I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I started the pear cider from local fresh pressed juice. I knew I was going let it sit longer than I have the other cyders, but my original plan was to let it condition six months and bottle in June. Instead it’s eleven months later and September.
Cydering helps one note such passages of time. That can be good, when it helps you slow down and take stock, and bad, when it reminds you how quickly it seems to be passing. And sometimes, like this with the pear cider, it reminds me how busy the last few months have been. But we’ll get to that.
As usual, we got six pints out of the jug. Just in time to taste test and figure out if we’re buying more juice for another batch. Yet again, the house is divided over whether or not this is a keeper. I like it, with its bite and ever-so-slight hint of pear. J. is less convinced of its attributes. Of course, upon the second sip (and third and fourth, and so on) it grew on her.
You may have noticed the clutter and new backgrounds. That’s because the Cydery (and us and the rest of our stuff) has a new home. An eighteenth-century one.
A new place means starting fresh, which translates to having no idea where the Cydery will be. I’ve already promised not to put it in the bathroom. I was hoping the basement, which would be a fitting place to make historically-inspired cyder. However, it needs a bit of work.
I wonder how many cyders will have come and gone by the time I get to cleaning this up?