Some time ago, I reviewed the Interesting Cider, by Hoxton Cidersmiths. Though I gave it less than full marks, due to not being particularly interesting, the nice people at HC thanked me for the post, and graciously sent me samples of one of their other ciders, Harry Master’s Jersey.
I’ve been waiting for a perfect moment to review these ciders, ideally somewhere in Hoxton. However, rather than sit in the rain on my own in Hoxton Square, surrounded by hipsters, I’m at a barbecue on a sunny day in London Fields. Don’t worry, barbecues are allowed in the dedicated barbecue area, complete with fire buckets and water, just in case your barbie turns into a raging inferno.
I’ve brought my last remaining bottle of Harrys, intending to take in the ambience of the hipster-filled park. I assumed London Fields would be a good compromise, but we know where assumptions get us. I’m a little disappointed that, apart from a punk in a shiny suit, carrying a bag of leeks, it seems to be more full of creative director dads and multifunction buggies than sockless wonders with trousers turned up beyond reason. Hipsters can no longer afford the rents round here. I expect Class War will pay a visit, chucking paint on the barbecue bins, before knobbing off to spend their Nat King down Top Shop and KFC, in support of the diversity of community.
Oh well, the lack of interesting characters does not have to detract from the enjoyment of a cider. Harry Masters is a 4.5% cider, made using somerset apples (Harry Master’s Jersey variety). This one is more of what I’d expect from a cider. It has more depth and tannins, but is not too dry.
The Hoxton Cidersmiths do admit that they are not aiming to make a cider like ‘that scrumpy Grandad used to make’, and their market is the person who’s looking for an easy-drinking cider, but not bog-standard chain-pub fare. Well, Harry Masters ticks the boxes. Hoxton’s have partnered with Sheppy’s cider makers, to create something that is well on it’s way to being something Grandad would be proud of. I’d like to see it on draught. In Hoxton. Maybe it is, my turn-ups are too short to be allowed in.
Myself, we’ll I’d still like to meet their Grandad.