We’re sad to say that The Cider Hole closed its doors for the last time in May 2023. We’d like to wish Mike and co. the very best for the future.

***

When you read the phrase “artisan cider”, what springs to mind?

Sun-dappled orchards by winding country lanes? Ramshackle barns with tankards filled from wooden barrels? Melodious West Country accents carried on a warm breeze?

Even if you eschew such stereotypes, your first thought probably isn’t of a metal box overlooking Sheffield’s ring road. However, this is exactly what you’ll find at The Cider Hole—a 24-seat bar built inside a shipping container as an offshoot of one man’s quest to promote cider in the Steel City.

You don’t need to listen to founder Mike Pomranz—drinks writer, DJ, former stand-up comedian, and now cidermaker and bar owner—for long to realise he’s not from South Yorkshire. Mike grew up near Philadelphia, and his US connection is evident from the underground hip-hop records stacked atop a curved, silver apple-crusher inside the bar-meets-cidery.

But Mike’s attachment to his adopted city is equally evident in three large plastic fermenters at the opposite end of the container. Because when he decided to sell his own cider, he didn’t just order materials from England’s traditional cider heartlands.

Instead he appealed locally for unwanted fruit, and ended up picking apples from 31 Sheffield gardens, which he processed into 600l of juice inside his 8ft-wide unit. Even with the equipment tucked to one side, the Cider Hole’s seating comprises opposing wooden benches, plus two deckchairs on a strip of artificial grass.

When I discovered the bar was opening, I was curious about a potentially distinct option in a city blessed with cask ale and classical pubs. I’ve never been an avid cider drinker, but on my first trip I was recommended one which tasted like boozy marmalade, followed by a delicious Danish sparkling rhubarb wine. Every time I’ve visited, I’ve talked with someone I didn’t know, and been educated on subjects ranging from “most famous Canadians” to the potential hazards of home brewing.

For Mike, that potential for conversation is vital to making sure craft cider has a future; a cause he’s supported to the point of apple-induced injuries.

“I still like beer better,” he cheerfully tells me. “Even though I make cider and own a cider bar!”

Which begs the question: why does he care so much about cider? I sat down for a chat with Mike to find out.

***

Martin Flynn: You’ve written about beer for 15 years, but when was the first time you got excited about cider?

Mike Pomranz: I drank ciders occasionally, but never thought much about them. Then, in 2015, I got the opportunity to start covering cider, and went to an event in New York called Cider Feast.

The first booths I tried were fine, but finally I got to Shacksbury Cider, and they had one which was a partnership between them and Patritegi, a Basque ciderhouse in Spain.

It blew my mind. Basque ciders tend to be still, tart, funky and lemon-like. That was the first time I thought: “Woah, this is very unique and interesting. Cider isn’t what I’ve been told— it can be other things.”

That was kind of the inspiration behind making my own cider [Mike’s Exemption Ciderhouse label] and opening the ciderhouse. I import my Basque cider from Zapiain, and it’s on the front page of our menu.

MF: You moved to Sheffield from Brooklyn in 2016. How does North America’s cider scene compare to the UK?

MP: When you sell artisan cider in the US, you deal with a lot of ignorance, as less than 1% of all alcohol sales there are cider. But, that also gives you a blank canvas with which to explain it to people.

In the UK, you deal with a lot of prejudice, because people already know cider, or at least think they do. You kind of have to rewire them: that it's not something you buy in a two-litre bottle when you're 16 years old, [or] something you can only get in some West Country barn.

Part of the cool thing in America is that cidermakers have had the opportunity to start fresh. A lot of people getting into it were [previously] winemakers; you're seeing people take a more refined approach to cider.

““In the UK, you deal with a lot of prejudice, because people already know cider, or at least think they do.””

— Mike Pomranz, The Cider Hole

MF: Some in the drinks industry feel recent enthusiasm for cider may have been a bubble which has now burst, and that traditional cidermakers who have campaigned for British cider for decades aren’t thrilled that new producers are getting favourable coverage. What are your thoughts?

MP: To not step on any toes, let's talk about the equivalent in America, because I think the American booze scene has generally been a few steps ahead of the British scene [...] certainly with beer, cider, hard seltzer, even canned cocktails.

I think some people who got excited about cider are seeing the reality as far as sales are concerned. Inside the industry it might result in frustration, a bit of: “Where was this moment heading?”

For those outside, it's easy to say: “That was cool. What's next?” If there aren't constantly new craft cideries and intrigue in cider [...] I can see why people aren't latching onto it.

I think that’s why it comes back to reframing what cider is. If we want to build a cider culture, we need to bring new people into the cider category. And that's a lot of work, whether it's producers convincing drinkers, bar owners convincing drinkers, or even drinkers convincing friends.

MF: After making cider at home for several years, you decided in 2021 to try to sell some in Sheffield. Why were you keen to use locally salvaged fruit?

MP: After the 2006 Cider Feast, I went to Shacksbury and saw them making foraged apple cider [and] it was super inspiring. I always say there's literally alcohol hanging from the trees if you're willing to grab it, press it and let it ferment [laughs].

I was intrigued by the art of producing it, and felt that taking random apples added to that mystique. I’ve done a lot of home brewing, but beer is very scientific; it starts with a recipe. In cidermaking, you’re selecting certain apple varieties, but generally there's a bit more alchemy to it.

People joked that I was getting the apples for free, and to be honest, there was an appeal to that. But picking is labour; you realise why people want to give these apples away, because it takes time.

Still, why are these apples worth nothing? This is a time where people are dealing with food insecurity, where we're paying ridiculous prices for one thing while other types of produce have no value.

MF: What were the highlights and challenges of the production process?

MP: It's cool to go to some random house and not know what kind of tree you're going to find. Sometimes you'll wander in and it's just the simple pleasure of being outdoors, on a warm day, picking fruit.

In one garden there were eight apple varieties I hadn’t seen anywhere else: eating apples, red-fleshed apples, some weird little yellow cherry apples. I started talking to the person who lived there and they didn’t know much, other than that the previous owner had planted eight trees there and eight in the garden next door.

So, someone obviously cared enough to plant her own mini-orchard in the middle of Sheffield. Sometimes you’re picking apples and you’re literally almost brought to tears, like, this was some woman’s dream, and there’s a whole history to that. Apple trees don’t grow overnight.

What I didn't quite wrap my head around was the literal hauling of apples. The worst part was the juicing, which with my equipment was not very automated. After one session, my left arm was numb for two days. I had [to get] acupuncture to get it fixed.

***

This seems like a natural place to pause and mention the results of Mike’s work.

Cool Neighbours is a cider made entirely from Sheffield apples. and named for the 80 respondents to his social media plea for fruit (he only had time to visit 31 gardens). It has a wine-like texture and is smooth and mellow, with a hint of funkiness.

Too Many Fucking Apples reflects that the local bounty was too abundant for a single fermenter. It features pears alongside several apple types, and the result is full bodied with notes of grapefruit pith. It lingers on the palate, and is my favourite of the three.

Ask Albert combines 25% Sheffield juice with 75% juice from Herefordshire’s Ross-on-Wye Cider & Perry Company. Billed as the closest to a traditional British cider, it’s darker than its Sheffield siblings and to me its crisp sweetness seems more obviously drawn from apples.

***

MF: What was your aim for The Cider Hole?

MP: When I realised I’d have these dead months when I wasn’t making cider, I thought, why not turn it into a bar where we can highlight other producers? There’s all these ciders you can’t get many places in Sheffield, if at all, so let’s give them a home. And if cideries want to come and promote in Sheffield, I want them to know they have somewhere they can serve or talk about their products.

MF: What has the reaction been from customers?

MP: Getting people in the door can be tricky, because I think a lot of people might have a different idea of what “The Cider Hole” means. But about 80% of people really do tend to love it. Because there’s hopefully something interesting going on, and we can engage in drinking of all sorts.

MF: Some people worry about elitism with “craft” products; being snobbish or exclusive. Is that something you're conscious of?

MP: We stock Pabst Blue Ribbon, because I'm American and it's a very American beer. We have people who come in and love Pabst Blue Ribbon. And that's fine. I don't think it's necessarily a great beer—it’s a fine beer. But we say well, why do you like it? And they say: “It reminds me of going to America.”

What can we take from that? It [might be]: “Here's some American ciders you might like.” Or even: “Here's Basque cider—something I have a strong emotional connection with.” And then relating based on that emotional connection.

People drink alcohol because they want to have a good time. I don't want to stop them having a good time; I want to hopefully parlay their good time into having a better knowledge of what they're consuming.

MF: You’d never worked a bar shift before opening The Cider Hole. How does making and selling drinks differ from writing about them?

MP: I hate to use “educational” and “bar” in the same phrase, but we're there to help inform people, to guide decisions. I mean, if you tell me to shut up, I will. But I like to talk to people to make sure they're getting what they want, or if they want to try something different.

One thing I’ve learned [...] is that behaviour you think might be alright as a drinker, isn't necessarily, for somebody who's serving. But that's been part of the experience.

When I wrote about beer, I started brewing. When I wrote about cider. I started making cider. I've written about bars my entire life, but never worked in one. I probably should have tried it years ago.

MF: The bar has limited space but you rotate a wide range of drinks, including naturally fermented wines and a global selection of beers. How do you choose what to sell?

MP: I choose stuff I want to drink and things I think other people would like, but that also might be a bit surprising to them.

There was a wine I wanted to stock and I found out the importer, Naturally Wines, is based in Sheffield. The owners came and shared other wines they thought I’d like, and we picked together. Then my wife and I went on a winery tour, because it happened to be near where we rented a caravan in Devon. Ben and Lucy [Hulland, owners of Huxbear Vineyard], were just fucking cool, and I liked the taste of their wine. We've been in touch ever since, and I stock their wine.

As a beverage journalist, when I'm choosing stuff for an article, I think about what's readily available to more people—if every wine you pick is only made in a single case, and you’ve got to travel to Turkey to buy it, what are you proving?

““It’s just not sustainable for new producers to get into cider and make a living at this point.””

— Mike Pomranz, The Cider Hole

MF: Back to cider—for someone who isn’t familiar with the diversity available, can you suggest some options?

MP: I think first you should try some dry, still cider, just to know that cider doesn't have to be sweet and fizzy. On the flip side, it's great to try perry too. There's lots of great perries which are sparkling; a bit sweet, but far more complex.

We serve a lot of Pilton. At Christmas we did their Jester, where they’d taken caramelised Seville oranges, bay leaves, rosemary, and juniper berries, then aged the whole thing in rum barrels. It drank like a negroni.

Then there’s Ross-on-Wye, which does these oak-barrel-aged ciders that drink almost like whiskies. And Little Pomona; their Egremont Russet is finished in white Burgundy barrels and has this incredible, Chardonnay-like finish with a bit of oaky butteryness to it.

MF: More widely, what do you see as the main challenges and possibilities around cider in the UK?

MP: I think the biggest challenge is pricing. Look at those making cider via traditional methods: there are a lot of big brands that sell 500ml bottles, or do bag in box. Traditionally, they've moved cider at insanely cheap prices. It’s the same with cask beer, which is also undervalued in this country, unfortunately. It's just not sustainable for new producers to get into cider and make a living at this point.

I think one of the problems with the Cider Hole is people look and see 750ml bottles from £8 to £30. And they have no reference for that. They're not making the wine comparison: they're not seeing that people are growing or handpicking this fruit, or tending these ferments to make high-quality products. Until you get people on board with sustainable pricing for cider, these kinds of producers are never gonna be able to get into the mainstream and expand.

A lot of people think the bar is too expensive. And part of me is like: that's the point. My margins on all my products are the same—all that's changing is what the producer is charging me. And a lot of times I don't think they're charging me enough.

But the challenge of advocating for artisan cidermakers getting what they deserve is coming at one of the worst possible times, because the economy is in such flux. When people are trying to explain why someone should throw down £20 for an awesome bottle of Herefordshire Perry, at a time when gas bills are doubling, it's a hard conversation.

MF: Why do you care about cider so much?

MP: These are incredible drinks, these people are maintaining an incredible tradition. In my mind, it’s a segment of the alcohol sector that deserves to be sustainable financially.

It's making sure drinkers say: “Yeah, this is worth the premium.” Not just because it tastes better, but because these people are putting in more effort to make this product.

We need to elevate these products. They're on a path to elevation, we just need to keep pushing to get them there. If we don't, they'll go away.