Perhaps the oddest cultural movement of the last few years, aside from the popularity of books ‘written’ by Jordan or the encroaching universal sense of impending doom, is the repositioning of cider from hearty drink of rural labourers to an aspirational gourmet product with the metrosexual status previously enjoyed by things like sushi or Toni and Guy.

When you think about this, it’s a smart move by those involved. Booze has, for thousands of years, been defined along gender lines in the way perceptively identified by Al Murray’s Pub Landlord- pint for the fellas, fruit based drink for the ladies. Therefore, all booze was ultimately restricting itself to half the possible market as all women who drunk pints were eyed with the same suspicion as any bloke would be if they were spotted quaffing Bacardi. The No Man’s Land between the two was small and clearly marked ‘Shandy’.

Cider was the one drink ideally placed to appeal to both markets- as it comes in pints for the chaps but has the requisite fruit content which would attract the female drinker. (Before anyone writes in to complain about such crude stereotyping, I’m aware that this is actually nonsense and that plenty of women enjoy nothing more than a nice pint of ale. I mean they’re all weird gender-traitors but they’re out there and I’m aware of them)

So in recent times cider makers have added a few new fruits to their range (Pear! Strawberry! Pear and Strawberry!) and gone in for the kill. Possibly the most successful has been Jacques by Bulmers which comes in two flavours- ‘Fruits des bois’, which is basically French for ‘berries’ and ‘Orchard fruits’ which is English for ‘stuff that grows on trees’.

Some Jacques. Yesterday

Drinks like this are mainly aimed at the summer market so it seemed like the appropriate thing to do would be to try one in a beer garden on a hot August day. Unfortunately, this plan was scuppered by a) it not being a hot August day and b) me still being unsure what the concensus is on whether Jacques is an acceptable drink for a bloke in a Northern pub- especially the one near me where the primary activities within are discussing rugby league, cursing and sweating.

Therefore I decided to go somewhere hot and girly it up to see if this is the drink that could finally break down the gender divide and truly appeal across the sexes. It was time for a nice, steamy bath.

The drink itself is very, very fruity and clearly designed to appeal to anyone who doesn’t like an alcoholic taste in anything they drink. It’s eerily reminiscent of Apple and Blackcurrant Capri Sun which my mum always put in my packed lunch when I was going up and so lending the drink a misty-eyed, nostalgic quality as well. I’ve got to say it was absolutely lovely and, for a while, the sweetness was brilliantly refreshing in hot water.

A bath. Images of me drinking Jacques in a bath are available at www.chunky-bathers.co.uk

Then, the sweetness turned to stickiness which, combined with the dehydrating heat of the bath, unleahsed a kind of oral armageddon on my unsuspecting self. Everything in there was desperately clinging to everything else in a sort of clammy group hug between teeth, tongues and gums. It was fruity in there, sure, but also desperately uncomfortable. Imagine a tense family meal involving a teenage son’s outing that takes place on a strawberry plantation and you’ll kind of get the drift.

I desperately wanted a bitter shandy or a G&T but I soldiered on with the Jacques. The feeling of having a drink in a nice relaxing bath was actually very pleasant- a few of lifes luxuries coming together to make things a little nicer and take my mind off whatever. Unfortunately, as my cares slipped away, was forced to focus entirely on the fact that the fruit cider was trading off refreshing fruity pleasantness for the ability to swallow or produce any saliva whatsoever. An hour or so later I was both completely unwound from the bath and the alcohol as well as delrious with dehydration for pretty much the same reason.

And what of the drink itself? Does it unite the genders in the way that the marketing men clearly hope? Well, a spot of research suggests that there’s no real difference in the ability of men or women to deal with fruity booze sand-blasting all the moisture out of their gobs. Of course, this might just be a consequence of me knocking it back in a steamy bath. If you drink it somewhere that isn’t boiling hot it’s probably lovely.

So, whether or not it appeals to both boys and girls, it’s at least achieved one of it’s aims. It’s the ideal British summer drink.

The day: 6
The drink: Jacques Fruit des Bois
The place: The bath
Positives: Drinking in the bath is actually a nice way to unwind
Negatives: Dear God this stuff makes your mouth get sticky
Conclusion: Ideal drink for British summer, not ideal for hot places.

Bath · Bulmers · Cider · Fruit · Jacques

Does anyone drink supermarket own-brand booze? I ask because it seems there are certain products where people just aren’t willing to buy the stuff made by the shops themselves, who cobble together their own version of the leading brands and sell them a little bit cheaper. Baked beans, for example are a no-go; as is cereal. This is not to even mention the crimes committed by Asda and Tesco in the name of my beloved chocolate digestives.

And alcohol is another one of those areas where own brand products are to be absolutely avoided unless at gunpoint at the very least. Once, in a week at University close to the end of term and therefore with the student loan already well burnt through, I attempted to take a swing at getting drunk on Tesco bitter. It was beyond awful. One of the people I was with stated that it tasted of nothing. Wrong. It tasted of shame.

But then we come to the Co-op who have taken a different, cleverer turn in this area. Their own brand ales are brewed for them by such folk as Thwaites and Freeminer and are therefore at least attempting to get on the right side of lovely- not entirely successful if Richard’s lonesome experience yesterday is anything to go by. Today, I’m turning my attention to their cider and drinking it in my garden shed.

Here’s why: the Co-Operative has always tried to inhabit the notions of working people joining together in collective endeavours for the benefit of all. And where do men go to do their finest work? In the shed. Their beloved sheds. Women don’t have this association with sheds but the world of cider is making it’s own strides to address issues of gender roles in contemporary society. I’ll get to that in a few days time.

For now though, to the shed and to the drink.

The cider in the shed. Accompanied by genuine sense of homecoming.

Straight off the bat, it’s refreshing- tingly rather that fizzy, a little bit sharp and then a sour kick right at the death. It kind of occupies the middle ground between mass produced ciders and traditional scrumpies- as indicated with it’s strength of 6% which will certainly do the job but is nowhere near the mind-bending potency of the cloudier, flatter stuff. This makes it all the better for sloshing back while sheltering in the garden shed from a minor summer rainstorm which is exactly how I came to be drinking this particular bottle. I’d been dimly aware of approaching rain and decided to get a move on give the lawn a much-needed mow ASAP before it came. However, by the time I’d untangled the extension cord- which had been tidily rolled up with absolute precision by myself a month earlier and had remained utterly untouched since and yet STILL came out resembling something MC Esher would draw while pissed- the clouds had gone that heavy threatening grey shade which is the official colour of August in Britain. I charged around the lawn at speed but was still caught short by the weather- meaning I had to immediately fling the extension cable into the shed (literally undoing all the good work I’d done untangling it moments before) and dive in for cover after it.

This left me sweaty, angry and looking at a lawn which was only cut on one side and therefore appearing to do an impression of Phil Oakey from the Human League. So I cracked open the bottle and then it hit me; don’t ask me how it does it but cider is the taste of male bonhomie and endeavour. By the way, when I say ‘cider’ I mean the proper stuff, not Strongbow which is the taste of truants in a bus shelter.

Somehow the sweetness of the apple and the sourness from the fermentation just gives it the flavour of that collective working spirit I mentioned earlier that so sums up both the Co-op and the garden shed. I pondered this for a while as I drained the bottle and the rain passed before, emboldened by now following in the drinking tradition of good, honest outdoor toil, I set back to finish mowing the rest of the lawn.

Unfortunately, I forgot to consider the fact it had been raining so the wet grass of the lawn clogged up the mower and the fact I’d had a bit of a drink meant that a certain amount of precision was removed from my grass cutting technique. Soon the garden was no longer impersonating Phil Oakey and had instead moved on to a passing resemblance to the lead singer of A Flock of Seagulls.

And so, by drinking this cider in the shed I’d learned two things. I’d learned how this drink, in this place, summed up the spirit of good British graft in the fields. And, after knocking it back, I’d learned why we never really manage to get anything much done anymore.

The day: 2.
The drink: Co-op Tillington Hills Premium Cider, 6%
The place: My garden shed
Positives: Chimed in with the heart of British arable workers and their enduring spirit via a very nice and drinkable cider.
Negatives: My lawn is now a right mess, the extension cable’s all tangled up again.
Conclusion: Drink in a shed  by all means.  Just do the gardening first.

Cider · Co-Op · freeminer · Garden shed · Thwaites

Approximately 10 years ago, back in the deep murky past there was a community site known collectively as the “pants site”. It was the glue which held our collective friendship together as we all started drifting away towards university, jobs and general life.

As was the case on the Internet this site was a portal to all our personal websites which were a product of their times; badly coded oversized images and woefully short of readership. I too had such a site, but my site had something special. A seed; a germination, if you please, of a single idea which bore a single fruit.

In 2001; I had this intention of trying, and reviewing beer and writing my thoughts on said matter. This idea was snapshot and remains for all eternity on the web archive. At the time I thought it was a great idea however the process was not as well thought out as it is now. Generally when I started to appreciate a decent pint I was quickly appreciating a kebab before appreciating my bed after a stagger home. In short whilst I enjoyed the taste of beer in my youth I enjoyed getting leathered far more and was in little to no mood in writing about what I remembered about my experiences the day after.

So my idea was left to fade; in fact only one review was ever done – a review by a certain “Ronnie C”; whom we all know now as the alter ego of our very own Richard Carr.

This is my first article on badpoo and I thought it fitting to start off with a quote, a quote of the first review of an alcoholic beverage done by the badpoo community, or as we were then termed “The Pants Site™’”

May the pants be with you

I AM A ZIDER DRINKER

It is true, I am a cider drinker. I’m not one of these people who drink mild all night then has a quick pint of Strongbow for a change – I drink it all the time. In fact, I love cider. When I first started drinking, I was on all kinds of weird shit, because I went off beer pretty quickly – vodka, whisky, benedictine, bottled shit… then one day I found myself in a country pub in the middle of nowehere, that basically served three drinks. Beer, beer and cider. Not being a beer man (a half makes me sick), it was an easy choice.

The last time I drank cider was at a friend’s leaving party sort-of-thing, and I’d only been drinking for a few months. I must have had about ten pints of the shit, though to be honest I can’t remember much past stumbling home from the Malt & Hops and falling asleep in front of the toilet.

This was a different experience though. It was the first time I’d really held a pint glass, and it was great. Pint glasses are so much better than poncey shorts glasses – they’re manly, they’re cool, you can strut around the place with one in your hand and feel good. Since that day, cider has been pretty much all I drink. I’ve found about four main classes of cider so far.

SCRUMPY – any home- or farm-made cider. The genuine article. Fuck man, drink a flagon of this shit and you’ll be 100% fucked in no time. Plus, it tastes like apples and it has loads of little appley-bits in. Westside. On the downside, it can be expensive and the best stuff lives in Somerset, Devon and Cornwall.

TOP CLASS SHIT – Scrumpy Jack, Bulmer’s. The elite, the best you can get. You have to pay for it, but boy, is it worth it. These are about the only commercial ciders you actually get the taste of apples in, beyond genuine scrumpy.

COMMERCIAL STUFF – the ciders you get served in every pub. Mainly Strongbow and Woodpecker, but there are a couple of other makes that are pretty similar, like Red C (not bad, not amazing). You can’t expect more than this on a night out, so get used to it. By no means bad, but becomes a bit repetitive after a while.

THE PISS – white cider. White Lightning, Strike! and any of the other millions of cheap shit brands you find in 24/7 shops. Typically about £2 for 2 litres, you really do get what you pay for (unfortunately). There isn’t anything to recommend about these, because they taste like paint stripper and smell like wank. But they are really cheap and most people will get really, really pissed off a bottle. Good for a cheap night in and precursor to getting stoned.

Thus concludes my guide to being a cider drinker. Summary: if you’re looking for the good stuff, get a four-pack of Scrumpy Jack if no genuine scrumpy is at hand. The cheaper alternatives are Strongbow and Woodpecker, depending on taste, but of you’re on an economy drive, White Lightning can’t be beaten (for price).

Don’t forget about the Dre.

Beers · Cider · dre · internet · pants · richard · time

After a horrific weekend experience of ‘going out’ in the way that many people seem to actively enjoy but which I can’t help feeling is a sign of mental illness (crowded clubs, 4 deep at the bar, extortionate prices, ear-bleeding music, toilets ankle deep in piss etc.) tonight has provided a welcome opportunity for a quiet drink at home in front of the telly.

This evening’s entertainment is the Olympic Men’s Ice Hockey final between the USA and Canada which, I’ve got to say, is proving to be a superb spectacle- mostly because the actual playing of the sport seems to be secondary to everyone trying to clatter their nearest opponent into the rink-side plexiglass at every available opportunity.

Now the obvious choice of beverage to accompany this event would be an ice cold North American beer of some description but this would be hamstrung by the fact that major beers from that part of the world are, to quote Eric Idle’s immortal line, “like making love in a canoe” (i.e. fucking close to water). There’s a few interesting drinks coming out of some of the smaller American and Canadian brewers but my local Co-op seems unwilling to stock these at the moment so there goes that plan.

Therefore, I’m taking this opportunity to try something bold; drinking cider in the wintertime (which sounds a little like a euphemism from an Alan Bennett monologue: “Well, Percy often turned his nose up ay my macaroons, though the rumours in the village were that he enjoyed drinking cider in the wintertime” [Warm Cobbles; 1983]). Cider or scrumpy are, of course, among the ultimate summer drinks- offering as they do an unrivalled combination of fruity refreshment and thirst-quenching lightness. Though this is allied to the potentially dangerous combination of being deceptively easy drinking yet infused with mind-bending alcohol levels. Everyone needs to have had one of those days in a sweltering beer garden where the first neck-wetting pint is swiftly despatched and followed up by two more in quick succession before the ability to walk or even blink in unison is lost for the rest of the day.

But it’s many months since we’ve had weather like that and it’ll be a while before it’s back which means I haven’t had a cider for ages. It’s just not felt right since the sun and warmth buggered off. So I’ve put my prejudice to one side and indulged in a bottle of Henry Weston’s Vintage Special Reserve- clocking in at 8.2% and available in most places with a decent bottled beer selection- to see if it’s pleasure is still intact at the end (hopefully) of this cold, cold winter we’ve had.

Well the first thing to report is that it still tastes as nicely balanced as ever- neither too tangy or dry, a little bit of sweetness and the real bite of the apple coming through on the finish. The light fizz is there which, for me, makes cider inferior to the refreshing flatness of scrumpy but at least this effort lacks the almost sherbert tartness that ruins pretty much all of the more mainstream ciders.

However. Without the need to quench a thirst and now being drunk just for the pleasure of a beverage, I’m getting the phenomenon of ‘furry tongue’ with alarming speed here. It’s usually about three pints of beer before the feel of a dry, rough tongue becomes noticable and I’m pretty sure that cider doesn’t have that effect so quickly when the sun is high in the sky but I’m only halfway through a bottle and already I feel like the inside of my gob needs a shave. I can only think this is being caused by the fact that, with the refreshing properties of the drink diminished by the current weather, a large part of the experience has actually been compromised and therefore I’m free to notice the more negative effects it’s having on the inside of my face.

I could try to mull the cider but this, as far as I can figure out, involves a saucepan, half a spice-rack and low-to-moderate witchcraft and I can’t be bothered with any of those. So I suppose the finding of this little experiment is that yes it is still worth drinking cider in the wintertime- but only if you have the one bottle. Which, at 8.2%, means it’s probably the most sensible way to consume it.

It just isn’t the best way.

Cider · Westons