07/03/2011

Middle Farm: A Trip Into The Drunken Wilderness

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Follow this sign for good times!

It leads the way to Middle Farm which could well be considered the Graceland of food in the picturesque Sussex countryside.

Look, this is Sussex:

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See? Picturesque.

Look, more Sussex:

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*Nice*.

What we are trying to tell you, is that the Sussex countryside is a totally perfect place to get absolutely Boris Yeltsin'd on cider.

In a barn.

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That's right Bo-Bo! Step this way...

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The Middle Farm cider barn is virtually foaming over with excellent cider and perry. Here's how it works.

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Shelf after shelf of wonderful alco-beverage, each with a hand-written label giving simply the name, origin, price per pint, and strength. Upon arrival you can pick up a disposal plastic shot-glass, and are turned loose on the barrels.

Self-service taps and virtually no supervision mean you can taste and taste and taste again to be sure you find the right booze for you before purchasing.

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Here we see our test-subject, administering his first sample.

EXHIBIT A:

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The verdict?

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Hey, that's not bad!

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Of course, in the roulette-wheel of cider tasting, your number can't always come up...

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In the bin with it.
What was that one called again?

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Oh I see.

Fear not! You can always spin again.

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...and again.

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...aaaaaand again.

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Maybe just a couple more times for luck.

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When you think you've "had enough" simply purchase one of these handy jugs to help you bring your favourite drink back home.

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Fill 'er up!

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Other note-worthy sights in the cider-barn include several borderline pornographic beers:

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Plus the addition of a fine selection of non-alcoholic alternatives, because you WILL need a designated driver to get you home...

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Incidentally, DINNERGEDDON's top tipple in the whole damn joint goes to this fruity little number:

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Matured in rum-casks to take on a deeply tasty caramel-esque flavour, it's one we find ourselves carrying home time after time... and an East Sussex local brew no less!

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Beam me up Boris... it's time to have ourselves a Hoe Down!

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Rock on, comrade.

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