There are few occasions where you will get a gaggle, sorry, a business of Cider Review contributors (Brett will explain) all in one place, and so far, the annual Ross Cider Festival is about the only event where you will regularly find more than just a couple of us together. So as has become tradition, we have invited attending contributors to submit a few paragraphs recounting their personal highlights, memorable moments, and reflections on what makes the Ross Cider Festival such a distinctive celebration of cider culture.
Enough intro, let’s do it! In the order they were received, our contributor submissions on Ross Cider Festival 2025.
Jack
Albert opened this year’s Thursday night cider club at RossFest recounting the contractual origins of some of the orchards at Broome Farm – how his Grandfather, Kenelm, and his Dad, Mike, extended the ground covered by trees under contract for Bulmers. When that contract was dissolved due to Bulmers going bust and its new owners showed less of an interest in the fruit that was on offer, Ross on Wye Cider & Perry company was born from the ashes of a fire stoked by Heineken’s concentrate ambitions. Whilst it is sad to have lost such a big player from the industrial cider scene that really cared about fruit development and the best of what cider could be at scale, without that initial sale to Scottish & Newcastle, who then subsequently got themselves purchased by Heineken, we’d have no Ross on Wye Cider & Perry company. And without Ross, none of us would have been there at the Cider Club at Broome Farm, and all that empathetic, open-armed, welcoming into the craft cider world would be a mere whisper on the wind. Cause and effect.
One of the standout ciders launched at RossFest25 was the single variety Styre Wilding cider, grown from top-grafted trees in the Old Oak Meadow orchard. I had no prior context for this variety. It was fascinating to try this soft bittersweet cider, again like Hagloe Crab, Flakey Bark etc, back from the brink courtesy of the vision and drive of Albert Johnson to showcase the kaleidoscopic assortment of flavours on offer from the wide range of genetic diversity apples and pears willingly offer up to us all. Long may this variety continue to surprise and delight us with each harvest. I may try grafting this one myself to sit alongside the Brown Snout, Hagloe Crab, Tardive Forestier, and Freya’s Fortune grafted at the start of this year. And just like that, varieties previously only found in a small farm in Herefordshire can crop up in Norfolk, and possibly Arran too, spreading the risk of their name being forgotten, and their apples left to rot each year. Cause and effect.
People make festivals, and that’s as true of the guests as the volunteers. Ria from the brilliant Cider Chat podcast was strolling around on the Saturday with her Totally Cider tour group. Joran and his friend popped over from Brussels for the weekend to role reverse and be guests whilst I served them from behind the bar. My friend Amy, who passionately puts together the cider bar at GBBF and Nottingham Beer & Cider Festival, was determined to find the tannic cousin of Flakey Bark in a year where there wasn’t a new FB release (the closest we got was somewhere between the Butt svp and the Hellen’s Early svp). The army of student volunteers from the University of Plymouth, who perform as the band Our Flag Means Raison on the Friday night, have all grown up from the first and second year students I got to know initially, to PHD, PGCE, and Post-Grad students, all embarking on their first few years of paid employment. The Cider Review team of writers were there in numbers I don’t think we’ve ever seen before (if you’d like to write an article, please do get in touch with Barry and we can increase that representation at RossFest next year). Thank you everyone for a great RossFest25, full of causes and effects!
Laura
I feel a bit of a fraud commenting on the festival, since I was only there for a grand total of about two hours! But I was really thankful for the opportunity to share a little of the history of beer and cider festivals, and specifically the origins of Ross Fest, with guests in the Event Marquee. The importance of the role that cider festivals have played in the preservation and dissemination of fantastic quality cider and perry in the UK can not be understated, and it is a key chapter in my latest book, Beer Festivals. Long may the good folk at Ross-on-Wye and their friends continue to be a key part of this quiet cider revolution.
Barry
A train, a plane, another train and a bus. Nine hours later and I’m stood in Broome Farm, have said my first hellos and am itching to go to the Yew Tree for a pizza and a pint of Best Bitter. It’s a fact that I probably drink as much cask ale at Rossfest as I do cider!
I’ve been to Broome Farm more often than I have been back to my native Ireland in the past three years. Five times in total. I think this was my third Ross Cider Festival and while I think it felt somehow quieter than my previous two years, perhaps just a function of me getting older, it’s still the connections made there that are some of my biggest highlights. The festival attracts people from all over, and it was this year that I finally met Joran Le Stradic and Ria Windcaller in person. But living where I do, reconnecting with old friends, reforging and making new acquaintances is incredibly important to me, and at the Ross Cider Festival I can cover a lot of ground in one small area. Though it always feels like I haven’t spent enough time with the people I want to chat with.
I was a late booker and was told I’d be put at the naughty table, but I had great table companions at the Thursday night Cider Club that has now turned into an annual launch event for Ross. Albert is such a great advocate for Ross cider, and indeed cider in general, it was wonderful to hear the background of each of the bottles being presented. My overall impression was everything could be a crowd pleaser, all really solid releases. I continue to be amazed that they’ve put out another Foxwhelp that I like, though I swore for years it is not a variety I can enjoy. Styre Wilding was magic, and I’m absolutely kicking myself I didn’t pick up a bottle before they sold out. Lessons learned! But do look out for the three perries, all very different expressions of what perry can do, from the tight, sinewy Thorn, to the rich juice bomb, and unusually not-very-dry, Hellen’s Early.
This year was the first time I was asked to give a talk at the Festival. Actually, that’s wrong, technically it was the first time I spoke at the festival, as I was asked before, three years ago when Albert asked if I’d be the guest speaker at the Thursday Cider Club. But given my small cidery couldn’t get product over at the time, I had to refuse. But he never stopped asking me to speak at things, and this year finally succeeded, twice! I do not feel like a natural public speaker, but it was a fun hour talking about the history of flavoured cider and perry, made more exciting by the promised projector not functioning, but a lovely interactive audience (and guest star Tom Tibbits of Artistraw, AKA ‘Tall Barry’) helped me get through it unscathed, and it was fun for me at least.
With that out of the way, I could relax into a little more drinking and eating. I realised I do in fact like single variety Dabinett, confirmed by Charnwood’s mighty example, then Ross’s own Chance of Rain and their mystery Tap X at the bar. Ross is rubbing off on me. I also got to experience Buzz Balls (not a euphemism) for the first and quite possibly last time, thank you Helen! And another first for me, a most incredible Kystin keeved cider infused with sweet chestnuts! Thank you Diana.
But I have to admit I had a couple of early nights (I told you I’m getting old), decompressing and getting up early for a breakfast roll and a daily walk, with Norman, Albert’s border collie, acting as a surrogate for my own Anu. At this stage I’m not sure if I can walk far without a border collie at my side!
No trip to the Three Counties would be complete for me without some pear ogling, so it was on Sunday, while Jack was kindly taking me to Birmingham, that we stopped at a very old orchard he had found to pick pears and see what we could identify, followed by the usual pilgrimage site of the National Perry Pear Centre, where we were able to compare with a live comparative collection and exclude a few varieties from the list. Pears are assholes, but we still love them! If you are in the region, a visit to the NPPC is a must.
Broome Farm is such a special place, the welcome always warm, and the team looking after everyone so hospitable, it’s hard not to think of returning again next year. If you haven’t been, I can’t recommend it enough. Oh, and the food! Seems it getting better every year, I’m already dreaming of the next time I have one of Hilary’s sausage rolls and a Firebird pizza with a pint of ale.
Brett
You’ll be pleased to know after the slight ordeal of last year the return to Rossfest for a second year was slightly more triumphant this time around. My children especially eager to return, which speaks volumes to the inclusive and family friendly atmosphere of the festival, which I love and am grateful for, when the kids could be easily view the family getaway as dad trying to mix business and pleasure or trying to have my (apple) cake and eat it.
After a visit to the Hereford Museum of Cider to view the Art of the Label exhibition, something I recommend if you haven’t been already, we headed for Ross, strategically timing our arrival between downpours. Within 10 minutes of arriving I’d already met many fellow cider reviewers, some for the first time. Which led me to thinking, what is the collective noun for a group of cider reviewers? A flock? A herd? I decided on a business, like ferrets, no comparison intended of course. A business of cider reviewers?!
This year having had more time to prepare we actually secured tickets to the Thursday night cider club. To say it was the highlight makes it seem like the weekend peaked early, but it is very much the must-do element of the weekend and one I’m kicking myself for missing out on last year. The food at Ross is always great, homely in the best kind of way and always abundant in warmth and generosity. Let’s not kid ourselves though, the attraction is very much for the eight bottles adorning each table. Some guests on our table cracking open the first bottle long before Albert made his way up on stage to say a few words about each.
Much has been said about what a poor vintage ’23 was, though you wouldn’t know it tasting though the line-up. Five of the eight bottles were from ’23 and each one an absolute delight. I’m hoping someone else here will have given a blow by blow run down of each of the bottles, but I think I’m in agreement with Jack that the first two bottles, the Styre Wilding and Early Taynton Squash were my favourites, again not wanting to make it sound like everything peaked early, every bottle was a strong showing. The story of the Styre and the admission from Albert that there were only 24 bottles left caused a small exodus from the barn to the bar as people quickly tried to secure a bottle. Luckily for the rest of us, Tom Tibbits of Artistraw was refused being allowed to buy all 24. Sorry Tom and thank you Helen & Rachel!
I’ve struggled with earlier vintages of Raison, and I’ve tried and tried. I’ve liked it but never loved it. The ’23 however, being the penultimate bottle of the night had me softening quite a lot to it, in the same way the ’22 previously did as well. I think a steak & raison night might be in order. And who knows maybe by next August when the ’24 rolls around maybe I might find myself finally besotted.
The traditional Friday afternoon bottle share was far too convivial for note taking, at points it almost becomes like cider speed dating. The one highlight though, and I think there was a general consensus on this, was Charnwood ciders Ooh ya Fighter, a great and very gluggable Dabinett. Elsewhere it was great to taste my fellow CR cohorts’ bottles, both James & Jack’s as great as ever, and then there was a very very promising little cider called Wells Brook from a certain Three Wells cider. I also managed to nab my first taste (and luckily not last) of Kertelreiter, as well as a beautiful apfelperlwein, Forêt Noire, from 1785. Thank you, Barry.
An early morning walk through the orchards not only helps blow the cobwebs away, it brings everything into focus. Everything feels like it makes sense, not just in regard to the festival or the cider or Ross-on-Wye, but in general. Don’t get me wrong I’m not talking answers to the mysteries of the universe, but it feels like you take away a deeper understanding and appreciation for everything as you idle between the rows of trees. Shall we take a walk through time? Of course! But in this moment in this place, why would you want to be anywhere else?
Adam
Rossfest, it seems to me, comes and goes faster than ever with each passing year. Pitch the tent, look around, get a half, get a t-shirt, blur of cider and perry and music and more cider and buzzballs – wait, what? – and all of a sudden you open your eyes and the music’s over and you’re taking the tent down again and the weekend I look forward to most in the year has once more a full stop behind it.
I have a habit of looking to ascribe more significance to things than perhaps is wise or they deserve, but it bears repeating that, in its albeit annually subtly shifting guise, there really is no event in the calendar like Rossfest. From the opening tasting, bigger than ever this year, drinking extraordinary dry cider and perry with a barnful of people to the inimitable dog show – Justin’s parents’ dog’s turn to record a Did Not Finish this year – to the maker’s share on Friday at which I was, for the first time, a peer, the whole long weekend is shot through with the glow of considered joy. Even the brief patches of rain – unheard of at festival weekend on Broome Farm – didn’t slow things down a step; once again the organisers and volunteers outdid themselves.
Such has become the festival’s importance to my life now that the tiny differences experienced in every vintage of Rossfest have come to take on a sense of personal significance, and indeed to seem a bellwether of my year more broadly. Last year was a riot of a Rossfest. I had written a book, was doing talks and tastings almost every week, writing for Cider Review regularly, editing as often as not, recording Cider Voice and spending my professional life evangelising about my two favourite spirits in the world. Rossfest 2024 was as full as my social batteries have ever felt, and we duly went for it with bottleshares, blind tastings, a dazzling whirlwind of talking and laughing and talking and drinking and talking.
This year, honestly, I hid a bit. I didn’t spend as much time in the top barn at usual; despite pouring at the maker’s share I didn’t dive into a great deal of tasting, and only dipped in on the Saturday when makers were selling. I felt perhaps that I needed to let the festival happen around me; wandered up to Gammyoulands at least once a day, got up early for a bit of a breath before things started. I lost count of the people who asked me where and when the bottle share would be, and I more or less just shrugged and said ‘no plans’ each time. If that was you, I’m sorry it wasn’t a brighter interaction. It has been, to be honest, a bit of a year. I’ve not written anything on Cider Review; beyond a talk or two I’ve not really contributed much to cider this year, and apart from anything else I felt a little guilty, a bit of a fraud, being around all of those who have.
But for all that, it was quietly one of my favourite Rossfests yet.
Five years ago I joined a lockdown group of people who, with a couple of exceptions, barely knew each other. There was someone I’d never met at all; another who I had met and effectively fled from in a heightened moment of social anxiety.
So much has happened in the last five years, but that group, though it has undergone changes here and there, is still together. We have all done our various things in cider and in life; there have been triumphs and catastrophes and joys and heartbreaks and every inflection of the messiness of human life. They have all been there for me in ways I can’t really begin to fathom, and I’ve never been part of a group quite like it. We still haven’t met as a whole group together more than maybe half a dozen times, but barely a day goes by that we don’t talk and this year we had our first ever Rossfest all together, and every minute of it, quiet or otherwise, was a wonder. We didn’t, in the end, get our group photo to prove it, but it didn’t matter. We had something better.
Cider contains multitudes. It is the quiet, whispering subtleties of Gin Pear and the rumble and bombast of Flakey Bark. The electricity of Foxwhelp and the rasp and roar of Yarlington Mill and everything in between. There is a cider for every moment, for (almost) every food, there is a cider for drinking amongst laughs and conversation and a cider for the quiet moments, alone or with a friend, when everything is said in no words at all.
Rossfest is my favourite cider event because it comes closer than any other to capturing those multitudes, to casting its broad tent over the whole of full juice cider; what is drunk and how and with whom. It is the best reflection I think we have of what makes cider special, and Rossfest 2025 brought that home to me perhaps more clearly than any of its predecessors. I don’t know what will happen in the next 12 months, but here’s to the multitudes contained along the way, and here’s to Rossfest at the end of it, shining its light once again over them all.
Andrew
My second trip to RossFest was a blast! It was great to catch up with friends and make some new ones along the way. As expected, the range and quality of ciders and perries on offer were phenomenal, matched only by the quality of the food at the Launch Night Cider Club. Of the new releases, the 2022 Early Taynton Squash S.V. Perry was a particular favourite – I think I ended up drinking more perry than cider this year.
The various talks were again a fantastic addition to the festival with particular highlights being one by Cath Palgrave on Community Orcharding in and around Birmingham and Barry’s Short history of Flavoured Ciders and Perries, alongside some thought-provoking ciders to try.
The new self-guided orchard walk at Broome Farm was great to do and I would thoroughly recommend doing it alongside the narration provided by Albert, Martin and Mike Johnson. I also now have a new favourite tree!
On the Saturday, Ed (and family), Jack and I made a pilgrimage to the Museum of Cider in Hereford (well worth a visit!), before Jack and I continued to Bromyard to visit James Forbes at Little Pomona. Some exciting releases on the horizon.
Can’t wait until next year, to do it all over again!
Thank you everyone for contributing. I think you can tell, it’s an important event to so many of us for so many reasons.
And you, dear readers, were you also there? We’d love to hear about your own experiences in the comments too! What draws you there, what were your personal highlights?
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