|There are about 37 other bottles lined up in our hallway waiting for shelving space.
It’s a sight to warm the cockles.
I’ve been remiss in updating you all on the cider progress. Bad Auntie Bulgaria. Bad.
We finally got around to bottling the cider around about the last week of October. It had stopped fizzing by then but Rob had read online that if you add a spoonful of sugar to each bottle it makes it fizzy. Sometimes the internet lies, though, doesn’t it? Instead of a fizz, we’ve ended up with more of a slight tongue tingle. But that’s alright. It’s the taste that matters.
So how does it taste? Goooood. It has pretty much the same crisp, dry taste as last year’s batch. At around 5% or so, it’s not as strong as last year’s, which is not necessarily a bad thing – after all, last year’s batch (which was about 8%) frequently stopped us sleeping when we overdid it, because it was just too headachy-strong. Delicious, but dynamite. Besides, even 5% is enough to take the edge off, well, 2016.*
Having said that, this year’s batch does seem to be getting stronger by the day. The last bottle we drank seemed more powerful than when we first bottled it. It’s probably that spoonful of sugar turning to alcohol. Who knows, in a few more weeks, it could be as strong as last year’s and we’ll have to start *shudder* drinking responsibly again.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that
The cider’s main downside is that it’s currently 2,500 km away from my liver. Yes, I’m in rainy, rainy Britain – with its unreliable trains and incessant vapers – for a pre-Christmas visit. I miss my cider and my woodburner and my cats. And Rob, of course. He stayed at home with the cider, the woodburner and the cats. At least he sends me regular cat photos to entertain me.
|Barney (right) and Pepper (left) share a rare tender moment. Usually their only interaction is him pouncing on her
from behind and her hissing at him.
|Cat owner bliss. Cat bliss. Fridge covered in cat hairs. Hygienic.|
Crap I’ve bought while in the UK
Some friends of ours have started importing British food into Bulgaria, which means I need never lug another suitcase of sweaty cheddar and illegal volumes of teabags ever again. So, I had a mercifully light, and somewhat random, expat shopping list this trip: one jar of stem ginger, a box of decaf Yorkshire Tea and a Christmas ham. (Well hello, Christmas, you sexy bastard, how did you get here so quickly?) That leaves plenty of room for the seven bowls I’ve bought while in the UK. Yes, you read that right: SEVEN bowls. And I’ve still got another six days here so that figure could rise. What’s that you say? No, no I don’t have a pottery problem. Honest, it’s totally under control.
*I went past Poundland the other day and it had big signs up saying ‘Everything 90p’. Proof, if needed, that this really is the end of days. If anyone needs me, I’ll be under the duvet in my parents’ spare room, eating Nutella and making a sort of ‘murrrrrrr’ noise.