I had one of the Crispin Hard Ciders tonight. It reminds me of apple wine, but not the nice kind. Rather, the sort of thing underage teens consume, and if you were the sixteen year old version of my husband, followed with fried chicken, a bus ride, and an evening that ended with vomiting in the churchyard. OK, he had two bottles that night.
While I appreciate the potent amount of alcohol by volume, I don't know what I'll do with the other three pints. I don't think I could drink another.
Too bad, I really wanted to find a hard cider I could enjoy.