Surely, Cider's Time Has Come Again, Right?

If Washington state is the Apple Capital of the World, shouldn't we be swimming in cider? I don't mean the amber juice you buy in gallon jugs while out picking pumpkins. I'm talking aromatic, dry-fermented hard cider, the kind that tastes like fall in a bottle.

Cider was colonial America's drink of choice. An influx of German immigrants in the mid-1800s who brought better yeasts and improved beer-making methods changed all that, however. As the 19th century progressed, the temperance movement kicked into high gear in the Northeast and the Germans spread westward, churning out lager as they settled. By the time Prohibition hit, cider was a memory.

Just as with wine grapes, cider apples have tons of tannin and don't really give up their flavor until after fermentation. Variety names such as Amère de Berthecourt, Granniwinkle, Kingston Black, and Foxwhelp read like Molière characters or the Thursday-night lineup at the Crocodile. In the 1970s, the research station at Washington State University's Mt. Vernon campus organized cider-apple experiments. The researchers determined that while eating apples grow best in Eastern Washington, cider apples display their desired characteristics best on the western side of the mountains, where our climate is similar to England's western coast and Normandy, other areas known for world-class cider.

Ron Irvine, former head of the Northwest Cider Society and current owner of Vashon Winery, has been making cider as long as anyone else in Washington. I tasted Irvine's cider last year, a bright, complex brew that made me bust out all my favorite champagne adjectives such as "yeasty goodness." I asked Irvine about cider's future amid a burgeoning foodie culture and the craving for all things local and artisan. Surely its time has come again, right? He gave me an easy laugh and said, "I've been saying that since the 1970s. But right now, it's still such a niche."

Rich Anderson, of Westcott Bay Cider in Friday Harbor, produces the only local cider that regularly shows up on store shelves; ciders like Irvine's are placed in stores on a more limited, seasonal basis. Anderson's 1,100 trees of cider apples, spread across nearly 2 acres, give him all the fruit he needs. Westcott Bay's extra-dry, English-style cider (which costs $10) makes an awesome aperitif, easily offering more nuance and flavor than a similarly priced white wine.

Once available in 22-ounce beer bottles, Westcott Bay recently switched to 750-milliliter wine bottles, a decision with great ramifications. "All cider makers would like to price their product like wine," Anderson says. That seems to be the main obstacle cider faces. Should cider be in the cold case with the beer or on the shelf with wine? I say both.

On the one hand, I understand why hard cider is a difficult sell. Most people have only known sugary drinks made from apple concentrate. Once you get people to taste real cider with food (especially cheese), they're hooked. I can't help but see the possibilities of the cider market, but possibilities don't pay the bills. "In the market, cider can only garner a certain price," says Irvine. "It's nearly impossible to pay a grower what cider apples are worth and make much of a profit." (Hearing him, I snarkily thought: If you were a winemaker, you'd just jack up your price.) Local cider is just behind the curve, but if we could recruit a few more cider makers, retailers might clear a shelf. Hey, rich guy going through a midlife crisis? Plant orchards, not vineyards.

mdutton@seattleweekly.com

Westcott Bay ciders are available at all area Whole Foods stores. Vashon Winery cider is available at the source (www.vashonwinery.com). For more info and cider tidbits, visit our blog, Voracious.