CELEBRATION OF CIDER

A Somerset-based writer has left no stone unturned in this comprehensive celebration of the Westcountry’s signature product, writes Martin Hesp

If you had to choose one single emblem that could symbolise the entire Westcountry you could do worse than select an apple, or maybe the tree upon which it grows. The peninsula might be famous for dairy-products like cream and cheese, but the milking herds only ever grazed in certain places – and, yes, our coasts are renowned for fine seafood, but you don’t find many mackerel on Exmoor or in the Somerset Levels. However, just about every parish – from Taunton to Truro, from Beaminster to Bude – will, at some time or other, have boasted at least one orchard.

Many still do – or, at least, they’ll have the remnants of old orchards. There is also something of a renaissance going on in the world of artisan cider-making as enthusiasts across Devon, Cornwall, Somerset and Dorset shun the industrially made stuff sold in supermarkets to create their own delicious alternatives.

You could argue that if the warm moisture-laden air of the Atlantic supplied oxygen to the region’s productive lungs, then it was cider which – for a thousand years or more – flooded its veins. Apples (and the fermented juice thereof ) supplied a cultural bedrock for our region as surely as granite gives Dartmoor its tors.

Now the world has a new book which celebrates the fact. In fact, you could almost call it an encyclopaedia, because James Crowden’s ‘Cider Country – How an Ancient Craft Became a Way of Life’, (published by William Collins, £18.99) is a 440-page treatise which, in its all-embracing journey, goes way beyond this peninsula.

Indeed, it is perhaps the most comprehensive celebration of the story of cider ever written. A tale that stretches back, way beyond a thousand years – long before anyone was writing down such things in the country now known as Kazakstan, where the original wild apples grew in vast forests around the ancient city of Almaty.

The Somerset-based writer leaves no stone-unturned or pip-unplanted in travelling from those early apple times right through to the modern day, squeezing and pressing every last drop out of the great cider tale as he goes.

Indeed, James seems so steeped in the culture of cider-making I couldn’t help but phone him to ask if this exhaustive work was the result of months of unrelenting research, or decades of more general fact and anecdote gleaning…

“A bit of both,” he laughed. “I’ve certainly spent many years researching the subject in general – dipping down long lost country lanes to find old cider-houses in the middle of nowhere – and travelling hundreds of miles to meet artisan makers creating interesting new ciders and perries.”

In other words, to quote the publisher’s blurb, this book is a journey in which James… “distils the ancient origins of cider, uncovering a rich culture and philosophy that has united farmer, maker and drinker for millennia.

The publishers add: “The fascinating story of how this drink came into existence and why it became so deeply rooted in the nation’s psyche has never been told. In order to answer these questions, James Crowden traces an elusive history stretching back to the ancient, myth-infused civilisations of the Mediterranean and the wild apple forests of Kazakhstan.

“Meeting cider experts, farmers and historians, he unearths the surprising story of an apple that travelled from east to west and proved irresistible to everyone who tasted it. Upon its arrival in Britain, monks, pirates and politicians formed a pioneering and evangelical fan base, all seeking the company of a drink that might guide them through uncertain times.”

One particularly comprehensive section of the book examines the evidence which shows that English cider-makers were making a light, clear, refreshing, double-fermented version of their favourite drink a good half century before a certain monk known to the world as Dom Perignon had begun working on his now universally-loved Champagne.

All those pleasurable bubbles (produced by secondary fermentation) were once the curse of the booze-making world, until someone came up with a container strong enough to withstand increased pressure from the expanding gasses within. The exploding-bottle nightmare was fixed by a number of happy coincidences – one of which was that Italian and Huguenot refugee glass-makers (who’d escaped repression to settle in England) sometimes ended up at glassworks situated near to the new coal-mines of the 17th century. Some of these happened to be in cider-making areas such as the Forest of Dean. The glass-makers suddenly found themselves producing incredibly strong dark green bottles with the help of the new coal-fired furnaces, much to the delight of the local cider aficionados. Along with good quality corks from Britain’s allies in Portugal, these ultra-strong bottles were exactly what was needed to capture that magical elixir otherwise known as sparkling cider.

Which, as James unearthed in various documents, meant: “A drink which drinks ‘brisky’, ‘dances in the cup’ and ‘wets the eyebrows’.”

You only need to think about such terms for a second to realise these are all descriptions of a modern glass of champagne.

It wasn’t long before a clever chap called Sir Paul Neile was suggesting that newfound methods of “mantling” cider (or the techniques to produce a clear refreshing bubbly drink through the act of secondary fermentation – often with the help of a lump of sugar placed into each bottle) could be applied to French wines. All you needed was know-how, a strong bottle and a good cork.

The art and skill of producing something fine and superb from fermented apple juice was finally reduced to the extent that cleverly-marketed mass-produced products had barely any authentic relationship with orchard fruit at all.

James charts this descent in all its many forms – first naming and acclaiming those responsible for taking British cider to its highest peaks in the 17th century – then tracking its demise past all manner of strange political corners, not only in this country but also in places like the USA. Where, for example, the author describes how cider could easily have remained the drink of popular choice (thanks to that immense country’s excellent orchards) had it not been for a number of political and even physical attacks from the teetotal non-conformist lobby.

James marches through the cider story, waxing lyrical on the virtues of the countless Westcountry apple varieties and of the importance of things like bacteria and various tannins as he goes.

You can almost feel him shudder in the chapters where he eventually reaches industrialisation and a dubious liquid known as an ‘apple concentrate’.

He sinks to further despair as he describes Margaret Thatcher’s closure of the remarkable and highly successful Long Ashton agricultural research establishment near Bristol where all manner of ground-breaking work was being done to improve the lot of fermented apple juice.

Indeed, so much of the cider story has ended in tears. But now at last there is another story to be told – and James is happy to expound upon it at the end of the book. I refer to a grassroots renaissance of artisan-made cider which is starting to take hold in both England and in countries like the United States.

James has already written two books on the subject and garnered a prestigious André Simon Food and Drink Award award. I’d say this new tome is destined for yet more literary silverware.

James Crowden’s ‘Cider Country – How an Ancient Craft Became a Way of Life’ could almost be called an encyclopaedia