Bristols Cider - From West Country Roots to Central Coast Revival!

If you’ve ever wandered the rolling hills of California’s Central Coast and found yourself sipping a dry, crisp cider that tastes like tradition with a twist, chances are you've encountered the handiwork of Neil Collins. Best known as the driving force behind Lone Madrone winery, Neil wears another hat—that of passionate cider maker at Bristols Cider, a venture born from heritage, curiosity, and a deep respect for craft. Raised in the cider heartland of Bristol, England, Neil and his sister Jackie brought their West Country upbringing across the Atlantic, planting not just vines but an entire philosophy of fermentation. Together with Neil’s wife Marci, the trio has cultivated more than just a beverage—they’ve created a cultural bridge between old-world cider sensibilities and the inventive spirit of California. In this candid interview with Delivery Rank, Neil Collins opens up about the journey from rural England to rural California, the roots of Bristols Cider, and how a deeply personal history continues to shape its future.

Your journey began with a “young winemaker’s dalliance” — can you describe the moment you first felt that winemaking would become your life’s work rather than a side project?

My first harvest was in 1991 at Wild Horse Winery. I entered the winery with literally no experience and no real knowledge of the wine business. That year, I learned that I really liked the work—and I really liked the culture surrounding it. Even though the harvest was incredibly long and difficult at that facility, I enjoyed it.

But it was in 1992, when I first moved to Adelaida Winery to work with John Munch, that everything changed. At Wild Horse Winery, I had mostly spent my time cleaning things. I was more familiar with the smell of chlorine than with the smell of fermenting fruit, to be honest. But once I got to Adelaida Winery and started working with John, I really got my hands and feet into the fermenters. That’s when I realized this work suited me perfectly.

It was also then that I began to see the farming aspect of winemaking—something I knew I wanted to be part of. I didn't get to dive into that side of it right away, but I could see the connection between agriculture and creating a product like wine. Coming from a cooking background, I had always loved food, restaurants, and everything that came with them. But I had also always been drawn to the concept of farming. I grew up in the inner city, so I never actually farmed as a kid, but I knew it would be part of my world one day—and now it very much is.

So if I had to choose a pivotal moment, I’d have to say it was the 1992 harvest with John—being deep into the ferments. That’s when it really struck me just how great this work is.

You've always emphasized the importance of terroir and dry farming — how do you balance tradition with innovation in a wine industry that's constantly evolving?

I'm not a very scientific person, so most of my work is more traditional in style. I would say that while I’m always paying attention to what’s new—watching trends, trying out new tools and techniques—I usually test things on a small scale. I’m pretty happy making wine in a traditional way, and I don’t feel a strong need for massive change.

Sure, I’ll try new destemmers or tools to see if they make a difference, but unless they have a perceptible impact, I tend to stick with what I know—especially since I already have very good equipment at my disposal.

As for technology, we use a bit of it, but mostly just to make the job a little easier. What matters more to me is having a team of people who can smell, taste, and feel what’s going on in a ferment—people who can bring things to my attention if something isn’t quite right. And we do have that kind of team.

We don’t automate much. Every punch down and every pump-over is done manually. That means someone is smelling, seeing, touching, and feeling the wine every day—and that’s important to me.

Of course, I recognize that you can’t take that approach at a much larger scale. But at the scale I make wine, I can still work this way—and I have no desire to do it any differently.

You speak very fondly of Tom Vaughn and his role in lighting a fire under Lone Madrone — how did his energy reshape the direction or identity of the winery?

Tom was only with us for a short time. He was only on this planet for a short while, and he was with Lone Madrone for an even shorter period. I started making Lone Madrone in 1996. At the time, I had two young kids—one was about five years old, and the other was two. So I was busy. I had to do everything myself. I made all the wine on my own, without any assistants. I’d do my day job and then go make wine. I was exhausted, and I didn’t have time to sell it—and honestly, I didn’t enjoy selling. I’m not a salesman by any stretch of the imagination.

Back then, I was only making one wine—Cabernet. I was really just making wine and stockpiling it. I sold a bit to local restaurants, but not much. Tom was one of the buyers. He liked our Cabernet, and he liked what we were doing. When he heard I was thinking of stopping, he called me. We met, had dinner, and shared a bottle of whiskey. He persuaded me that we should keep going. He said he’d take on the sales side and work on reinvigorating that part of the business, leaving me free to focus on the winemaking.

So that’s what we did. We even opened a tasting room together. It really brought new energy to everything—for me, for my sister, and for my wife. Tom just had this incredible vibrancy and energy. He was wild—in the best way. Completely out of control, but in a way that lifted everyone around him.

With your new estate, you're building not just a winery but a community hub — what role do you see hospitality playing in the future of wine?

I think it's huge—I really do. One of the things I’ve always loved about the Paso Robles appellation is the sense of community. That’s always been a very important part of it for me.

It’s changed a lot over the years. When I first started working here, there were very few of us. We’d all end up at the same bar on the same night. Now, there are a lot more people and a wider range of age groups, so there’s less of that concentrated social scene. But still, the community spirit remains strong. If you need anything—have a question, need help, whatever it is—someone will be there for you.

Wine, at its core, is about community. It’s about sitting at the table with family and friends, eating and drinking together. It’s not about chasing perfect scores or glowing reviews—not for me, anyway. So yes, I really value that community connection.

We've always tried to make our tasting rooms feel welcoming and community-minded. We let people use the space for events or meetings when they need it. We also host a pub night on Fridays to bring people together. I miss those early days, when there was really only one restaurant in town and we’d all be there—it was simple, and it was fun.

I love it when I see a bunch of wine folks together, not in front of journalists or on display, but just talking to each other honestly. Speaking truthfully, sharing ideas, and admitting our flaws—that’s the kind of connection I value most.

Looking ahead, what’s your dream for Lone Madrone and Bristols Cider 20 years from now — what do you hope people will say about what you built?

I've never really thought of it in those terms. I never particularly intended for my children to be involved in this business—that was never my goal. But now, both of them are, and so is my nephew, my sister’s son.

At this point, I just want success for them. And as long as I’m around to have any influence, we will always farm with the future in mind—caring for the land above all else. I hope they’re able to hang on to the piece of property we have, even through the hard times—and those times do come, and they're here now. I hope they enjoy it, which they seem to, and I hope the next generation has an easier start than we did. I hope they inherit something solid—something they can really run with. We're still early in the game, after all.

As for me, I just hope people care about the land, care about making a natural product, and understand that wine is meant for the table—for community—not for show. Of course, we have to deal with the show too. That’s probably why I’m not much of a salesman.

For me, it’s been an incredible journey. I only intended to do this for one year. I was taking a break from kitchens and decided to do a harvest—just to learn, to understand more about wine. It’s kind of ridiculous, but I’m already getting excited for harvest again. Every year is different, and every year you hope it’s the best. I don’t look back much—I’m always looking forward.

Sure, by the end of harvest, I’m tired and ready for it to be over. But around this time, when the vines start pushing—and especially when they begin to flower—it all becomes exciting again. The thought of a new season, a new wine... it still gives me a thrill.

I feel incredibly lucky to do what I do for a living, and I truly enjoy it. I truly love it. I’m not getting rich by any stretch, but I go to work most days with a smile. Sure, I have the occasional bad day, but usually, it’s not the work that’s making me feel that way.

To read more about Bristols Cider, please visit https://www.lonemadrone.com/bristols-cider/