Of the many (many) topics we’ve covered and discussions we’ve had since we opened our digital doors on Cider Review, and indeed on Malt and James’s blog in the years that preceded it, the dearest to my heart is that of variety flavours.

It’s a nerdy niche, I admit, but it’s mine, and I’ve consistently banged on about it. In the very beginning of my journey in cider I found it relentlessly frustrating that, although you could discover whether or not an apple had tannin and what its rough level of acidity was, I couldn’t find one single thing online that talked about actual flavour differences between one apple and the next. 

Accordingly, almost as soon as I started writing – within a month of doing regular cider content, all the way back in February 2020 – I visited Ross-on-Wye, wrote a piece on the flavours of nine different cider apples as single varieties, and haven’t really stopped since. Our glossary of apple and pear varieties by taste (which I am woefully behind in updating) was published as soon as this website was, we’ve done individual spotlights on varieties from Dabinett to Kingston Black to Foxwhelp, to Egremont Russet, to Harry Masters’ Jersey, and of course we’ve gone on to give perry the same treatment, covering varieties in general as well as the likes of Gin and Butt and Thorn as individuals. The chapter in my book that I most enjoyed writing was the one on varieties by flavour and whenever I visit another cider culture the first thing I’m curious about is the individual characters to be found in their own idiosyncratic apples and pears.

I can’t really understate the degree that attempting to understand the flavours of individual varieties has helped me navigate cider more broadly. Even where varieties have not been bottled singly, understanding the flavours and characteristics they bring to a cider has helped me appreciate blends that much more, given me a rough idea of what serving temperature I am likely to most enjoy any given cider at and most importantly given me a rough idea of the flavours I might find in any particular bottle without having a chance to try it first.

This is obviously helpful at an extreme level – no opening of Yarlington Mill, for instance, if what I want is something that will pair nicely with some kind of seafood. But perhaps less obviously, it has given me confidence to pick one – say – medium bittersweet over another. I know, for instance, that I prefer the flavours of Brown Snout to those of Somerset Redstreak generally speaking (not to say that I don’t also enjoy Somerset Redstreak). Indeed I know that the two apples don’t in fact taste particularly similar at all. But I wouldn’t get that from a description merely of their relative levels of acid and tannin.

What’s especially fun about the discussion around varietal flavours is that it is at such a fledgling stage in its evolution. I reckon there are a few apples and pears whose flavours I know fairly well, but there are far, far more which are only faintly familiar to me, or which I don’t have a handle on at all. To say nothing of such variables as ‘well how does this apple do if it’s grown in a different country?’ 

Chisel Jersey, for instance, is a variety I have yet to enjoy from an English producer; every example I’ve tried so far has been phenolic to the point of – to my palate – the fruit being entirely overwhelmed. Yet, intriguingly, I’ve had a few instances of Chisel Jersey from American makers that were ripe, juicy, and although certainly tannic, showed far more overt fruitiness than their English counterparts. This shouldn’t be surprising of course – it’s well known how differently grape varieties express themselves from country to country. But it’s something we’ve barely even begun to figure out in cider, and it’s very exciting to think that this frontier might now be explored.

I have also enjoyed seeing the generalisation that single varieties are inherently less good than blends begin to fade away slightly in the last few years. Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely love blends. I love the creativity they show, I love what they tell me about their maker, their apples and often their orchards. But single variety ciders are exciting, idiosyncratic, delicious in their own right and, to my mind, deserved better than they used to be given. It is a wonderful development that so many more people talk about their favourite apples these days than was once the case and I hope they continue to do so. And I should also mention that ourpomona.org is now unquestionably the go-to place for learning about the flavours of varieties, and that you should add the flavours you perceive in your own favourite apples to its growing word clouds.

There’s so much excitement and mystery here. So much more to be known and discussed and shared. I recently saw a comment opining that trying to record variety flavours was futile, since they can inflect themselves in so many different ways depending on tree and terroir and the way they have been used, but I’d counter that this is absolutely also the case in wine, but that it hasn’t stopped wine lovers from getting to grips with the various organoleptic faces of different grapes. And it’s just wonderful that there is increasing opportunity to do that in cider too.

Anyway. Reader, you will be in no way shocked to learn that we’re about to taste a bunch of single variety ciders and perries. (Plus one that isn’t quite a single variety, but in which the major varietal constituents are listed).

Bushel & Peck are a Gloucestershire cidery who are somewhat lesser-spotted in these digital annals to date. Indeed, to my shame, I’ve never personally covered them (although they are in the book). Their only previous outing on the site came in the form of this piece on two of their perries by Chris and an earlier article of his spotlighting Tremlett’s Bitter (another single variety piece!) He felt that the Tremlett’s was a blockbuster which perhaps wanted a little more time, and in the perry article praised their model of releasing both idiosyncratic small-batch releases as well as a more consistent and familiar core range.

Having previously enjoyed their drinks myself (whilst clearly neglecting to write them up) I was very pleasantly surprised when Bushel and Peck’s David got in touch asking if I’d be interested in tasting their Moorcroft. And even more pleasantly surprised when it arrived with five of its stablemates, all of which I’m about to taste now. 

All are varieties I’m familiar with; besides the Moorcroft there’s a Thorn/Barland blend, an Ashmead’s Kernel, Kingston Black, Brown Snout and Yarlington Mill. So I’ll be tasting each one with certain preconceptions. One of the most interesting variety variables of course is the way in which they seem to be inflected by the particular house yeast strain (and fermentation practices) of different makers. I reckon, for instance, that I could generally pick out a Little Pomona Foxwhelp as opposed to a Ross-on-Wye or Olivers, even if all were fermented to dry. So, having not had any Bushel & Peck creations especially recently, it’ll be interesting to simultaneously dig into the peculiarities of their own single variety ciders and perries, and perhaps to get a bit more of a handle on this particular maker’s stamp.

Each of the bottles tasted below is available on Bushel & Peck’s website from £4.50 each.

Bushel & Peck Moorcroft – review

(NB Back label says 2021, front says 2022)

How I served: Medium chilled

Appearance: Spritzy Vinho Verde

On the nose: Can I say ‘spritzy Vinho Verde’ again? Not had a Moorcroft quite like this any time recently; super high-toned in its sherbety, limey, green apple and white grape aromatics. Light and simple but very fresh and attractive.

In the mouth: Are we sure this hasn’t been swapped out for white wine? One of those vibrant, racy, coastal whites like Txakoli, Assyrtiko, Vinho Verde or perhaps even Muscadet that achieve divinity with fresh seafood. Again it’s that spritzy, sherbety, green apple and lime with seashell minerality, a lightly saline thread with nibbly but not aggressive acid and just a light, light trace of sweetness. This is a cracker.

In a nutshell: A beautiful lookalike for a coastal white wine. Absurdly refreshing; buy and drink all summer.

Bushel & Peck The Avenue + 2022 (Thorn and Barland) – review

How I served: As above, but with 20 mins out of the fridge

Appearance: A deeper mid-gold

On the nose: Very well-integrated varieties. It’s hard to see where Thorn ends and Barland begins – perhaps that’s the mortar of a small number of other varieties sealing them together. The latter I think has more weight though – deeper than I’d expect of a Thorn-dominant blend. It’s rather tropical; pear syrup, guava, canteloupe, apricot and honey brightened up by a twist of honeysuckle. Very clean and fresh – these have been two impressively bright perry noses – and a broader, fuller style than the Moorcroft.

In the mouth: Lovely full body whose notes follow the nose perfectly whilst upping the weight and adding a fizzy-laces reddish acidity. Only a little bit of tannin but some beautiful, clear and seriously refreshing fruit on show whith a marvellous twist of honesysuckle on the finish.

In a nutshell: A full, broad, nearly-dry evocation of a ripe and fecund summer. Another treat, very good value.

On to the ciders, in ascending order of tannin! Ashmead’s Kernel is an apple responsible for the cider I continue to consider the best I’ve ever tasted, though we should absolutely acknowledge that as a long-oak aged ice cider from Vermont, that was a completely different prospect to a young dry cider from Gloucester! Anyway, a culinary variety with splendid acidity that can clearly produce excellent ciders, but one I don’t see bottled singly all that often.

Bushel & Peck ‘The Colonel’ (Ashmead’s Kernel) 2021 – review

How I served: As above

Appearance: Between the previous two in hue and depth. Same spritzy fizz.

On the nose: We’re three for three on bright, fresh, clear, clean and vibrant noses. This one is very floral; blossoms, lilies, fresh white flowers, cut grass, honeysuckle and apple flesh. It’s not a massive, intense aroma – rather delicate – but it’s very pleasant.

In the mouth: Another whose palate perfectly follows its nose, and a bit of a malic answer to the Moorcroft in being a dry, floral, stoney, fresh, zingy facsimile for those coastal whites. In Italy they’d give you a couple of plates of almonds and olives to go with this and it would be perfection – indeed, as with many a russeted apple (which Ashmead’s Kernel is) there’s almost a touch of almond here amongst the lemon and white flowers and grass and washed pebbles.

In a nutshell: Another light, clean, crisp, serve-with-seafood summer’s day charmer.

Moving down the octave from sharp to bittersharp, Kingston Black’s an apple we’ve often thoroughly enjoyed in these pages. It’s the only one of this lineup not labelled as dry; rather this is described as medium-dry. Let’s see how it goes.

Bushel & Peck ‘The Privateer’ (Kingston Black) 2022 – review

How I served: Half an hour out of the fridge

Appearance: Clear honey. Same mousse.

On the nose: As the Ashmead’s Kernel was to the Moorcroft so this is to the Thorn/Barland. Deeper, more syrupy and tropical. Though this isn’t quite Kingston Black as I usually know it – this is very clean, but seems less full and perfumed, a little lighter than I’ve come to expect of this apple at its most expressive. Honey, mango and custard apple (a fruit I recently encountered for the first time!) A touch of green stemminess. Pleasant, if not quite Kingston Black in transcendent mode.

In the mouth: Same story here. Something a little stemmier, fresh crunchy apple and a curious note of burned caramel. A nibble of acidity but very little tannin. I like it but it feels on the quiet side for Kingston Black.

In a nutshell: A clean, fresh, easygoing but slightly muted take on this classic bittersharp.

Not much tannin so far. Let’s go digging for it with a couple of bittersweets – two favourites of mine in Brown Snout and Yarlington Mill, the former of which you don’t see all that often as a single variety.

Bushel & Peck Brown Snout 2022 – review

How I served: Room temperature

Appearance: Rich caramel. Same mousse again

On the nose: Ah now, this is a familiar aroma. That combination of deep, gummy, almost jellied dark orange fruit with a savoury twist of herb and leather and savoury spice. A complex, juicy, ripe and autumnal nose though again I wonder if something feels slightly held back? These are all wild fermented, so I’d love to know more about the house yeasts and any stabilisation. Just feels a little less intense and full than the biggest examples of Brown Snout. But I’m picking nits – it’s lovely, and again fantastically clean in its expression of the fruit.

In the mouth: Once again super clean and closely following the nose. It’s juicy, it’s expressive, it’s tasty. Super soft, with low acidity and just a little bit of tannin; very easy-drinking, as this apple often is. Just perhaps a bit down in intensity and maybe, for my personal palate, just a tiny bit low in structure. Nonetheless very tasty stuff, with all those deep notes of baked apple, stewing marmalade oranges and mixed wine gums offset by that herbal twist and nuance of savoury autumn leaves.

In a nutshell: A juicy, comforting, easy-pleaser of a Brown Snout.

Bushel & Peck ‘The Gribble’ (Yarlington Mill) 2022 – review

How I served: Room temperature

Appearance: It would be facetious to put ‘looks like Yarlington Mill’, wouldn’t it? Deepest of the lot.

On the nose: Smells like Yarlington Mill too, and rich, bombastic, lustrous, aroma-loaded 2022 Yarlington Mill at that. No comments on lower intensity here; explodes out of the glass. On the fruity, rather than especially spicy side of Yarlington (though the spices are certainly there), this smells like the best apple pie ever meeting fruitcake mix, cinder toffee, orange marmalade. It’s so rich there are aromas here nudging into ice cider or even pommeau territory. Superb nose.

In the mouth: All the fruit and bakery and marmalade glossiness and richness of the nose, offset by ripe, beautifully-integrated tannins, a seam of woody smoke and a crack of nutmeg. God, that’s delicious. So full and expressive and ripe and confident. I love this; the absolute epitome of what’s great about dry, full-bodied, bittersweet British cider.

In a nutshell: A knockout evocation of my favourite bittersweet apple variety. An outstanding Yarlington Mill.

Conclusions

Well I am badly remiss, and clearly need to drink a lot more Bushel & Peck. At the same time, all the ciders and perries here seem to have more clarity, more definition, more confidence and character than those I had a few years back – which I still remember having enjoyed. At £4.50 they’re ridiculous value too. Stock ye up; especially on the Moorcroft and the Yarlington, though there aren’t really any bum notes here – my nitpicky comments on intensity in a couple of them notwithstanding.

Anything else to report? Well, if we’re looking at house style, there’s an impressive cleanliness and detail across the board. They’re all fresh, most tend on the higher-toned, occasionally lighter end of their varieties and there’s a lovely brightness to the fruit. I wonder whether that perceived lightness is to do with any stabilisation or other methods – something to investigate perhaps, and I clearly need to get myself over to Gloucestershire.

Regarding varieties, there was an interesting mix of the very familiar and the deeply idiosyncratic. The Thorn/Barland was tremendously interwoven; I’m not sure I’d have guessed that those two were the constituents, but of course that’s often the point of blending. Regarding the single varieties I’d say the Ashmead’s Kernel, Brown Snout and Yarlington expressed flavours exactly as I already understood them, the Moorcroft showed me a different side of the pear albeit one I could certainly reach from the flavours as I’d preciously understood them, whilst the Kingston Black was perhaps the most anomalous by my mileage. What does that mean? 

Well, most obviously, that I need to continue growing and shaping my own understanding of the inflections of varietal flavour. And two, that the world of variables, from orchard to tree to variety to maker continues to be greater and more mind-broadening than we can possibly ever fully conceive. I can’t wait to continue exploring it and discovering how much there is that I don’t, and possibly will never, truly know.