Booze!
As I mentioned in my post from a few months back about beer, I don't drink. With the exception of half a glass of champagne on New Year's Eve a few years back, I haven't had a drink in a long while. This was originally for medical reasons, but it was made easier by the fact that, by the time I hit my mid-thirties, I'd rather lost my taste for it. I had certainly lost my taste for hangovers, which are so, so much easier to get and so, so much harder to recover from as we age.
However, I am still fascinated by alcohol as a cultural signifier and a historical force. The fact that pretty much every culture finds a way to turn plants into liquids that make mediocre comedians funny says something interesting about humanity, though I won't go into all of my theories. Needless to say, I have many.
Also, needless to say, the Czech people have their own national liquors, sometimes shared with their Eastern and Central European neighbors and relatives, but usually made or served with a Czech twist. Since I don't really drink, this is purely an outsider's guide to Czech spirits--I have never tried any of these drinks, nor am I likely to do so in the future. If you want to drink like a Czech, though, you should keep reading. And make sure to hydrate, because they don't mess around.
Slivovice is the Czech regional name for a popular plum brandy that is called "Slivovitz" generically in the EU. Under other names, often from the same base word, it's popular in much of Central and Eastern Europe; it's also closely related to the French eau de vie--water of life. Slivovice takes its name from the damson plum used to make it--slíva. The plums are mashed up, fermented, and then distilled, to create a liquor that, on the low end, is about 45% ABV--or 90 proof. Other varieties, especially those made in smaller distilleries, or even home distilleries, go up to 50% ABV or even higher. That's serious territory. This is some boozy booze. It's especially closely linked with the Moravian region, which is essentially the eastern half of Czechia, where many occasions, both happy and sad, are marked with a shot of slivovice. The same process is used to make similar liquors from other fruits: hruškovice is made from pears, jablkovice from apples, and meruňkovice from apricots. All are potent. Traditionally, slivovice is served at room temperature, in order to better taste the fruit flavors; however, many foreigners drink it chilled to try to cool the burn. It doesn't really mix into any cocktails, and you don't serve it on the rocks--just straight up, in a shot glass. Brace yourself.
Like the cough drops/candies I tried last week, Becherovka started life as a patent medicine--a health tonic that was pretty much just booze: 38% booze, to be exact. Invented in the early 1800s by Josef Becher, a local pharmacist in the Bohemian spa town of Karlovy Vary, with heavy input from a visiting English doctor named Christian Frobrig, Becherovka is a proprietary mixture that didn't really take off until Josef's son Jan decided to market it as more of a cordial than a medicine in the 1830s. Like KFC and Coke--two other great creations with curative powers--Becherovka has a secret recipe, supposedly known only to two living persons. Once a week, one of these two people enters a room called the Drogikamr--which seems to mean something like "Where the drug is made"--and mixes 1.5 tons of some 22 secret ingredients together before combing all that with alcohol and later some other ingredients. The liquor that results, which is often compared to other herbal liquors like Jägermeister, is said to have a sort of cinnamon taste and to be both sweet and bitter. As a stand-alone drink, it is served very chilled as an aperitif, digestif, or as just a shot; it is also mixed with tonic water to produce the beton, which means "concrete." (Ha, ha.) It is still made in Karlovy Vary (though the firm is now owned by Pernod), and the brand has expanded to include a less hard-hitting lemon variety ("Lemond") and a few other special flavors.
So, if you come to Prague (which you should!) and you want to try absinthe (why not?), find a good place that has absinthe that louches. And if they bring out the matches or the lighter, walk away.
One final note, you will see in many of these same touristy shops signs for "cannabis this" and "cannabis that," including "cannabis absinthe"--or even "cocaine vodka." Contrary to what many people seem to think, marijuana is not legal in the Czech Republic, except medically, so stores cannot legally sell it, etc, etc.--let alone cocaine! So, where do these products come from? Well, while these products do contain cannabis or coca leaves, they are used as flavorings, and the psychoactive compounds are in such small quantities as to essentially be nonexistent. Like Czech absinth, these products are selling you a taboo--a chance to do something forbidden--but will give you none of the pleasure of the taboo practice itself. Well, at least Czech absinth will get you pretty drunk; cannabis ice cream will just make you fat. So, when you want to celebrate or relax with friends while in Czechia, skip the hype--have a shot of slivovice, a beton, or even just a Czech pilsner or Moravian wine. Drink like a local--not like a college student on spring break. Pretty good life advice generally, actually.
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However, I am still fascinated by alcohol as a cultural signifier and a historical force. The fact that pretty much every culture finds a way to turn plants into liquids that make mediocre comedians funny says something interesting about humanity, though I won't go into all of my theories. Needless to say, I have many.
Also, needless to say, the Czech people have their own national liquors, sometimes shared with their Eastern and Central European neighbors and relatives, but usually made or served with a Czech twist. Since I don't really drink, this is purely an outsider's guide to Czech spirits--I have never tried any of these drinks, nor am I likely to do so in the future. If you want to drink like a Czech, though, you should keep reading. And make sure to hydrate, because they don't mess around.
 |
| "Plum brandy! Ha! How rough could it be?!" -- likely the last coherent words of many trying Slivovice for the first time. |
Slivovice is the Czech regional name for a popular plum brandy that is called "Slivovitz" generically in the EU. Under other names, often from the same base word, it's popular in much of Central and Eastern Europe; it's also closely related to the French eau de vie--water of life. Slivovice takes its name from the damson plum used to make it--slíva. The plums are mashed up, fermented, and then distilled, to create a liquor that, on the low end, is about 45% ABV--or 90 proof. Other varieties, especially those made in smaller distilleries, or even home distilleries, go up to 50% ABV or even higher. That's serious territory. This is some boozy booze. It's especially closely linked with the Moravian region, which is essentially the eastern half of Czechia, where many occasions, both happy and sad, are marked with a shot of slivovice. The same process is used to make similar liquors from other fruits: hruškovice is made from pears, jablkovice from apples, and meruňkovice from apricots. All are potent. Traditionally, slivovice is served at room temperature, in order to better taste the fruit flavors; however, many foreigners drink it chilled to try to cool the burn. It doesn't really mix into any cocktails, and you don't serve it on the rocks--just straight up, in a shot glass. Brace yourself.
 |
| "Headache pain? Life got you down? Try Becherovka!" -- probably a rejected slogan |
Like the cough drops/candies I tried last week, Becherovka started life as a patent medicine--a health tonic that was pretty much just booze: 38% booze, to be exact. Invented in the early 1800s by Josef Becher, a local pharmacist in the Bohemian spa town of Karlovy Vary, with heavy input from a visiting English doctor named Christian Frobrig, Becherovka is a proprietary mixture that didn't really take off until Josef's son Jan decided to market it as more of a cordial than a medicine in the 1830s. Like KFC and Coke--two other great creations with curative powers--Becherovka has a secret recipe, supposedly known only to two living persons. Once a week, one of these two people enters a room called the Drogikamr--which seems to mean something like "Where the drug is made"--and mixes 1.5 tons of some 22 secret ingredients together before combing all that with alcohol and later some other ingredients. The liquor that results, which is often compared to other herbal liquors like Jägermeister, is said to have a sort of cinnamon taste and to be both sweet and bitter. As a stand-alone drink, it is served very chilled as an aperitif, digestif, or as just a shot; it is also mixed with tonic water to produce the beton, which means "concrete." (Ha, ha.) It is still made in Karlovy Vary (though the firm is now owned by Pernod), and the brand has expanded to include a less hard-hitting lemon variety ("Lemond") and a few other special flavors.
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| Absinthe, AKA "The Green Fairy"--also the name of Captain Planet's gay sidekick. |
All over tourist-y Prague, you will see stores and bars loudly advertising that they sell or serve absinthe. Well, actually, they will likely advertise "absinth." This is not, as you might first assume, just a spelling variant. Instead, it's a sort of loophole. True absinthe, like the Pernod variety in the photograph, is a spirit made from three key ingredients: wormwood, fennel, and anise. Its flavor is like that of black licorice (yuck), and it if often--though not always--green. This is the absinthe rhapsodized by writers and artists from Wilde to Hemingway and demonized and banned in the early decades of the 20th Century. The idea that absinthe, in particular the wormwood in absinthe, causes hallucinations is pretty widely discredited, though many absinthe drinkers do profess to being a different sort of drunk after partaking. Whether this is real (some of the ingredients are mild stimulants, so maybe it's a Red Bull and vodka sort of thing) or merely the placebo effect isn't clear, but it certainly doesn't cause people to go crazy or hallucinate any more than the same amount of alcohol would in a different form. Absinthe, however, will get you pretty drunk, as it's anywhere from 45-85% (!!!) ABV. So, enjoy responsibly--the traditional method, of course, involves melting a sugar cube into the absinthe using tiny additions of water, and then slowly sipping the resulting cloudy liquid. The cloudiness is caused by the anise and water failing to mix in what is called "the ouzo effect" or, charmingly, "the louche."
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| The louche, wherein green absinthe becomes milky white just by adding water. Isn't chemistry awesome? |
"Absinthe" unlike, say, "gin" or "cognac," is not a legally defined or protected term in most countries. So, shortly after the Velvet Revolution, some unscrupulous, but very clever, businessmen in the newly free Prague decided to start making what is called Bohemian-style or Czech-style absinth, or just "absinth" for short. Exploiting absinthe's notorious reputation, and the ever present desire among adolescents to get seriously effed up, Czech absinth is green, potent as hell (85% ABV and up), and has wormwood. The fact that many have literally no anise, fennel, or many other natural ingredients is sort of irrelevant--it's essentially just grain alcohol with some coloring and wormwood extract added--because this is not a sophisticated sipping absinthe. Oh no. This is like Four Loko--it's only goal is to get young, stupid people tremendously drunk. That said, absinthe is a famously ritualized drink, and since Czech absinth doesn't louche (no anise, no louche), these cunning entrepreneurs had to think of a new ritual for their drink. Enter the "fire ritual."
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| You'd think that people would be turned off by the smell and taste of burning sugar, but apparently people *really* want to get effed up. And are stupid. |
With the classic ritual for absinthe centering on the slow addition of water and the resulting louche, it's rather perfect that the new ritual centers on fire. Here's the spectacle in all its shameless glory.
In its most common iteration, the fire ritual for Czech absinth, an absinth-soaked sugar cube is set ablaze over the glass, the absinth below also catches fire because it's highly alcoholic, and the whole thing is doused with some water before being consumed. The result is, by almost every account I have found, awful--perhaps because the absinth is awful or because burnt sugar is one of the nastiest flavors on the planet. Likely, it's a bit of both. There are differing versions of the fire ritual--I mean, it was invented in the 90s, so that's not surprising. But they all involve the oldest spectacle in the world--fire--and they're all designed to distract you from the fact that you're not actually drinking real absinthe. Also, classic absinthe is diluted to a 3:1 or 4:1 water to absinthe ratio, allowing for sipping. Czech absinth, on the other hand, is often served at a 1:1 ratio--or even served entirely undiluted--to more efficiently get to the vomiting and blackout portion of the evening.
So, if you come to Prague (which you should!) and you want to try absinthe (why not?), find a good place that has absinthe that louches. And if they bring out the matches or the lighter, walk away.
One final note, you will see in many of these same touristy shops signs for "cannabis this" and "cannabis that," including "cannabis absinthe"--or even "cocaine vodka." Contrary to what many people seem to think, marijuana is not legal in the Czech Republic, except medically, so stores cannot legally sell it, etc, etc.--let alone cocaine! So, where do these products come from? Well, while these products do contain cannabis or coca leaves, they are used as flavorings, and the psychoactive compounds are in such small quantities as to essentially be nonexistent. Like Czech absinth, these products are selling you a taboo--a chance to do something forbidden--but will give you none of the pleasure of the taboo practice itself. Well, at least Czech absinth will get you pretty drunk; cannabis ice cream will just make you fat. So, when you want to celebrate or relax with friends while in Czechia, skip the hype--have a shot of slivovice, a beton, or even just a Czech pilsner or Moravian wine. Drink like a local--not like a college student on spring break. Pretty good life advice generally, actually.
Enjoy this and other Prague Blog posts? Then please consider contributing to my Patreon. Thank you.
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