I just don’t know how I feel about the relationship between cider and champagne. Conflicted, I suppose. Stumbling about, as on so many things, in half-lit opinion penumbra.

On the one hand, it is fascinating. If you haven’t read James Crowden’s Cider Country, I would urge you to do so – it is one of the best books ever written on cider and is fascinating throughout, but worth the entry fee for the meticulously-researched section on the invention of ‘traditional method’ drinks alone.

More or less everyone who has ever written anything about cider – certainly British cider – has rehashed the ‘invented by cidermakers before it was used for wine’ story around the traditional method – and quite right too. For those who haven’t heard it, the traditional method – the manner of inducing a secondary fermentation in the bottle through the addition of a sugar source to a fully-fermented drink to achieve carbonation – was made possible by the advent of a naturally tougher glass – later called verre anglais – produced by using coal, rather than wood, in glass furnaces.

Since much glassmaking of the period (mid 17th century) was taking place around the forest of Dean, and since this period coincided with a marked increase in interest in orcharding and cider and perrymaking, it’s not surprising that it was cider (and probably perry) that found their way into such bottles first.

That’s a very condensed history of how the carbonation method later to become near-ubiquitously known as the méthode champenois (champagne method) came into existence. It’s a hugely significant chapter in cider’s history and richly merits all the shoutouts it gets.

What’s more, it was the discovery of traditional method cider, in the form of Chalkdown, that pulled me from being vaguely cider-curious into the incurable apple-botherer I have become today. Traditional method cider is unquestionably on the rise – from a handful a few years ago to dozens and dozens today. Most of them are good to very good, many of them are outstanding and there can be no doubt that the existence of champagne method ciders – along with their compelling origin story – does significant work in drawing in curious drinkers to the category. As Rachel Hendry has written compellingly in several places, perhaps most notably in this article on beer, stick the word ‘champagne’ next to anything, and you burnish it by association. See also all the marketing for Babycham ever.

But there is a dexter side to this boon. Firstly, the attention that traditional method cider gets occasionally has the effect of doing down all ciders that are not traditional method. You’ll occasionally see it implied or stated outright that this is the pinnacle of the category – something I don’t feel to be either fair or true. On which point I want to shout out this fantastic article by Molly Codyre – a food and drinks journalist who had intended to write about ‘fine cider’ through the prism of traditional method, but discovered in the process of research that this was just one small part of the category and altered her article accordingly. It’s a brilliant, broad-visioned piece, and I was immensely grateful to Molly for the consideration and respect that it showed cider.

The false assumption of traditional method cider as inherently above all other ciders was brought home to me when, judging a competition this year, a fellow judge – an excellent wine sommelier – suggested that we’d made a mistake in not awarding any gold medals to the traditional method category, the first set to be judged that day. Surely, he suggested, the best was now behind us, and if we hadn’t awarded top marks there then would we be awarding any at all?

I occasionally worry that the upshot of these assumptions may be, in some cases, an idea that simply making a cider in the traditional method will be sufficient to confer excellence upon it. I’ve unquestionably had some outstanding traditional method ciders in the last few years; equally I’ve had some that felt fairly flimsy and underpowered, had perhaps used less characterful apples and only left the cider on its lees for a few short months after secondary fermentation had completed. Importantly, these examples didn’t cost much less than the outstanding, long-aged ciders. Occasionally they cost a chunk more.

I also get the feeling sometimes that makers are looking to create a cider that literally mimics the flavours of champagne; that what they are after is a direct facsimile, but one made from apples. Which is absolutely fine of course – I’m not here to dictate what anyone ought to be producing; makers should make whatever they want and whatever inspires them. But I do think that trying to use apples to make something that tastes like something made from grapes is a bit of a hiding to nothing. I’ve tasted my fair share of traditional method ciders at this point, and I’ve yet to taste one that would have fooled me into thinking it was sparkling wine. For one, it’s half the alcohol. For two – and I don’t think this can really be emphasised enough: it’s a different fruit.

Rather than seeing champagne as some kind of organoleptic target, the traditional method ciders that have most interested and inspired me are those which have taken lessons from champagne and from traditional method wine more broadly, and have applied them to cider whilst still heroing the apples from which their creations are made. Perhaps the ultimate example to date is Little Pomona’s Brut Zero – a multi-vintage cuvée from various different apples, long-aged on its lees, utterly fabulous and utterly belting with idiosyncratic Herefordshire apple flavour whilst still evincing all the elegance, balance, vivacity and fun that marks out great champagne. I’ve recently been much-taken by the traditional method ciders of Naughton. Peter’s one of the UK’s leading champagne experts, and as such has delved into every cranny of champagne’s playbook, but his creations certainly aren’t pretending to be anything but apple, and importantly are being made in a painstaking, difficult and time-consuming way that treats their fruit with consummate respect.

There’s so much potential, to my mind, for traditional method cider to carve its own idiosyncratic path. Fermented apples don’t solely differ from grapes in the expression of their flavour. They are completely different beasts texturally; with half to two thirds the alcohol level and thus inherently less palate ‘plushness’ and body, their tannins and acids and ‘edge’ feel more prominent. This can be a downside, but it can also be an advantage when it comes to creating structural, toothsome drinks that can dig into hearty, protein-rich food. You’d never find a tannic champagne; it’s made from seven different grapes and in practice is overwhelmingly from three. Traditional method cider, not bound by the same rules and restrictions, can chart its own paths of flavour and, to my mind, is all the more interesting for doing so. Though cider may have been responsible for the process in the first place, the modern picture of traditional method cider is a brave and fledgling world; a meadow full of mostly unplucked potential. There is room to play here; to find distinct, individual identity; to muck around with different things, and see what works.

Today’s duo have certainly done that. Tinston are a cidery I’ve long followed without having actually got round to reviewing, though James covered their Gateway 2019 here and Anatomy here. Liam Tinston is a great example of a maker whose outlook on traditional maker has visibly broadened as he has explored the category. Like me he comes from a wine background – and indeed makes wine along with his ciders. And as much as I enjoyed his early creations, I think it’s fair to say that they perhaps fell into the ‘how can I make this as close to actual champagne/sparkling wine as possible’ category in some of their early iterations, primarily deploying Bramley to achieve the acidity and green apple flavours with which much young champagne is associated. Chatting to Liam at various Cider Salons and occasionally on social media, it’s been fantastic to see him explore the bounty and potential of other apple varieties and approaches, and the cider I have in front of me today exemplifies that.

Best 2021 is his first foray into the world of so-called ‘cider apples’, in this case Brown’s, Yarlington Mill, Gilly and Fiona. A tribute to the Best family who grew the apples, the base cider was aged in oak before secondary fermentation in bottle. Whilst those apples represent a clear departure from the original experiments primarily in Bramley, with the exception of Yarlington Mill, all of the varieties used feature a good dose of acidity – often cited as the key to good traditional method drinks. A bottle costs £22.99 directly from Tinston; the most expensive yet from the brand and a price tag that sets high expectations. (In the usual spirit of disclosure, my bottle was a sample sent from the producer). 

As a sparring partner, I’m setting it against another traditional method cider made from western counties bittersweet and bittersharp fruit – in this case from Devon’s Bollhayes. This cider is a wholly different proposition though, as it is the 2003 edition and therefore a whopping (by cider standards) 20 years old. I last tasted this cider back in 2020, and have had today’s bottle in my wine rack ever since.

Unlike Tinston, Alex Hill’s blend at Bollhayes tends to favour bittersweet apples, supplemented by sharps and bittersharps. When I asked him about his traditional methods last year he described his blends as, allowing for annual variation, ‘Yarlington Mill, Dabinett, Harry Masters’ Jersey, Chisel Jersey, Kingston Black, red apples I can’t name, Browns and more.’ There are some seriously phenolic characters in there – HMJ and Chisel Jersey, in particular, are fruits whose vinous counterparts most makers of sparkling wines wouldn’t go near. And I rather love that Alex has taken that approach nonetheless. Certainly they’re varieties that want a lot of time to soften, and with 20 years of ageing, they’ve certainly been given that here.

This cider was part of a large batch that went unreleased for most of the first 15 or so years of its life. And at the right old age of 20 it’s subject to a phenomenon much discussed in wine, but barely touched on (for obvious reasons) in cider: the idea that at a certain age, bottle variation increases markedly – partially determined by how the bottle has been kept, and partially just by the random nature of the liquid’s inherent ‘decay’ of age. I’ve had four bottles of this 2003 previously, of which two were excellent, one was fine, and one had taken a distinctly downward turn. So, with the caveat that I’m into a bit of ‘lucky dip’ territory, let’s see how this traditional method cider has done, and compare it to its spritely counterpart.

Tinston Best 2021 – review

How I served: Half an hour out of the fridge.

Appearance: Clear straw-gold. Fine mousse.

On the nose: Shows its youth with a real aromatic tightness and concentration. Give it time and air and warmth and you are rewarded with precise characteristics of stone fruit (peach and nectarine) and autolytic brioche (quite rare in traditional method cider). Warm lemons, white flowers and wet rock. You wouldn’t guess there was Yarlington Mill in this other than for a slight broad fullness. Will be fascinating to watch this evolve; think it wants a couple of years yet, but already complex and pristine.

In the mouth: Pure, fresh, full, vibrant delivery; like cut crystal in its clarity. Bittersweets add weight in the mouth without tannic astringency. Fruit is fresh and poised; lemons and peaches with a lovely salinity, minerality and autolysis. Soft dough, almost a sense of light smoke. It’s elegant, it’s refined, it has finesse and flavour, it shows both fruit and method and is proudly of apple, not of grape. This is stellar stuff and will be even better if you allow it a few years.

In a nutshell: What good young traditional method cider is all about. Can drink now but give it a few years to age if you can.

Bollhayes 2003 – review

How I served: Very lightly chilled.

Appearance: Clear rich caramel-bronze. Frothy mousse.

On the nose: A good bottle! Lovely development. Still plenty of fruit, but we’ve edged into baked apple, sultana, sweet spices territory, with almond and marzipan. Pronounced dried leaves and that almost apple brandy-esque note I picked up three years ago. A little old leather and dark chocolate. There’s even a touch of rancio; almost slightly gamey. I should be nosing this in a very old chair in a panelled room with a golden retriever. Deep, complex, shifting, tertiary stuff.

In the mouth: Shows its age a little on delivery – an initial burst of fruit, very similar to the nose, full of depth and complexity, dried fruit and baked pastry gives way to some serious astringency. Definitely don’t give this much chilling. It’s lost some fruit softness with time – the finish is bitter dark chocolate, dried leaves and grapefruit pith, but the initial cider brandy-esque, almost ice cider/mistelle-deep tones of fruit and mature development return beautifully when paired with some charcuterie (bresaola since you asked).

In a nutshell: Its peak years may be a little behind it now, but there’s still a gorgeous and fascinating view, particularly paired with something protein-rich to manage astringency. Drink up if you still have any.

Conclusions

Two very interesting, very different ciders, both clearly inspired by champagne, both clearly treading their own paths. I love to see it. I think the traditional method cider scene will become more and more interesting over the next few years. I can’t wait to see what producers come up with, the various tricks they incorporate from champagne and sparkling wine, and the ways they make the category entirely their own.