This is the kind of warning I like to see on my beverages.Fuzzy and I were driving around near PineTop yesterday when we passed a group of old men operating a big ass cider press in a front yard. We pulled a U-turn and parked next to a cloudy-eyed geriatric beagle that could barely summon the energy to bark at us. The men greeted us, then went back to pouring buckets of apples into the press and shoveling the leftover pulp into the bed of an old Ford. From a cloud of yellow jackets, one man told us that the apples were fresh off the tree, picked up in Romney that morning. So, for the benefit of the Newburg Rotary Club (and my insatiable desire for cider past about the first of September), we purchased a gallon.
It is so wonderful. It has actual little bits of apple floating around (and more than one ground-up yellow jacket, I'm sure). And neither Fuzzy nor I have suffered any ill effects from the potential critters.
I was inspired to post about our unpasteurized adventure by my friend Melissa over at Adventures in Louisiana. Her bun-in-the-oven status is temporarily prohibiting her from enjoying the more perilous gastronomic delights. Don't worry, Mel, in a few months you'll be able to eat all the raw fish you can stand (and you'll have your own little guppy to show for it!).
