Real cider is an acquired taste. I think I used to have it and have subsequently lost it. By “real” cider I obviously do not mean the saccharine products of the big brewers who had the nerve to invent a “traditional Irish” cider where none existed. By real cider I am referring to the artisan product, the bone dry stuff, strong in alcohol and with a powerful and savoury finish, once a noble tradition of cider making in both Kent and the west of England. I sort of get it but can’t say I really like it.

My friend Ernest is of a different persuasion. He likes traditional cider so much he has started to make it. Quite a lot of it. When he comes up to town he kindly drops off a case or two at the restaurant, accompanied, of course by an invoice commensurate with the product’s artisanal status. I can hardly say no as Ernest is a friend to whom I am eternally indebted but I do seem to have a little stockpile of the stuff. However, I have arrived at a solution.