RAKI - Drink of Champions

TURKISH-GREEK POEM

You become aware when you feel homesick
That you are brothers with the greek
just look at a child of istanbul
listening to a greek ode
we've sworn at each other in the free manner of our language
we've drawn knife on blood
yet a love lies hidden in us
for days of peace like these
what if in our veins
it were the same blood that flows
from the same air in our hearts
a crazy wind blows
generous like this rain
warm like this sun
the armfuls of goodness of spring
that surge from within
from this water from this taste have we sinned
our hostility a drink
distilled from the fruit of the climate
as harmful and as tasteful as any drink
a blue magic between us
a warm sea
two peoples on its shores
equals in beauty
the golden age of the aegean
through us will revive
as with the fire of the future
the hearth of the past comes alive
first a merry laughter comes to your ear
then some turkish with a greek accent
he is nostalgic about the bosporus
you remember the raki*
'tis when you are homesick
that you recall you are brothers with the greek
London, 1947

*Turkish national drink similar to the Greek oozo.
by Blent Ecevit

RAKI

Rakı şişesinde balık olsam.
“In a bottle of Rakı, o that I were a fish.”
-Orhan Veli, great Turkish poet, storyteller, and drinker
Rakı is the traditional distilled spirit of Turkey.  In fact, it is an Aegean drink and you may know it from a jaunt to Greece as Uzo.  But really, from now on you have to call it Rakı.  I insist.  You pronounce this fine beverage as RAH-kuh, and the “-kuh” is abrupt, kind of like a grunt.
Rakı is produced from grapes, and the best Turkish hooch is from black grapes, but varieties abound. Probably not a surprise, as the Aegeans invented wine.  It is meant to be drunk cold and with food.  Tradition offers one reason.  Rakı is a dinner drink, and is best consumed slowly with ample bread and company.  Thus, a party of four can drink two large bottles over the course of two or three hours, talking constantly the entire time.  You will be drunk, but feeling like a champion.  The other reason is that Rakı is extremely strong, 100 proof or so, and has mysterious, mystical qualities.  Without food and pacing, the results can be somewhat varied, from feeling terrible, to loud obnoxious singing and standing on tables, to running half-naked around the streets of Istanbul.
http://www.worldwords.org/turk.html

http://foodjunta.com/2009/10/29/raki-sisesinde-balik-olsam/

It was the oldest one who was the first to mother us. When Mimi started pouring raki into a goblet like it was water, he rushed over with skinny glasses and a bucket of ice. He asked us if we were sure we didn’t want to order something, that raki was very strong and would be hard on our stomachs without some salad. (It is very interesting to me what different cultures consider essential food to eat with liquor.) We had barely absorbed the menu at this point, but his concern was so sincere, we ordered the shepherd’s salad immediately.
While we waited for it to arrive, the other waiters made sure we poured more reasonable amounts into the glasses with some ice and an ounce or two of water. The youngest one opened the bottle, waved it under his nose, and exhaled loudly. “Is it a good one?” I asked. “Yes! I drink raki everyday.” He exhorted us, “Do not, do not smell it! If you smell it, you will not be able to drink it.” Since our salad hadn’t appeared yet, we sat patiently with the milky white glasses in front of us, working very hard not to smell the strong, unmistakable scent of anise.
When we finally tasted it, it tasted just as I had expected—like Greek ouzo! (I’m sure the Greeks and the Turks would love that.) Intense with the flavors of fennel, aniseed, and licorice that I love, so when I saw Mimi trying to drink hers while holding her nose, I finished off her glass for her, too.