Generally, I am something of a fundamentalist when it comes to cider.  Apple or out.  Sometimes, I’ll extend my restrictions to include a pear cider, but then it has a different name––perry––and so seems like an entirely different drink.  Suddenly, though, I’ve been swayed to try cider including flavours of the English countryside––elderflower––and, today, rhubarb.  And, I must admit, it is a very refreshing drop.

Brewed by Umbrella London, it has the blushed pink, slightly cloudy colour of strained rhubarb juice, and a tangy sharpness to its flavour.

Among other previously stated requisites that I want from a pint of cider, one is that I want to have a feeling of authenticity when I am drinking it.  By that, I mean that I want to be able to believe that its ingredients have been harvested locally, picked by hand, lovingly pressed, homemade by a small brewery and available in only a limited quantity.  And, drinking this rhubarb cider, it allows me to believe.

I am not sure why I am so exacting in my standards regarding cider, when I am less scrupulous with other types of beer.  Perhaps it is because I associate cider with something to celebrate, whether it be real or imaginary: a sunny summer day; a good harvest; an unspoilt countryside.  I don’t want my bubble of joyful, natural celebration pricked by the characterless fizz of a mass-manufactured product.

Beer is different.  Beer is for all moods; all occasions.  And, as with Life, you have to take the rough with the smooth.

© Beery Sue

Beery Sue keeps her bubble unpricked.