At a Glance

And in a rare moment of good timing, as of December 2022, Serbian Šljivovica (plum Rakija) has also been added to UNESCO’s list of intangible cultural heritage. Šljivovica (SHLI’-vuh-vitsah) is Serbia’s national drink, the first national brand, and they have the highest rate of consumption in the world. Despite occupations, wars, genocide, Socialism, and avoiding the allure of cheap mass-produced industrial brands, the homemade tradition has survived it all. The village of Pranjani even hosts an annual Rakija drinking competition where teams of four need to drink a liter in under 15 minutes then walk across a log without falling and so on. More typically, you have it with your morning coffee. It’s also obligatory when you invite someone into your home, often served before dinner and afterwards, and of course whenever there’s cause for celebration or tragedy. If there’s no Rakija in the home, it’s not really considered a home. There are over 10,000 private producers in Serbia not to mention everyone who remains off the books.

It’s also quite distinct from Levantine Arak, Raki from Turkey, or any number of other similar drinks derived from Arab alembic distillation. Raki for instance, is typically made from distilled grapes and aniseed. It’s also almost always served with the addition of water to create the cloudy (louche) effect much like in Ouzo, Pastis, Mastika, and Sambuca. These distillates, while of course delicious in their own rite, also utilize a whole host of other herbs, beans, seeds, and spices to define their flavor.

Quality Rakija is by contrast simply two ingredients: fruit and water and served crystal clear. Quality Rakija is almost always Domace, aka homemade. The general sentiment is that the best stuff never comes with a label. The chasm between what’s at the gas station or supermarket and what’s made on the family boiler is staggering. Serbian novelist and painter Momčilo "Momo" Kapor famously noted that, “In Rakija is the essence of the Serbian being - first joy, then celebration of taste, then anger, compassion, the feeling that the world is good and that all those who drink it are friends.” To be fair, he’s also quoted as saying that Rakija is “A drink that simultaneously evokes endless fury, sorrow and belligerence.” We like to think that he’s first addressing the good stuff and then the mass-produced additive heavy stuff thereafter.

There’s also been a rejuvenation of Rakija in the Balkans in the past few years. Rakija bars have popped up in Belgrade, it’s showing up on fine dining tasting menus, long barrel élevage versions are being sought after, and much like wine, there’s an emphasis on organic agriculture and low intervention as well. The aforementioned staggering delineation between industrial and homemade is becoming blurred with producers like Volos Natura.