Social Juice
Skye Plotter - 14 July 2022
On the 2nd of July 2022, something unusual happened, called Pressed. It was one of those zeitgeisty things, bringing together a dozen or more emerging cider makers in the first celebration of Scottish craft cider making since the Reformation. You could speculate as to why this is even a thing. Is it something to do with the spirit of possibility that came with Devolution? Was it a climate change creative urge? Maybe all it needed was an inspirational innovator, and was that Thistly Cross or Waulkmill Cider? Whatever the spur, the last ten years have seen about 20 garden shed experiments turn into garagiste enterprises, from places as diverse as the Ayrshire Riviera and Aberdeen, the Black Isle and Dumfriesshire, and all points in between.
Why is this important? Firstly, all of them use surplus apples and are connected to local growing, most have a commitment to a low intervention, natural product, and exist at the other end of the spectrum from the multi-national chemical plants that churn out bland, sweetened, and diluted fare found in pubs. I kid you not, the average industrial cider maker is allowed to use as little as 35% apple juice. Pressed is about honesty and authenticity, enterprise and creativity, with 100% juice. It's like comparing Tennant's Lager with craft beer.
For me it's also about reclaiming a bit of our past and exploring the incredible diversity we used to have. The Clyde Valley and Carse of Gowrie were famous for tree fruit, with dozens of local apple and pear varieties gracing local shops and markets, but most places with a decent bit of sunshine would have had orchards with dozens of different trees suited to the climate, and glorious names like Bloody Ploughman or The Green Pear of Yair. Now in our sterile supermarkets there is no choice. We have one cooking apple, the Bramley, about a half dozen dessert apples, and two pears. So is there any way back?
Well, of course, and this brings me to Social Juice. It was missing at Pressed, mostly because it doesn't have anything to sell yet, but in place of bottles we have trees, and we have community.
The genesis of Social Juice can be traced back to a snug in Ma Cameron's, Aberdeen, in a Common Weal local group trying to stop a waste incinerator. Drawing inspiration from circular economy activists and food charities like CFINE, it seemed common sense to take domestic or community surplus apples and supermarket fruit waste and up-cycle it into juice, cider, and vinegar for sale. Creating an income stream for community and third sector environmental and circular economy projects, and to support planting community orchards, would be its own virtuous circle.
Then the practicalities kicked in. It turns out, the cooking apples that most people grow in their back gardens, and the bland fruit prettifying supermarket shelves are difficult to make into something worth drinking or in fact anything of value. A good cider, juice or vinegar needs a blend of sweet, sharp, aromatic and bitter apples, with an emphasis on the last two. But those classic and complex cider varieties wouldn't grow well north of the Hadrian's Wall, it's just too wet, too cold, too windy and let's face it, just so not Somerset. I've been told this by England's greatest living cider expert, so it must be true. I guess the message is: stick to beer.
But, if you are a bit of a romantic, suffused with the spirit of possibility, constitutionally or meteorologically driven, it's almost an article of faith, an hommage to the word “thrawn” for you to plant them anyway. Sod it, it's understood that wine varieties are at their best when stressed to their geographical limits, so why not apples? I'm standing on the shoulders of giants here, whether it be Ryan Sealey and his dad in the Highlands, or the three Dave's in Aberdeenshire. They were obdurate, and stuck Kingston Black, Tremlett's Bitter, and Dabinett, even Gloucestershire perry pears in the ground, in tough places to grow anything. The result? Yes, smaller apples and pears, a lighter crop, but just as full of complexity and sugar.
Social Juice had its pathfinders. We might not be at the stage of making cider commercially but we can graft and create orchards to build a viable and long-lived social enterprise. Second practicality: land is expensive and hard to come by, so we did think about guerilla planting. It has a hint of danger about it, wanton greening of our road networks, a rebellion in high-viz jackets, pretending to be the guys from the Council. What about all those stupid bits of land left over from dual carriageways, or odd slabs of boring green in cities? It even raised the possibility of spreading trees across land banks hoarded by mega-builders or greedy land-speculators? Swashbuckling it might have been, but if you want ease of harvesting and protection from deer, it needs to be more concentrated, organised and looked after. Luckily, there's a community growing revolution going on, and collaborations with local groups and social enterprises have been our saviour. Why not support local groups to grow cider apples on a range of smaller sites across the North East or even Scotland as a virtual, dispersed community fruit farm? It could be huge. I mean really huge.
Let's return to those dozen or more cider makers at Pressed, enjoying that genesis moment at the start of what feels like a movement more than an industry. Every one of them is looking for local fruit because they need orchards and modest scale to become financially secure, and they are everywhere. By their very nature these cider makers are social animals. They share rather than complete. Some like Social Juice are founded on communitarian principles. Stepping back, it looks more mutual aid than capital red in tooth and claw. And does this present an opportunity for communities? If you have a community project with land that would take some fruit trees, and you have money, support John Hancox at Scottish Fruit Trees or other local suppliers, buy their trees. If you are penniless, get in touch: socialjuice21@gmail.com or text 07765196379.
The last two years, despite or perhaps because of lockdown, have seen a transformation - more on this next week.