It is probably a coincidence that the invention of distilling alcohol roughly coincides with the 10th-century arrival of the Hungarians in Central Europe. Their descendants sometimes joke that Arpad, the semimythical leader of this great medieval migration, should have continued west, a darkly humorous reference to Hungary’s troubled history on Europe’s periphery. Even today, however, it’s easy to see why Arpad stopped at the Carpathian Basin. The flat plain, with its rich soil and mild climate, is fantastically suited for agriculture. Village gardens produce prodigious quantities of plums, apples, peaches, and apricots, the key ingredients in palinka, Hungary’s throat-constricting version of fruit brandy.
Thanks to the Russians, vodka is the liquor Americans usually associate with Eastern Europe. But south of Poland, herbal and fruit spirits rule the roost. Czechs and Slovaks seem to prefer herbally infused liquors such as Becherovka and Tatratea. The traditional predinner aperitif in rural Romania is tuica, a type of plum brandy. Throughout the Balkans, you will find raki, or rakija, or rakia, also distilled from fruit. In Joseph Roth’s The Radetzky March, perhaps the best novel about Eastern Europe before World War I, the only thing a recently ennobled officer can think to do with his Slovenian peasant father is to share a glass of raki. Further south, the celebrated British travel writer-turned-commando Patrick Leigh Fermor shared raki with Cretan resistance fighters during World War II.
Imbibing fruit liquor is a venerable tradition throughout Central and Eastern Europe, but few peoples can match the appetite of the Hungarians. You will find references to palinka in Hungarian literature—the drink is euphemistically labeled “brandy” by English translators, although the word doesn’t do justice to palinka’s bite—and you can also find exotic flavors (such as raspberry) at upscale Budapest restaurants. But palinka is most closely associated with rural Hungary and the villages and hamlets of the Great Hungarian Plain. Most will tell you that the best stuff is hazi palinka, homebrewed liquor from a cousin, an uncle, a neighbor, or another friend or family member. Many swear by palinka’s medicinal properties. Large quantities are imbibed from special fat-bottomed shot glasses at every conceivable event, from birthdays to christenings to village pig roasts.
Homebrewed palinka has survived a great deal of political turmoil. In the 19th century, palinka distillation was supposed to be a state monopoly. The 1919 Hungarian Soviet Republic banned its production, a decision that undoubtedly contributed to the regime’s rapid collapse. After World War II, the communists struck again, outlawing homemade liquor distillation. Despite these trials and tribulations, Hungary’s unique homebrewing traditions have endured.
Today, hazi palinka is back in favor. In 2010, Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban helped inaugurate a liberalized approach to amateur brewing. The resulting legal framework is roughly comparable to Washington, D.C.’s decriminalization of cannabis: As long as you limit your output to 50 liters and don’t sell palinka commercially, you’re free to make your own stuff and distribute it to friends and neighbors. For a country that is often described by outsiders as traditional, conservative, and even authoritarian, Hungary’s approach to a drink that is typically 40%-60% alcohol and can be easily botched by amateurs is downright libertarian.
Hungary, of course, is not a libertarian paradise. The country’s drug policies and laws against drinking and driving (alcohol consumption is forbidden if you’re getting behind the wheel) are still quite strict. But the Hungarian approach to palinka suggests an important lesson that transcends tippling. A traditional practice embedded in local communities, even one as potentially dangerous as the production of homemade liquor, is often self-regulating, something that differentiates making palinka from, say, cooking meth in a lonely basement. If you ever find yourself in rural Hungary, you will probably be offered hazi palinka or even invited to help brew a batch. The drink may not be to your taste, but the social aspect of homebrewing is worth savoring.
Will Collins is a high school teacher in Eger, Hungary.
