Apple of My Eye — Foxwhelp
My first taste of a Foxwhelp cider was a memorable one.
Stood with my friend and Pellicle colleague Matthew Curtis, Ross-on-Wye Cider and Perry’s Albert Johnson, and Cath Potter and Dick Withecombe (formerly) of Cider Buzz Manchester at the cider bar of the 2020 Manchester Beer and Cider festival, Matthew and I were handed a small taste each of Albert’s keg-conditioned, single variety Foxwhelp cider.
“Delicious pain” were the words I used to describe how it tasted, once my lips had returned from their journey inward, such was the explosion of acidity in that first sip. Albert, Cath, and Dick chuckled as we puckered and spluttered in surprise. It was, despite our expressions to the contrary, a delight.
That was, without doubt, the most highly distilled example of the Foxwhelp cider apple variety I’ve ever tasted, with a pin-bright acidity (one not unlike the sharpest lambic or gueuze) and a very clean, but rather complex, expression. Though the stinging slap to my palate subsided a touch on subsequent tastes, the malic acid content of the cider continued to disguise the other main characteristic of this extremely characterful apple: its bitterness.
Amongst notes of strawberry and raspberry, a little citrus, (perhaps paradoxically) sweet and juicy apple notes, and a definitive dryness, sits a tannic quality easily overshadowed by the acid. It is classified as a bittersharp apple, after all.
““The tannin is definitely a big part of why it’s so good.””
“It does have a serious amount of tannin. It’s not astringent tannin—if you compare it to an Ashton Brown Jersey or a Tremlett’s Bitter, it doesn’t have that dryness,” Albert explains. “And that’s what makes it work as a single variety because it’s very hard to separate the two flavours. The acid leads straight into the tannin and then lingers for so long so you don’t really notice the finish, but the tannin is definitely a big part of why it’s so good.”
***
The convention of naming cider apples is a striking one. To me, there seems to be as much rhyme and reason in the naming of our beloved fruit as there is in the naming of rural villages—Slack-ma-Girdle, Improved Hangdown, Yellow Willy, or Brown Snout might all find themselves most at home in Bedlam Bottom or Upton Snodsbury (near the River Piddle). Clearly, the jester charged with naming villages and hamlets also had a crack at some apple varieties.
While this simply appears to be yet another peculiar English semantic quirk—in contrast, the strangest names of American apple varieties include the much more sensible Jonathan, and Strawberry—some are highly useful in their descriptiveness. Ball’s Bittersweet is, as the name suggests, bittersweet in character. Somerset Redstreak is so named for the distinctive red stripe on its skin. Foxwhelp, which could also be a lovely village in the heart of the West Country, is perhaps the most fitting of names: its sharp, zinging acidity is enough to make even the hardiest bin-marauder whelp in surprise.
Illustrations by Laurel Molly
The pomologist and fruit historian Joan Morgan notes in The New Book of Apples: The Definitive Guide to Over 2000 Varieties that Foxwhelp was believed to have originated near a fox’s ‘earth’ or den; early progenitors of the variety may well have been munched on and tossed around by gambolling fox whelps, or cubs.
Foxwhelp is one of the oldest-known apples used in cidermaking: it’s said to have been first recorded in 1600, though the earliest surviving mentions are in Ralph Austen’s A Treatise on Fruit-trees in 1653 and John Evelyn’s Pomona of 1664. A little over a decade later, in 1676, John Worlidge describes Foxwhelp in Vinetum Britannicum as “esteemed among the choice Cider-fruits”.
“There’s two types of Foxwhelp, even though most of the Pomonas record about five—that’s just because they didn’t have DNA analysis, but analysis in the last two years has confirmed that actually there’s only two different types,” Albert says.
“There’s Broxwood Foxwhelp, [also known as] Bulmer’s Foxwhelp, or Red Foxwhelp, or Old Foxwhelp—and that’s what we have on the farm—and then there’s an improved Foxwhelp, which is slightly different.”
It’s said to have originated in the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire—though some query whether the variety is quite the same as that first “choice cider-fruit”, given the variety’s predilection for mutation—and has been cultivated across the area (with particular prevalence in Herefordshire) since the 17th century.
““‘Delicious pain’ were the words I used to describe how it tasted.””
“There’s no way to say for sure if it’s the same tree, as there’s so many different names that it’s been given,” Albert tells me. “It stands to reason that it is, as it’s such a characterful apple: from the moment that someone discovered it, it would have been highly prized.”
There’s even a theory that the famed Herefordshire Redstreak was indeed Foxwhelp, a theory backed up by Foxwhelp’s characteristic red streak in its skin, and one Albert says holds water. “There’s all these different Foxwhelps, and everyone always talks about how the Redstreak used to be so highly prized in Herefordshire but it died out; what if the Redstreak was just Foxwhelp, and at some point in time they forgot?”
***
The reasons for Foxwhelp’s status as a highly-prized and significant apple are, to Albert at least, twofold. First is its position in the history and tradition of cidermaking—something of great import not only due to the lost history of cidermaking in the Three Counties of Gloucestershire, Herefordshire, and Worcestershire (maps from the early 19th century show the area covered in orchards now long gone), but also as a resource to inform the new wave of British cidermaking.
“It’s really special to make a cider from a variety that has been looked after and treasured for 400 years and however many generations that is,” Albert says. “If you’re a cidermaker from Herefordshire of course you want to make cider from Foxwhelp, because that is the tradition of this place, and it’s what grounds you and reminds you where the thing that you love has come from.”
“As fun as it is to say you’re a really modern, innovative cidery making ciders no one has ever made before,” he continues, “the fact is that if you’re making single variety Foxwhelp, someone’s been doing that same thing for aeons, long before fancy wording or 750ml bottles. It’s really cool to be carrying that tradition on.”
The second reason for Foxwhelp’s significance—and its recent resurgence in popularity—is simply the character of the apple. Its bold flavour, wickedly sharp acidity, strong but rounded tannins, and robust structure means it simply makes a great cider, either as a single variety expression or in its more common use in a blend—as little as 10% Foxwhelp in a blend can dramatically elevate even the most lacklustre cider to something that’s bursting with fruit.
“The best thing is when you have a really, really good Foxwhelp, it’s not just about the piercing acidity,” Albert says. “It’s about what flavour is unlocked because that acidity is so high. Then you have this really rich strawberry, raspberry, red fruit flavour that is just unlike anything else.”
It is for these reasons that this remarkable, arresting, and only momentarily offensive apple is enjoying a little more attention of late. It has, of course, been beloved by cidermakers and drinkers for centuries, but with a greater number of people enjoying the bracing acidity of sour beer than ever before, makers like Albert are finding new fans of their Foxwhelp ciders.
“Its moment in the spotlight as a single variety is something that has happened in the past couple of years,” he says. “But the single varieties are growing: there’s Little Pomona’s Solera Foxwhelp and they’re doing a new blend, Tom Oliver has given in after years of complaining that anyone who drank single variety Foxwhelp was stupid, he’s released at least two in the last year. Single variety Foxwhelp is an experience, but it can be a really nice one.”
