Cider Nation Celebration

I apologize to those of you wine fanatics who read my blog, but this time, I regret to inform you, I will have little to say about wine. What could be so great as to divert my attention from my most revered food group, ahem, I mean beverage? The answer: Asturian Cider or sidra asturiana.

Not only is it a special drink, it's a special tradition, in a special land. I recently spent a week in Asturias, a region in northern Spain, which is known for its exquisite vistas, its dialect, its rich cuisine and its cider. I was there visiting my boyfriend, Miguel, who grew up there. This meant meeting his family- los suegros- his friends and learning about Asturias from one of its most patriotic ex-pats. Therefore, no later than day one did we venture to a sidrería to experience local flavor.

When one visits a cider bar, there is a protocol to be followed. Miguel shared that you can often determine who is a guiri- a foreigner- by the way they drink their cider. An Asturian would wait for his waiter to come bearing a bottle and traditional cider glasses (which have very thin sides). Next, from above his head, the waiter pours a golden thread of cider into a glass a few feet below (I suppose I should say meters now). I guess a true Asturian would also know how to do this for himself (refer to photo of Miguelito). When the waiter hands your glass to you, it is probably only a fifth of the way full- this is called a culín and it is to be drunk immediately after smelling it. When the cider falls a few feet and splashes against the sides of the glass, it becomes magnificently effervescent and that's the opportune moment to drink it. The guiris (I myself am a guiri) sometimes fill it up to the brim of their glass and then sip it as if it were beer or wine. MAL! According to Miguel, even spaniards from other parts of the country have been known to mis-drink their cider. Finally, just before swallowing the last few drops of cider from your class, you need to toss the cider out of it. Why? Because when sharing a glass with others, this trick helps 'sanitize' (notice my quote marks of skepticism) the glass for other drinkers. The goal is to toss your cider out over the part of the glass that your lips touched, hence cleaning it for your amigu.

This process is repeated several times and before you know it, there goes a bottle. To be precise, a bottle is about six culínes and it feels like even less. Before you know it, you feel giddy and ready to pull a Spanish all-nighter, which for the locals is nothing short of quotidian.

Sidrerías line the streets of many an Asturian city, reminding you of it's prevalence in Asturian culture. Miguel told me that nearly 90% of cider produced in Asturias is consumed in Asturias. So if the beautiful beaches, majestic mountains and the sounds of bagpipes and sheepbells didn't make one happy enough, add just a little bit of a buzz from delicious fermented apples and you've got yourself a paradise.

The tradition of producing cider, however, has a legacy that runs much deeper than the hedonistic pleasures of Asturians and guiris alike. In fact, the production and consumption of cider acts as a unifier for communities and as a steward of the Asturian language. Throughout the year, the harvest of apples and the production of cider bring together small villages who celebrate with fresh-pressed apple juice and chestnuts. Additionally, many of the words in the cider lexicon are exclusively Asturian with no castilian equivalent. As a student of languages as well as beverages, this nexus fascinates me. At the moment, I can say no more, as I am but a novice and a guiri, however, I hope to return to Asturias to actually study it.

Certainly I will go back, it's just a question of whether I'll come in the costume of 'student researcher' or 'american girlfriend'. Either way, I will return to Asturias this Christmas and I look forward to welcoming 2014 with a culín of cider (or several).