Home Spirit
When Rich came down, two weeks ago, he gave me a present to warm my house: a bottle of his dad’s home-brewed rakia. (Is it rakia, or rakija? Lozovaca?)
Home-brewed spirits are an odd thing: only central Europeans seem to have the knack. While anyone (even I) can brew up a competent beer or mead, all the home-brewed whiskies and rums I’ve ever had have been nasty. Sharp, ethanol-flavoured, instant brain damage. (True, a lot of these do not come from a still, but are simply flavouring plus a cheap base spirit.) But go to central Europe or find an immigrant’s restaurant, and you’ll be treated to rakia, a spirit smooth and clear. (Here’s a description of how it’s made in Bulgaria.) The old men say it’s so pure, you won’t get a hangover—well, I’m not sure I’d drink it in such quantities, it is strong stuff.
I don’t know how to describe the taste. It’s a heavy liquid, like an oil. Is there an essence of grape? Savoury sweetness. No sharpness at all. Nice and smooth.
Tonight I’ve done my first housewarming since Richard left. I’m happy. Rich is still here in spirit. Thank you Richard, and thank you Richard’s dad!