Going Back to My Core Values ; Cider Was Once the Preserve of Corduroy-Wearing Wurzels Fans... Now It's in the Kitchen Alongside the Virgin Olive Oil

Summary

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To be frank, I have never really done real ale. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it has never really been my thing. Just look at the name: it's 'real', and I'm not a very 'real' person. Not only does real ale always seem to be warm, but whenever I've been unlucky enough to try net some, it appears also to taste of red wine mixed with Marmite. I also never wear socks with my Birkenstocks, don't have excessive gingerish facial hair, and almost never go to East Anglian folk festivals in the hope of catching Fotheringay, Steeleye Span or the Albion Country Band. So while I know I haven't exactly put in the hours, you can tell I'm not exactly what you would call an aficionado.

I've never really drunk cider, either, not since I was a teenager, when it was one of the cheapest ways to get you from nought to 60 when you wanted to properly connect with Led Zep IV, Machine Head or The Dark Side Of The Moon. I've always thought cider was something you grow out of, like the paintings of Salvador Dali, the books of Isaac Asimov or the food of Mr Kipling. If you were older than 16, cider was what you drank if you liked the Wurzels, wore grey corduroy trousers and spent your summer holidays eating Sandwich Spread baps by the side of the A30.

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Going Back to My Core Values ; Cider Was Once the Preserve of Corduroy-Wearing Wurzels Fans... Now It's in the Kitchen Alongside the Virgin Olive Oil

But I have had one of my very rare epiphanies. That's right. A few weeks ago, while studying the drinks menu in the River Cafe in Glasbury-on-Wye, and looking for something that would successfully accompany a...

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