Britain's orchard, in a glass and on a plate.
Half of us are hoarding cider like it's a pension pot, the other half are drinking two-year-old farm-shop bottles that peaked last spring. Here's how to sort your stash before the shed gets properly cold.
The straight pint glass is a loyal servant to lager and a terrible translator for cider. We put the nation’s favourite vessels through a thoroughly unscientific November test to see which shapes flatter dry tannic cider, sparkling bottles and delicate perry — without turning the kitchen into a sommelier’s exam.
English cider brandy is the orchard spirit that has spent too long lurking at the back of the drinks cabinet. Here is how it is made, why the Somerset PGI matters, what to look for in a bottle and how to serve it on a dark November evening.
Every bottle of cider leaves behind a damp, sweet heap of skins, cores and pips — and a surprisingly complicated question about what happens next. We follow Britain's apple pomace from the press room to the pig trough, the compost heap and the still, and ask what a genuinely circular orchard would look like.
Forget the clove-and-orange fog: heating cider should be a gentle act of orchard preservation. This is Scrumpi's practical guide to warming dry cider and perry without stewing the fruit, with three proper serves and a bottle-buying shortlist for winter 2026.
Medium-dry cider is the quiet middle child of the British bar: too often skipped for something tougher or sweeter. It is not a compromise, though. It is a balancing act, and a very useful one at the dinner table. Here is what the style really means, three producers doing it well, and five meals it quietly improves.
A cider label can be a useful set of clues or a pastoral mood board with a bottle attached. This is a practical, slightly irritable guide to the words that tell you what you are actually buying — and the ones that are just there to make you feel rustic.
You have a friend. He drinks the same cold, gassy pint every Friday and thinks 'cloudy' is a fault. You cannot fix this with one heroic glass of 7% West Country rocket fuel — you need a ladder. Five rungs, some cheese, and a strict ban on the word 'barnyard'.
Keeving is the old West Country method that coaxes cider into natural sweetness by clarifying the juice and letting fermentation stall before it finishes. No sugar bag, no shortcut: just patience, pectin and a brown cap with a mind of its own. Here is how it works, who is keeping it alive, and what to drink with it on a dark November evening.
November is dark, the supermarket cider shelf is a row of squabbling soloists, and your kitchen table is the obvious place to settle the argument. Here is how to turn one dry, one tannic and one fruity bottle into a repeatable house cider — plus a scorecard for hosting a small blending night.
Stir-Up Sunday is traditionally pudding day, but the orchard has a better idea. This cider-soaked apple fruitcake is rich, boozy and forgiving, and it asks for a glass of dry Herefordshire scrumpy rather than a brew. Here is how to make it, feed it and serve it without a sad slice in sight.
Wine has hogged the cheese board for far too long. Six opinionated British cider and cheese pairings for a gloomy November night, plus a practical UK buying guide for assembling a board in November 2026.
A chocolate behind a cardboard door is fine if you are seven. For the rest of us, December deserves a mixed case of British cider and perry, opened with a little ceremony and matched to the evening in front of you. Here is a twelve-bottle orchard advent for the run-up to Christmas 2026.
Lager has had the Friday curry vote for too long. Dry orchard cider — sharp, bittersweet, keeved or wild — has the acidity, tannin and orchard backbone to take on British-Indian menus without breaking a sweat. Here is the argument, the tasting notes and a very blunt order-this-not-that guide.
Wassailing is the only British winter tradition that combines cider, soggy toast and competitive shouting at fruit trees. Here’s how to join in without becoming the cautionary tale in someone else’s orchard.
Britain’s perry pears have been quietly making some of the country’s most distinctive drinks while the rest of us reached for another bottle of apple cider. This winter, give the other orchard a seat at the table — starting with the roast pork.
A region-by-region crawl for the cold months: six British pubs with their own orchard, estate press or a neighbour with a cider shed and a handshake arrangement. Each one comes with the cider to order, a walk that earns it, and the kind of welcome that doesn't flinch at boots.
Every December somebody at the table asks for 'something white, something French' — and every December the bird loses. Here's the case for putting a dry, still Herefordshire cider next to the turkey crown, with a pairing map from smoked salmon to Stilton and three makers telling us what they actually open.
Every winter, tonnes of good British apples fall to the grass because picking them is nobody's paid job. Gleaning groups turn that windfall into shared crates, community pudding and very good cider. Here is how to join a pick in late 2026 — or start one without annoying a farmer.
Bramley has had a good run, but Britain's orchards are full of stranger, tastier characters. Here are nine varieties worth chasing in 2026, with flavour notes, kitchen uses and a shortlist of orchards and shops that still sell actual apples.