet-savoury bittersweet aroma.

In the mouth: I do think this has only partially conditioned so far – just the lightest, tiniest frisson of fizz. But honestly it’s irresistible as is – and certainly the most overtly-juicy new-release Raison that I can remember. Tropical fruit meets English woodland; apricot and dried mango and orange peel and even passion fruit alongside warm, wet earth and old timbers. Big, ripe body thanks to those jellied fruits, and classic Ross/Raison touches of nettle and bark. Tannins present a touch of astringency on the finish; a little grapefruit pith just reminding you of the cider’s youth, but it’s absolutely delicious, and all the more so I dare say if you can find a steak to pair with it.

In a nutshell: Just supremely evocative dry bittersweet cider. I love the Islay barrel editions but this is just as beautiful and — crucially — just as Raison d’Être.

Conclusions

My favourite Raison d’Être vintage since 2018 I think, in terms of at-time-of-release drinking, though it must be said that the 2019 has blossomed since it was put out two years ago (and was already more than decent). I hope this vintage develops as nicely — I know I’ll enjoy tracking its progress.

This is absolutely the sort of cider that brought me to Cider Review, that inspired me to write about ciders and perries and that I wish to shout about and put in front of people. Great cider indeed.