Cider

There is no mash and no boil. Juice is pressed from fruit, yeast ferments the sugar already sitting in it, and what comes out the other side is dry unless something is put back deliberately. That single-step process is why cider tastes of fruit and acid rather than of malt and hops, and why it behaves more like a white wine at the table than like a beer. Anything sweet in a finished cider was either held back during fermentation or blended in afterwards.

Traditional cider-making regions grow bittersweet varieties full of tannin, which give a cider grip and a slightly dusty finish that lingers. Large-scale cider is more often made from culinary and dessert fruit, or from concentrate, producing something cleaner, sweeter and more straightforwardly appley. Neither approach is wrong, and the two are aiming at different drinkers. The tannic style tastes older and more savoury; the dessert-fruit style tastes brighter and more familiar.

The wording is not standardised the way it is for sparkling wine. Dry ciders finish clean and can be quite sharp, semi-sweet is where most of the local mainstream sits, and sweet keeps enough sugar to round the acid off entirely. The flavour name usually gives it away.

Perry is cider's pear equivalent: fermented pear juice rather than apple. It reads softer and rounder, with less bite, because pears carry different acids and a gentler sugar profile. Some producers label the same idea as pear cider instead, under a more familiar name. If the front does not say, the ingredients list will settle it.

Acidity cuts fat, so cider handles roast pork, sausage off the coals and anything crumbed or fried better than most beer does. It sits well against a mature cheddar, and against chilli heat, where a little sweetness does the cooling. Serve it properly cold in a stemmed glass or a tumbler.