Cider Quotes

“The ripe, the golden month has come again, and in Virginia the chinkapins are falling. Frost sharps the middle music of the seasons, and all things living on the earth turn home again... the fields are cut, the granaries are full, the bins are loaded to the brim with fatness, and from the cider-press the rich brown oozings of the York Imperials run. The bee bores to the belly of the grape, the fly gets old and fat and blue, he buzzes loud, crawls slow, creeps heavily to death on sill and ceiling, the sun goes down in blood and pollen across the bronzed and mown fields of the old October.”
― Thomas Wolfe, Of Time and the River: A Legend of Man's Hunger in His Youth

“Up until Prohibition, an apple grown in America was far less likely to be eaten than to wind up in a barrel of cider. (“Hard” cider is a twentieth-century term, redundant before then since virtually all cider was hard until modern refrigeration allowed people to keep sweet cider sweet.)”
― Michael Pollan, The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World

“It had been like swallowing a gust of October wind.”
― Stephen King, The Waste Lands

“Oh come now," Bast reproached, his smile falling away. "That's just insulting."
"By earth and stone, I abjure you!" Kote dipped his fingers into the cup by his side and flicked droplets
casually in Bast's direction. "Glamour be banished!"
"With cider?" Bast managed to look amused and annoyed at the same time as he daubed a bead of liquid
from the front of his shirt. "This better not stain.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“I am Falling in love again with autumn,
The smell of warm cider,
The orange color leaves,
Pumpkins everywhere
and the crisp breeze,
People walking or riding their bikes,
Folks jogging or going on hikes,
I love autumn for so many reasons,
I must admit-
This is my favorite season”
― Charmaine J Forde

“Three ciders deep, we swam between telling each other what our friendship meant, how much we loved each other, and comparing our taste in girls, despite me never having actually tasted one.”
― Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

“Sanna measured the apple juice into a large glass beaker and added it to the carboy, swirling a cheery red- like Santa's suit. She wrote down the amount in her notebook and did the same with the next juice, this one a bold sapphire blue, which mixed with the red into a vivid purple. When it came to cider, colors and flavors blended together for her. She knew she had the right blend when it matched the color she had envisioned. It wasn't scientific- and it didn't happen with anything else Sanna tasted- but here, with her beloved trees, it worked. She carefully tracked the blends in her journal. The sun streamed through the window, lighting up the colors in the carboy like Christmas lights. She was close- one more juice should do it. She closed her eyes, calling to mind all the juices in the barn's cooler and their corresponding colors.
Every juice she tasted from their apples had a slightly different hue, differing among individual varieties, but even varying slightly from tree to tree. When she was twenty-four, she had stood at the tall kitchen counter tasting freshly pressed juices she had made for the first time with the press she had unearthed from the old barn. Her plan had originally been to sell them in the farm stand, but she wanted to pick the best. As she sipped each one, an unmistakable color came to mind- different for each juice- and she finally understood the watercolor apple portraits above the fireplace. They were proof she wasn't the only family member who could see the colors. After she explained it to her dad, he smiled.
"I thought you might have the gift."
"You knew about this?"
"It's family legend. My dad said Grandpa could taste colors in the apples, but no one in my lifetime has been able to, so I thought it might be myth. When you returned home after college- the way you were drawn to Idun's- I thought you might have it." He had put his hands on the side of her face. "This means something good, Sanna."
"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't I know before?"
"Would you have believed me?"
"I've had apple juice from the Rundstroms a thousand times. Why can't I see that with theirs?"
"I think it has something to do with apples from our land. We're connected to it, and it to us."
Sanna had always appreciated the sanctuary of the orchard, and this revelation bonded Sanna like another root digging into the soil, finding nourishment. She'd never leave.
After a few years of making and selling apple juice, Sanna strolled through the Looms wondering how these older trees still produced apples, even though they couldn't sell them. They didn't make for good eating or baking- Einars called them spitters. Over the years, the family had stopped paying attention to the sprawling trees since no one would buy their fruit- customers only wanted attractive, sweet produce. Other than the art above the mantel, they had lost track of what varieties they had, but with a bit of research and a lot of comparing and contrasting to the watercolors and online photos, Sanna discovered they had a treasure trove of cider-making apples- Kingston Black, Ashton Bitter, Medaille d'Or, Foxwhelp, her favorite Rambo tree, and so many more. The first Lunds had brought these trees to make cider, but had to stop during Prohibition, packing away the equipment in the back of their barn for Sanna to find so many years later.
She spent years experimenting with small batches, understanding the colors, using their existing press and carboys to ferment. Then, last year, Einars surprised her with plans to rebuild the barn, complete with huge fermentation tanks and modern mills and presses. Sanna could use her talent and passion to help move their orchard into a new phase... or so they had hoped.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“This looks amazing, what is it?"
He was surprised when Bass answered instead of Einars.
"It's caramel apple bread pudding with a cider sauce."
Bass looked at Einars as he spoke and smiled when Einars nodded that he'd gotten it correct, Bass's pride obvious on his glowing face. See? He wouldn't have had this moment in San Jose- this was what they were here for- new experiences and new memories away from the complicated heartache. Some of Isaac's guilt eased the more Bass's smile widened.
"You helped make this?" Isaac said. He scooped up a large bite and his taste buds exploded with joy. Cinnamon apples and custardy bread pudding melded together with the creamy caramel sauce spiked with cider. It might be the perfect dessert. "Good job, Sharky."
Sanna leaned toward Bass across the table and whispered loudly, "You did a better job than my dad normally does."
She didn't smile or wink to undermine the verity of her words or dumb it down, just issued the straight compliment. Isaac's heart melted as Bass sat up taller in his chair. Maybe that wasn't the only reason Isaac's heart melted.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Yesterday, she had pulled out of the freezer a few special juices from the Looms that she had frozen last fall and set them in the cooler to thaw. When she had pressed them last October, they hadn't produced as much juice as the apples from younger trees, but even the raw juices by themselves were interesting and complex, layers of apple and honey and something earthier. At the time, she'd decided to save them for inspiration to strike. As she had lain in bed, though, waiting for the first rays of light, a color blossomed. A rosy pink, with a hint of coral, bold and opaque. It didn't have any sharp edges. She knew instantly it required juice from one of the Looms.
She measured and blended, noting each of the juices she used and in what combination. Two parts Rambo, one part Winesap, a half part Britegold. She sipped it, but the color was too red, almost searing. She needed something to mute it. She walked into the large freezer where she had stored some of the frozen juices and even a few bushels of frozen apples she was experimenting with.
She ran her fingers over the giant apple ice cubes in flattened Ziploc bags, closing her eyes and letting the colors emerge- green, periwinkle, sunshine yellow, and a sunset orange.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“The lasagna filled a huge roasting pan, covered in thick browned cheese that was crispy in the corners.
"Get me a corner piece, and I'll owe you one," Sanna whispered to Isaac, who sat closer to the pan.
"I'll hold you to that." He scooped the darkest corner onto her plate with a wink that caused Sanna's heart to skip. She wished she could come up with a pithy response, but instead she turned her attention to the food, unable to find her words.
The garlic bread was made from a local bakery's signature item, the giant Corsica loaf. It was slathered in sesame seeds and baked in olive oil so the bottom was crispy yet dripping. Mrs. Dibble had carved huge slices, coated each with garlic butter, then warmed it until the butter soaked in. The salad rounded it out, something light to balance all the heavy food so you could keep nibbling on lettuce to stretch the time at the table.
"Sanna, why don't you pull out a few bottles of cider for dinner?" Einars said.
Glad for distraction, Sanna brought out three large bottles she had in the fridge, all from the same batch- toasty brown. Not the most appetizing color, but it was the best match to go with a dinner like this one. It was a nearly still, unfiltered scrumpy style that was layered and complex, but not sweet and not dry. It wasn't acidic, so it didn't compete with the tomato sauce, and the subtle apple notes didn't confuse the palate with too many conflicting flavors. It was refreshing and smooth, a dark amber in color with bits of sediment floating around. She poured it into stemless glasses for each of the adults and enjoyed how the evening light got trapped, making the liquid glow when she held it up in a beam of evening summer sunlight.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“You brewed this?"
Sanna cringed at the term brew, but didn't feel like going into the difference between brewing and fermenting- so she nodded and focused on her food. That way, she couldn't pay attention to how his long fingers held the glass in his hands as he studied the color. He may as well have been studying her. She felt exposed and naked as he took another sip. Did he like it? Hate it? Not everyone liked cider, and normally she didn't care. She didn't want to care now. Instead, she built the perfect forkful of Parmesan, lettuce, and crouton rather than watch him- but that didn't stop her from hearing the clink of glass on his teeth as he took a much longer sip.
"That's astounding," he said. "It goes so much better with the meal than any red wine I've ever had." He smacked his lips and took another sip. "It really lets the food shine."
Sanna had to respond. She couldn't ignore him no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn't keep eating, then escape with a plate of dessert to the loft as she usually did. She couldn't rewind time to the beginning of the summer when she only thought about the next cider she wanted to blend. Or ignore that the memory of him washing her hands after her dad's accident had played through her mind before she'd fallen asleep every night that week.
"Thank you." That's all she could muster and hoped it would be enough. She could feel her father watching her, and Mrs. Dibble half listening to their very one-sided conversation. She sipped her own cider and enjoyed the burst of soothing rich brown that rushed her senses. Toasty really wasn't the right term. It was lush and alive, like peat or a balanced dark chocolate.
"Sanna, this is amazing." His voice was soft and rumbling as he tried to keep the conversation from prying ears and eyes. When did their chairs become so close? They had an entire table. His voice in her ear was rich, just like the cider was in her throat. She couldn't help but look at him, and his face was so close. Everything about him was rich and balanced. He was the physical embodiment of this cider. Would she discover more layers the longer she knew him? He was close enough that the flecks of gold in his eyes sparkled at her like the cider's missing effervescence. He was close enough for her to smell the cider on his breath, the color of it making her light-headed and giddy.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Isaac took a long swig from the unmarked bottle. He'd tasted her cider before, but this bottle was completely different, yet just as wonderful. The apple was more prominent, yet not sweet, almost funky but in a good, blue-cheese way. He held the bottle up to the light and could see the sediment swirling in the bottom.
"This is amazing- so different from the other one."
Sanna grinned.
"You really like Olive? I wasn't sure when I blended it. Not everyone likes the murkiness."
"Olive?"
Sanna leaned against the counter, putting her weight on her wrist as she studied him for a long moment, her eyes squinting. She took a long drink from her own bottle.
"I see colors when I make ciders. I can't explain it. Each juice has its own hue. That's what those paintings represent."
She pointed at the watercolors over the fireplace. "A new color comes to me, and I blend the juices until I can re-create it in the flavor. And this one is Olive."
"You color-code your ciders?" He struggled to understand what she was telling him.
"No." She reached across the counter and pulled her journal toward her. She opened it and handed it to Isaac. As she sipped her cider, he studied the page, then the next page, then the next. On each was a swatch of layered color, all wildly different from one another- reds, greens, teals, colors he didn't really have names for. Next to the colors were measurements, apple varieties, percentages, and flavor notes. Scribbles filled the margins and equations contained both numbers and words. Things like sugars and acidity were measured and tested. It was part recipe book, part coloring book, and part wine label, with a hint of spell book. Looking at it was like opening a tiny door into the back of her head. She saw things that no one else did, an imaginary world of cider only she could see.
"You can see the color in your head?"
"It's the easiest way to explain it. A color pops into my head, and I know what it will taste like. When I blend the different raw ciders together, I know I have it right when it matches what I've imagined.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“I'm in love with this cider. Actually all the ciders," Lou said. She had wavy, dark brown hair, and the way Al watched her- it was as if the world would end if he stopped. "You have so many different types. I would love to build a menu around it."
Sanna looked confused.
"A menu?"
"I have a restaurant in Milwaukee, and these ciders would make a fantastic pairing for a special tasting menu. For example, Toasty Dark Brown would go beautifully with roasted chicken and root vegetables- I'm thinking beets, parsnips, and fingerling potatoes- with a sauce made from the cider." She took another sip of the cider and smacked her lips- her eyes drifted off to another place, the same way Sanna's did when she envisioned new ciders. "And thyme, maybe rosemary, I'll need to play with it. Anyway, you get the idea.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“This batch is called Fudge, and you'll find it goes surprisingly well with ice cream."
Sanna took a sip and ate another bite, so Eva did the same, skeptical that a hard cider would go well with dessert. She sipped the dark amber liquid, which had a lazy effervescence. It was sweet, and the subtle fruit notes enhanced those in the hot fudge and vanilla. There wasn't any bitterness or dryness to confuse the taste buds. Closer to a port, really, but easier to drink.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“How to Taste An Apple: I find it mildly irksome to see someone eating an apple while walking down the street, unaware that a body sense event is happening, and perhaps focusing on something else entirely at the time. Ideally, one should select a fruit of known ripeness and take it with a plate and knife to a quiet place. Slice it to mouth-size portions, either all at once or as you eat, and when the slice is in the mouth, concentrate on the mouthfeel and the flavor. It may immediately enliven the taste buds or slowly unfold its complexity. Analyze the sugar, tannin, acid, and aroma of what you taste and if it is elusive do not despair: the magic of the taste of a particular variety may be its elusiveness. If given full attention, the act of eating an apple can become a mind-expanding experience.”
― Tom Burford, Apples of North America: A Celebration of Exceptional Varieties

“Their cider ain't no good either... Them apples got the sooty blotch.”
― Peter Hackshaw, The Shadow Sect