Cars I have owned - No 8: Vauxhall Cavalier Mk II 1.3L

I have owned three Vauxhall Cavaliers - the only model of car I’ve purchased more than once.

The first was a 1.3L Mk II model and it arrived in 1982. The car was launched at the end of 1981, so I was among the vanguard.

Back then, the procedure when my company car was due for a change was to ask the fleet manager for a list of the cars you could have within your band. My band said I could have a car up to 1.3 litres, depending upon cost and now I had a family, I could choose a four-door car of a size bigger than the Talbot Horizon I was replacing. Favourite seemed a Ford Cortina 1.3L, but I was a real snob at the time (not about owning a Ford Cortina - that would have been fine - I was concerned about having “only” a 1.3-litre car).

We’d been for a test drive in a Cortina from Peterborough Motors, which was sited in the centre of the city then, occupying the space between Brook Street and New Road, just across from the market. The 1.3 Cortina was certainly underpowered. The heavier bodywork on the Mk III model made a big difference to the feeling of quality, but it took some lugging around and 60bhp just wasn’t enough. It was OK when you got going - the car would cruise along at 80mph, but it took ages to get there and overtaking would need very careful planning.

The Cavalier didn’t have any badges to say it was a 1.3 or a 1.6 and its 1.3-litre engine developed 75bhp, which was as much as the 1.6 engine in the Cortina. This was a critical factor, not only did the Cavalier have much more power, it didn’t have any badges to advertise that you were driving only a 1.3 model. A bonus was that it had a radio, cloth seats and head-restraints.

The Mk I Cavalier had been a rear-wheel-drive four-door saloon - a direct competitor to the Ford Cortina. It had done all right, but never threatened the Cortina in the sales charts.

Now Vauxhall was proving quicker to adopt front-wheel drive than Ford, which retained rear-wheel drive on the Cortina’s successor (the Sierra). I have never really worried about rear-wheel-drive cars, I prefer the balance of handling although they are not as easy to drive in the wet or snow. Interestingly, I’ve now gone full circle and my last two cars at the time of writing - a Mercedes and a BMW - have both been rear-wheel drive.

The Cavalier was the first car I owned with an automatic choke. Back in the day, cars had carburettors rather than fuel injection and the high-performance models would have twin-choke carbs (with two inlets for improved gas flow) or twin carbs (sometimes a bugger to keep in balance, especially as they got older and components were worn.

To start a car from cold (and each car had its own particular starting technique), you’d pull out a button which would apply the choke. This restricted the air-flow into the engine and made the fuel/air mixture richer. A lot of people, especially those who were not mechanically minded (women drivers) found the choke a real problem. How far should it be pulled out, when should it be pushed in, when should it be used? Often chokes were left out, so fuel consumption rocketed and cars spluttered to a stop; they weren't pulled out and cars wouldn't start or they were pulled out when an engine was hot and the engine would be flooded.

The auto choke was designed to do away with that and it generally did. Volkswagen was one of the first adopters of the auto choke (in my experience) and there were anecdotal tales of fuel consumption going through the roof.

The Cavalier worked pretty well and it was a really good car in many ways. I'd say it was something of a bridge between badly designed, badly built cars that we put up with in the 1970s and the well-built vehicles that finally started to arrive in the 1990s.

It had some features - cloth seats, radio, servo brakes - as standard; I liked that it had head-restraints. Having a growing family - Sam would have arrived about this time - I was more safety conscious so I appreciated the head-restraints and I also got a white car because I'd read they were easier to see and people were less likely to pull out in front of you.

Compared to the Horizon, the Cavalier had loads of interior space, hard (but comfy) seats and a massive boot.

It was a much better car than the Cortina and should really have won European Car of the Year, but was beaten by the Renault 9 (French fix!). Ford’s new Sierra was somewhat radically styled and it wasn’t going down well with the British public. The Cavalier out-sold the Sierra in 1984 and again in 1985, but Ford’s fleet operation was unbeatable and by the time the second-generation Cavalier was discontinued to make way for a new model in 1988, the Sierra was almost twice as popular.

Vauxhall sold 807,624 Mk II Cavaliers between 1981 and 1988. By December 1989, it was the third most common car on British roads

I really liked the Cavalier. It was fast for a 1.3, no power steering (so a bit heavy to park) and a bit nose heavy when cornering, but nothing like the massive understeer of the Marina. The one thing I really remember about it was there was a strange induction hiss when you opened the throttle past half-way. I guess it opened a second choke in the carb or something. It sounded odd, but didn't impact on performance or economy.

I didn't have the Cavalier much more than a year. I got a job as Group Features Editor, which meant my car went up a grade and I could get a 1.6. The Cavalier was passed to Peter Corder, who took over from me as Sports Editor and bits immediately started to go wrong. Oddly, all the locks failed, so he ended up with three keys - one for the ignition, one for the door and one for the boot. It also started to show some surface rust.

Design had improved, but build quality still left a lot to be desired. In August 2006, Auto Express magazine named the Mk II Cavalier as the country's sixth most scrapped car of the last 30 years, with just 6,343 still in working order. By December 2009, that figure had fallen to a mere 1,289.

A contributing factor was that the Mk II Cavalier was one of the most stolen cars of the 1980s and early 1990s and they were particularly popular with joy-riders because of their better-than-average performance and the fact it was easy to break into and start. Other factors included corrosion and premature camshaft wear.

Also see:

Ford Popular - click
Bedford HA Van - click
Morris Mini - click
Vauxhall Viva HC - click
Citroen GS Club - click
Morris Marina 1.3GL - click

Talbot Horizon 1.1 LS - click

We were what we ate

My diet today is very different from what I ate when I was a child.

There are so many foods that we now take for granted that were not even on my radar back in the 1950s and 1960s.

My last post was a description of what I'm doing to try not to over-eat or eat too much of the wrong things. One of the things I need to do is depend less on processed food and prepared meals, and prepare my own food.

I was cooking liver and steamed veg on Sunday and I commented to Margaret that liver was something we had every week when I was a boy and my mother was alive.

We had a very regular, fixed menu week on week, with little variation.

Sunday dinner (lunch) was always a joint of beef. We'd have chicken for dinner only at Christmas or when one of ours was being culled on account of its poor egg-laying record. Sunday dinner would start with Yorkshire pudding, which was made as one big sheet and sliced up (not the individual round portions we do today) and we ate it as a starter, not on the plate with the rest of the meal.

It would come out of a roasting tin, be sliced into four and served with gravy. It was my favourite part of the meal.

The main course (although we didn't call them courses) was roast beef, roast potatoes and one veg - sometimes cauliflower, but often carrots. Broad beans, peas and runner beans would be served in season. We never had parsnips (I don't know why).

There was always pudding and this was often apple pie or apple crumble. My mother had been a cook in the WRNS during the war and had then worked as a cook at Dutton Hospital (where she met my dad). She was a very competent cook, but not adventurous in any way. Back then, food was something you needed to keep you alive, it wasn't a source of entertainment or a hobby. We never ate out unless we went to a cafe at the seaside or ate in John Lewis' cafeteria if we went to Manchester.

On Monday, we always had 'tater ash' which used up what was left of the cooked beef joint. My grandma came every week to help mum with the washing (which was done only on a Monday) and she would cook dinner while mum did the washing. I'm using the word 'dinner' but dinner was what we now call lunch and it was the main meal of the day.

Tuesday was usually chips (made in the chip pan and fried in beef dripping) with luncheon meat and often some baked beans. It was my favourite meal of the week. Wednesday was liver, served with mashed potato and mashed carrots. We never had fried onions with it and I don't think we ever used the verb 'to fry' in relation to onions. I think they were put into the stew while it was bubbling and they ended up soft and well boiled, no caramelisation allowed! The potato hash was mainly potatoes, there were a few carrots, onion and we'd also have a suet dumpling. My favourite variation was meat and potato pie. This would always be done by Mum, not Grandma.

I didn't like onions and I'd push them to the side of my plate and I didn't like fat or gristle, so that would also be left. Mum would indulge my fads, but I knew that Grandma was biting her tongue. I loved luncheon meat, I liked that it was cold, but warm where the chips had sat on top. I liked the fact that it had no fat (I didn't realise at the time that it was a processed meat and it was full of fat, it had just been mashed up and dyed pink). I loved liver, but hated the pipes in it.

After`Wednesday, the strict regimen of our menu was more relaxed. Sometimes we had pork chops, sometimes sausages, minced beef, corned beef ... Mash was the usual fare, chips only once a week. Sometimes we'd have chips from the chip shop - I never had fish, I always had either just chips and mushy peas or fishcake and chips. Often we took a bowl up to the chip shop to be filled with chips and we'd have chip butties when we got home.

I ate little fish. A fishcake from the chip shop, sometime we had fish fingers and sometimes tinned salmon. There was no tuna. I did eat sardines or sild - I liked them in olive oil.

Pasta figured little. We ate spaghetti with mince now and again and macaroni cheese was the other pasta dish. Rice was only eaten in puddings, never boiled or fried and cous-cous or gnocchi was unheard of. I didn't see a pizza until I went to live in Peterborough and I didn't see a kebab until I worked in London.

Apart from Yorkshire pudding on Sunday, there were never starters but we did have pudding at most meals. Apart from apple pie, we also had steamed sponge puddings, steamed suet puddings, jam tart, treacle tart, rice pudding, semolina and tapioca. My mother also used to make a pink custard using blancmange mix and there was a caramel version, which was my favourite. For years, I thought blancmange was a hot, runny dish and only a short while ago (I think it was Uncle Don's funeral, my cousin Carole gave me a lift and was talking with great nostalgia about Auntie Nellie's pink custard (things like that stick in your memory - even 50 years later).

Jelly was reserved for Sunday tea or parties and trifle was a very rare treat. My Mum's favourite sweet was lemon meringue pie. I didn't care for it once I knew the white bit on the top was egg white.

Breakfast was varied and there was a degree of personal choice. I always liked porridge with syrup and toast (which we used to make by opening the fire door on the range and holding the bread in front of the glowing coals with a toasting fork). That was one of the first grown-up jobs I was trusted with and it wasn't hard until you had to turn the hot toast over and spear it from the other side.

I also has cereal (and that's the one constant between then and now). We had Cornflakes, Weetabix, Frosties, Rice Krispies, Sugar Puffs, Coco Pops and Shredded Wheat. Milk was full cream (not skimmed) and it was delicious. Sometimes we'd have bacon and egg, a boiled or poached egg. My dad always had the same thing: a bowl of Cornflakes with hot milk (so they instantly went mushy), followed by bacon, egg, fried tomato and fried bread. It was all cooked in the frying pan - not grilled - and dad liked his egg cooked one side, then turned over and cooked the other. A treat (after the breakfast had been fried) was to have a "rub-round". This was a slice of bread wiped around the pan to mop up the bacon grease, eggy bits and tomato seeds. It was lovely.

Tea (what we now call dinner) was eaten earlier (between 5-6pm) and would be a much lighter meal. Typical was sild sandwiches, beans on toast, poached egg on toast, crumpets; sometimes there would be fried potatoes.

Drinks were milk, squash, water, tea, coffee and cocoa. We had pop vary rarely. Fruit was apples, oranges or bananas. You only got grapes when you were in hospital. There were biscuits and chocolate biscuits (Penguins) but they were not eaten often and when they were gone, they were gone! That's more or less a direct quote.

The other difference was the cooking process. We had a large oven/range in the kitchen, which heated the water, heated the kitchen and did most of the cooking. There were two ovens and a couple of hobs. A kettle would always be on the side of the hob, singing away and would be moved onto the hob proper (which was covered by a big asbestos pad when not in use) to bring it to the boil. Pans would go on the top and we used a gas cooker only for quick boil needs such as milk or getting a pan of potatoes boiling.

My mother told me gas was too expensive to use the oven.

This post sounds a bit like a rambling letter in the Daily Mail, but I've enjoyed pulling out my food memories. Margaret has a few recipes handed down by her mother, but they are for things like jam and pickle. You'd know how to cook regular day-to-day stuff. I don't remember Mum having a cookery book in the kitchen.

I don't take sugar in my tea, why should I want it in my crisps?

I don't take sugar in my tea, why should I want it in my crisps?

Of course, it's nothing to do with what I want; it's all about what works for food manufacturers.

And the truth is that adding sugar makes the most unlikely foods taste better. If food tastes better people buy it and the food manufacturers sell more, which is why you find added sugar in bread (including wholemeal - healthy - bread), in yoghurt, in baked beans, even in a packet of crisps.

I was staggered to find there was over 11g of added sugar in a small pot of strawberry-flavoured Actimel pro-biotic yogurt, as much as a Twirl chocolate bar and the equivalent to two teaspoons of sugar.

No-one would think of adding two teaspoons of sugar to a shot of yoghurt, but you don't need to because Danone has done it for you. They tell you what they've done, of course, but you have to read the packet quite carefully to find out and you have to appreciate that 11g of sugar is about two teaspoons. I only know this because Sam and Lucy bought me some high-tech scales for Christmas.

You'll guess from this grumbling introduction that I'm on a diet and that it's making me a bit miserable. I'm compensating by creating a more and more detailed (some would say obsessive) spreadsheet, which started off as a food diary, so I could check my calorie intake, but which now has expanded to include dietary fibre and added sugar. I haven't started differentiating between soluble and insoluble fibre, but it's probably only a matter of time.

My diet began when I faced up to the obvious. My trousers and my shirt were starting to get a little too tight. A tight shirt can be sexy, of course, but not when it’s tight around the middle. I was expecting to lose weight, get fit, etc once I’ve retired, but a step onto the scales showed I’d reached 217lbs and my BMI was 29.5. A BMI of 30 is officially obese, also I’m off skiing next week and my poor thighs take enough of a hammering as it is.

My step onto the scales co-incided with reading some quite challenging pieces about food. The New York Times article: Is Sugar Toxic? by Gary Taubes is well worth reading. It led me on to the book: Fat Chance: The Bitter Truth About Sugar by Robert Lustig.

Lustig is a doctor in the US and specialises in treating children with dietary complaints (fat kids – very fat kids, in fact). For many years he has been studying the effects of modern diets and, in particular, the amount of sugar we consume and, in 2009, he gave a lecture called Sugar: The Bitter Truth which you can watch on YouTube. It’s had more than four million views and it’s really thought-provoking and challenging.

I mean it’s truly challenging because after watching that, or reading his book, you will rethink your views on fat people – maybe they’re not all greedy and lazy – and turn your anger at the food-processing industry. Then you’ll start reading labels, then you’ll realise that Walkers puts sugar in its cheese and onion crisps and you’ll wonder if the world has gone mad.

Lustig is convinced that excessive sugar consumption is the main reason (there are others) for the obesity epidemic, and he presents a scientific argument that is sometimes quite hard to follow – sometimes because of the science and sometimes because he’s American and all his stats and reports relate to US agencies with long, complicated acronyms and abbreviations. There’s a lot of jargon to cut through, but it’s worth the effort.

So I started counting calories, but Lustig convinced me that a calorie is not just a calorie, it matters what sort it is. I added a fibre count and target to my food diary and, this week, I’ve added a count of added sugar. It’s been enlightening and quite scary. I’m trying to get 25g of fibre per day and, if you were eating processed food that would be quite hard to achieve. I’m also trying to eat less than 30g of added sugar per day. If you eat any substantial amount of processed food, or fresh juice, that’s impossible.

When a slice of bread has 2g of sugar, when there’s 11g in a health yoghurt and even cheese and onion crisps are sweetened, you realise the only way is to make every meal yourself. At least then you can choose whether or not to add the sugar. Back in the 1980s, the average sugar consumption per person, per annum (in the US) was 30lbs – now it’s 130lbs. Eating 37g of sugar per day is 30lbs per annum and it’s bloody hard to stay below that level.

Anyway, I’m well on the way to Damascus and I have managed to lose 8lbs. Only another 25lbs to go to get a healthy BMI.

Speaking at Dulwich College

A few weeks ago, Max asked me if I would give a talk on family history to one of his classes at Dulwich College. He thought it would fit well with work that his Year 12 AS geography students were doing about social change.

I love the sound of my own voice and an audience (captive or not), so I was happy to oblige. I put together some PowerPoint slides and a commentary which covered employment, social services and rights, wars and a number of subjects illustrated by direct examples from my research.

I did racism and prejudice, based on the story of margaret's Aunt Edna who married a Polish man after the war; migration and colonisation using the journey of Zachariah Burrows from Norfolk to Canada and Nebraska; health and safety using the story of the Pelsall Colliery disaster; and touching the past, based on visits to places where my ancestors had lived and how I had tried to recreate their experiences.

So on Friday, I went along to deliver the talk. It went quite well I think. They are really well-behaved and focused kids, so they are polite enough to listen attentively, but I think there was some genuine interest and a couple of pupils seemed  to be making a lot of notes. They were particularly struck by references to Frank Dilks, who was killed in a mining accident at the age of 17 - that's just a year older than them - and also Aleksander Mikalski (the Pole who had married Edna) who was also 17 when his country was invaded by Nazi Germany and he was shipped off to Dachau.

I took the afternoon off work and got the overground from Victoria to West Dulwich. The school is a short walk from there. It's a fantastic facility, like a larger version of King's in many ways, so no wonder Max feels at home. After teaching at a fairly challenging comprehensive, where breaking up fights was a regular duty and controlling classes was often challenging, this was an absolute pleasure. Pupils are well-behaved and keen to learn; parents are fully engaged and there's no shortage of funds or facilities (within reason, of course).

I was able to have a wander around with Max before his lesson and see a few of the artefacts collected from former pupils. Biggest is the James Cairn, a ship's boat given by former pupil Ernest Shackleton, the famous polar explorer of the early 20th century. Shackleton's Antarctic expedition had encountered dramatic problems when their ship was trapped in ice and the hull crushed. The crew were able to escape onto ice, but had no prospect of rescue or any way of appealing for help.

They faced a slow death by starvation and cold, their one chance was to use the ship's boat to sail to the nearest habitation - South Georgia. Shackleton and five crew members dragged the James Cairn across miles of pack ice to reach the open sea and then sailed it over a thousand miles across the Southern Ocean to reach help. His men were rescued, and it ranks as one of the most hazardous and brave journeys ever made. I guess they didn't have a lot of choice, but even so, sailing a tiny boat across that massive and treacherous ocean was amazing.

You can see how small the boat is by my picture which shows me standing by the craft in its display.

Ranulph Fiennes another arctic explorer (or adventurer) had been at the school a week or so earlier to give a talk (and promote his book). Max had got me a signed copy, which was a really nice gift.

Calendar girl (and boy)

I've mentioned before that Holly is much more relaxed and happy as a single dog than she was sharing our time and attention with Gravel. I guess that Gravel would have voted for single occupancy as well, if he'd had the opportunity.

Margaret is able to walk one dog more easily than two and, as a result, she and Holly are getting out much more. Last week, they were in the park with two other Springer owners - Nick Saunders, who has two dogs, and the chap who cuts the grass and does odd jobs around the village. He had a Springer that went everywhere with him, but it died earlier this year and now he has another young dog.

Those three and Holly made quite a sight all charging after the ball and Holly winning most of the chases. Bringing back the tennis ball is her specialist subject.

She was bringing the ball back to Nick and normally when she brings it back to us, she offers it up to us in her mouth and we take it out with our fingers. When she approached Nick, he used the command "dead" and Holly dropped the ball at his feet.

He told Margaret that it was a command that gun-dog trainers used and we know that Holly did have some gun-dog training in Ireland, but she's had a few years and a couple of different homes since then. It's astonishing, but there's no other explanation other than she has remembered the command.

Margaret tried it with her in the garden and it worked there as well.

I did it with her when she had her monkey toy in her mouth in the kitchen and she ignored me. Perhaps it only works for tennis balls, or perhaps that's why she was thrown out of gun-dog school.

It made us wonder what other commands she might know. Inna thought that perhaps if we said "dance" she would jump up on her hind legs and do a little jig ... unlikely.

We learned that Holly and Gravel had made it into the CAESSR (Cocker and English Springer Spaniel Rescue) calendar for 2014 thanks to some really nice photos taken by Tom. Holly was on the front cover with a picture of her retrieving a tennis ball from the sea at Wells-next-the-Sea on New Year's Day and Gravel was in twice - a small picture of him in the sea and also a large picture of him with a woodpigeon in his mouth.

A picture of Gravel lying in the garden, taken with a fish-eye lens Tom hired for Max's wedding, was also used for a greetings card.

Of course, everyone is getting CAESSR calendars for Christmas this year - we ordered 10 and Margaret has already given them to Joyce and my sister (a very early Christmas present).

Early memories, Halloween in north London and cider update

I spent Halloween in the pub at Walthamstow. I've stayed at Sam and Lucy's for the past few Thursdays, making use of their hospitality while they are still in the UK.

There was an excited group of trick-or-treaters going along Priory Road as I walked down and they were only a few doors away from Sam's. I told him to expect a knock on the door fairly soon and Sam was a bit worried as he didn't have any treats. I sorted out some 5p coins for them, but they must have his house marked as one to miss because the knock didn't come.

It was Lucy's last day at work (Imperial) and we'd arranged to meet her in the pub. We walked up to The Village, which Leigh Ellerby, a Walthamstow native who works with me in the new business team, rates as one of the best pubs in the town. We went there when Sam and Lucy first moved in and it was full of tiny little flies. I've not been back since until Thursday. There were no flies, but worse, it was acoustic guitar night and some chap was unzipping a case and setting up a microphone and amplifier in the far corner.

On the streets, there were lots of children dressed as monsters and ghouls, but all in groups supervised by adult zombies and devils. Middle-class Walthamstow seems to really have embraced Halloween.

We tried a restaurant just down the road, but it was full and the table they offered us right next to the door was politely declined. We ended up at The Castle, where we'd eaten the week before and eating the same meal - burger and chips. I like The Castle (it has Timothy Taylor's Landlord) and a nice atmosphere, but the menu is a bit restricted. A bonus was a nice dog called Willow a small (for a lurcher) lurcher who had lovely soft fur. Sam met him at the bar and Lucy was jealous because she wanted to stroke him too. As we were leaving, Willow was outside with his owner (who was having a smoke with her friend) so we all have a chat and Willow had lots of attention.

Topic of conversation in the pub was memory and early childhood memories in particular. Sam said his earliest memory was being weighed in the Bedford Hall, but he said that couldn't be so because no-one had any memories before the age of four.

Lucy said her earliest memory was definitely before the age of four. She could remember her child-minder in Swansea and being fed Smash instant mashed potato. There were lots of disgusting memories of Smash - why did people use it?

Sam's other early memory was Peter Milnes putting a snowball down someone's back in the school playground and getting punched in the face. Sam remembers Peter's snowy hands holding his nose and the blood making the snow all red.

Sam couldn't remember his first day at school, but both Lucy and I could. Well, I suppose, on relection, my memories are of early school, possibly first day, but not sure. I think that on my first day, we were given some paper and crayons and a little girl called Denise Bowyer picked a big 'crow' out of her nose and wiped it on the paper. I was very shocked. I think Denise grew up quite sexy, but I'd never be able to get that vision out of my mind.

My first memory might be a little suspect: I think I can remember being born. I remember it as a shock and bright light, but that's all.

Margaret says Sam's memory of Bedford Hall weigh-ins was probably when she took Max and Sam would have been almost five. I'm quite prepared to acknowledge that my memory of being born is probably suggestive memory, but I do have some vivid recollections of childhood.

I can remember fighting a little boy called Frankie Johnson over a three-wheeler scooter. I bit him on the arm and he wailed. When I released my bite, I remember an impression of bleeding teeth marks on his arm. I must have been scolded fiercely and frightened by my mother's shame and horror for that to stick in my mind.

I also have a vivid memory of mum and dad leaving me and my sister in a creche at Middleton Towers holiday camp, in Morecambe. There was a big rocking horse which I wanted, but my sister was panicking and shaking my arm. I turned around and could see mum and dad walking away waving at us. I remember really thinking they were abandoning us and yelling at full pelt. I always had a good pair of lungs and they soon came back.

This weekend just gone (November 2) was our 39th wedding anniversary. We don't buy cards or presents any more - don't look at me like that; see if you still buy presents when you've been married 39 years! We had planned a roast dinner and a few gin martinis for the evening, but I racked my cider and stored the demijohns in the garage during the afternoon. It took longer than expected, so Margaret said there was no time to cook roast chicken and we had fish and chips instead. That wrecked my diet for the weekend.

The cider seems to be coming along quite nicely. I bought three five-gallon glass demijohns because I was worried about leaving it to mature in plastic barrels. It might be OK, but I didn't want to risk it. I now have three glass demijohns, a plastic barrel and two one-gallon plastic demijohns. I'll see how well each batch matures.

I've kept the apple varieties separate (except Chris Smith's and Arcadia's cookers have been blended because I mixed them up at pressing). There's a big difference, well, a noticeable difference, between the cider. It's all matured a little, but still has some way to go. It's dry and a little acidic, so I'm hoping for a mallolactic fermentation where the mallic acid is worked on by a bacteria and turns to lactic acid. This should happen naturally during the fermentation process, so we'll see how it goes during the winter.

The cider is lovely and clear and is drinkable even now. If it was sparkling, you could serve it a little more tart, but for still cider, it really needs to be sweeter. If the mallolactic fermentation doesn't happen, I'll sweeten some artificially and also leave a batch to mature for another year.