Rakia: Bulgaria's Fruit Brandy, and How I Drink It in Sofia

Rakia is Bulgaria's fruit brandy, distilled mostly from grapes or plums, and it's the glass a Bulgarian dinner starts with. It's about 40% from a shop and a lot stronger from someone's uncle. This is how I introduce friends to it: the types and what they taste like, how to drink it the Bulgarian way, the homemade stuff, my two favourite rakia spots in Sofia and what to pack for home.

What is rakia?

Rakia is a brandy distilled from fermented fruit. Young rakia is clear as water; rakia that has spent time in oak turns gold. Bulgarian labels spell it ракия, which you'll also see written as rakiya, and Serbs and Croats call the same drink rakija.

Every Balkan country makes it and most of them claim it. Serbia calls rakija its national drink. Bulgaria has tried to get rakia recognised as its national drink at EU level, so far without result, and Bulgarian archaeologists point to an 11th-century fragment of a still dug up here and a 14th-century pot inscribed "I have celebrated with rakia".

Whoever invented it, rakia heads the list of Bulgarian drinks you'll be offered, and it's the welcome drink in a Bulgarian home. A guest gets a small glass and something salty to eat with it.

Types of Bulgarian rakia

Bulgarian rakia is named after its fruit, so the label tells you what's in the glass. Grape and plum are on every menu in Sofia; the others turn up on longer lists, in mehanas and in village kitchens every autumn.

Grape rakia is the everyday one. In autumn, after the wine pressing, the leftover skins and pips get distilled too, into джиброва (dzhibrova), a rougher pomace rakia that tastes closer to Italian grappa. If you like Bulgarian wine, muscat rakia (мускатова) is the grape rakia to try, because it smells of the muscat grapes it's made from.

Aged rakia is the gold one. It has rested in oak barrels, the label says отлежала (otlezhala, aged), and I drink it at room temperature, more like a brandy after dinner. Plum takes to the barrel best, in my opinion, and an aged plum rakia is what I'd pick for someone who thinks they don't like spirits.

I judge a mehana by its quince rakia. If I can smell the quince from across the table, the kitchen usually takes the same care with the food.

What does rakia taste like?

Rakia tastes of its fruit first and of alcohol a second later. A good grape rakia is dry and clean on the tongue, a good plum rakia has a deep, almost jammy finish, and apricot and quince smell so strongly of fruit that the 40% comes as a surprise. Cheap rakia burns on the way down and tastes of very little else.

Temperature changes it. Clear rakia served ice cold, the way Bulgarians drink it in summer, tastes smoother and hides its strength. Aged rakia at room temperature tastes of oak, dried fruit and a little vanilla.

How to drink rakia like a Bulgarian

Rakia is an aperitif here. It arrives in a small glass of up to 50 ml at the start of the meal, next to a shopska salad or a plate of туршия (turshiya, pickled vegetables), and you sip it over the first half hour while the salad goes down. I order the main course once the salad bowl is half empty, and by then I've usually moved on to wine.

Between about 5pm and 7pm, rakia comes out with cured meat, white cheese and salad, and that's how a lot of evenings in Sofia start.

Every round opens with a toast. Look each person in the eye as you clink and say "nazdrave" (наздраве, to your health). That word sits next to blagodarya (благодаря, thank you) as one of the two Bulgarian phrases I'd learn before landing.

In winter, look for греяна ракия (greyana rakia) on mehana menus: rakia warmed with honey or sugar and a pinch of black pepper, which tastes like a Balkan hot toddy. It's what I order on the first properly cold evening of November.

At Bulgarian weddings the groom's father goes from table to table toasting the guests with rakia, and some people still spill a few drops for the dead.

Homemade rakia and the village still

Homemade rakia is a Bulgarian autumn job. Families crush grapes or plums into big plastic drums as the fruit ripens and leave the mash to ferment for 20 to 40 days.

Then the mash goes to the казан (kazan), the copper still. Most towns and villages have a small distillery where families book a slot, bring their own fruit and their own firewood, and run off the year's supply.

Homemade rakia comes out anywhere between 50% and 80%. It ends up in plastic water bottles and old wine bottles with no label, and if you stay with a Bulgarian family, expect to be offered a glass of it. Rakia is medicine too, in the old-fashioned sense: a compress of rakia and vinegar is an old village cure for a fever.

Rakia across the Balkans

Every country from Hungary down to Turkey has its own name for fruit brandy and its own favourite fruit. This is what to order if you carry on travelling.

Croatian rakija belongs to the same family as Bulgarian rakia, distilled from grapes or plums, and Croatians also flavour it: travarica has herbs steeped in it, biska from Istria uses mistletoe and medica is sweetened with honey.

Where I drink rakia in Sofia

Every restaurant in Sofia that serves Bulgarian food has rakia, and in a mehana (механа, a Bulgarian tavern) the list runs to several fruits. A 50 ml glass costs less than a pint in a London pub, one of the prices in Sofia that make a long dinner cheap.

These are the two places I take friends when rakia is the point of the evening.

Raketa Rakia Bar

Raketa (Ракета, the rocket) is a rakia bar with a Bulgarian kitchen at Yanko Sakazov Boulevard 15-17, by Zaimov Park, and the rooms are decorated with socialist-era memorabilia. It's on my list of the best restaurants in Sofia as well, because the Bulgarian food stands up to the rakia list.

The rakia list is long, so this is the place to work through the table above: a grape, a plum, then fig or cherry if they have it. Order a shopska with the first round. It makes a good evening after an afternoon at the Museum of Socialist Art, because the decor picks up the same era. In summer you can sit out on the terrace it shares with Sputnik, the cocktail bar next door.

Hadjidraganovite Izbi

Hadjidraganovite Izbi (Хаджидрагановите изби, Hadjidraganov's Cellars) is a cellar mehana at Hristo Belchev 18, on the corner of Solunska Street, close to Vitosha Boulevard. It's touristy and I still book it, because a quince rakia followed by the pork knuckle is a proper Bulgarian dinner, and a band plays Bulgarian folk music every evening except Monday from 8pm to 11pm.

It's open every day from 11.30am to 11.30pm. For a Friday or Saturday night I book ahead on +359 898 775 936 or through the Izbi's website, and I ask for a table near the band.

Buying rakia in Sofia and bringing it home

Sofia's supermarkets have a long rakia shelf, mostly 70cl bottles at 40%. Names you'll see include Burgas 63, Karnobatska, Sungurlarska, Slivenska Perla and Kehlibar.

For a gift I buy an aged rakia or a fruit one, apricot or quince, because those are the bottles friends at home won't have tried. A bottle of rakia is the souvenir I bring back most often, ahead of rose oil on my list of Bulgarian souvenirs.

Great Britain's personal allowance is 4 litres of spirits over 22% per adult, so five 70cl bottles fit inside it. The 4 litres share an allowance with 9 litres of drinks up to 22%, such as port or sherry, so you can bring half of each. Go over, and you pay duty and tax on everything in that category.