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According to a builder I once spoke to, the Bulgarians have only 3 passions: sex, Kebabche and Rakia. Sex, I hope, most of you will know about, if not, it’s a bit like a strawberry crusha milkshake, but with two people. A Kebabche is a grilled minced pork sausage cooked on a bbq until almost done (better a bit pink to ensure life on the edge) often served with cold chips or a bun. Which leaves rakia, the national drink, which I made last week whilst skiving from my work on the house. I got some help from the local jokers and this is how you too can enjoy the great taste of Bulgarian home made brandy aka moonshine.

How to Make Rakia:

First, pick around 100kg of plums, from trees in your garden and the rest of the village, scrump if necessary and allow at least 1 week of intermittent picking. It is also possible to use other fruit, in fact almost any fruit, but plums, apricots and grapes are best.

Put the plums into a barrel or large, sealed, plastic container (bidon). Add between 6 and 15kg of sugar depending upon which toothless old man you decide to trust on the day (I went for 10kgs) mixed with warm water. Stir/pulp with a large stick containing a number of rusty nails which stick out of it at strategic points. Stir/pulp every day for around 2 weeks, or until it looks like the barrel may overflow, or the flies cannot eat any more.

You are now ready to brew your moonshine.

Light a match over the barrel of slop to test for gas – no gas, no problem – you’re ready to rock. Pour 3 rusty buckets of the slop into a large copper still (Kazan) usually found in any old mans garden shed. The add 100g of bicarbonate of soda and watch it bubble. Then add the remaining slop,remembering not to miss a drop, so sieve out the stones and rinse it out with a small amount of water as necessary. Ensure Kazan is filled to the very top, again adding water if required.

Add the lid and pipe to the Kazan, which attaches it to a barrel of cold water with a pipe in the middle (see diagram).

So now you think you are ready. But you’re not. So, pull a few handfuls of ash out of the fire and mix up with some stagnant water from the barrel (use flour if ash seems to primitive). This paste is then applied to all joints between the Kazan, the lid, the pipe and the cooler to make the apparatus air tight and to stop it all blowing up, apparently. Wipe the paste with a little water and sprinkle with dry ash. I don’t know why you do this, but it looks technical. Set a fire in the bottom of the Kazan using small sticks and an old newspaper, sit around waiting for the smoke to overwhelm you, then leave the shed before it turns into a sauna. Nb: this process can be undertaken in any climatic conditions, but we found 38 degrees best to really get your sweat on.

After 3 hours, your pulpy plum slop will have heated up and the gas given off will escape through the pipe. At the other end of the pipe, the gas will be transformed back into liquid as it travels through the cooler and a slightly insipid looking, yellow liquid will appear from a pipe at the bottom of the cooling tank and trickle slowly into your container waiting beneath. Your spiritometer (there must be a more technical name for it) will tell you how strong it is. It should start at around 60% and gradually reduce. When it reaches 30% you should stop. According to the maestro, 60%+30%= 90% which, when divided by 2 is 45%: which is the optimum level. So why did mine come in at 50% then? No answer to that one.

Then, only one more thing to do, filter the stuff to get the flies out, then taste – nasdrave indeed!

From left to right, Me, Benko (Rakia maestro, porn star and Kazan owner), Bi Ivan, toothless local legend and Kazan cleaner.

Ciao ciao e fsichko hubavo