By
George Brozowski
A
couple of weeks ago my editor emailed me and told
me I would be getting a bottle of ZU Vodka
to try. ZU? Sounds African! African vodka,
who ever heard of such a thing? With vodka anything is possible,
as I have learned over the years. I do believe vodka is made
in every country on the planet and I'm willing to bet you
there are probably over 10,000 brands of vodka. If that number
sounds high to you then consider this. Tequila is only made
in Mexico and they alone produce over 2,000 brands! Anything
is possible, hell they even distill 4 brands of Vodka here
in Ohio and those are only the ones I'm aware of.
When the bottle finally arrived a few days later I discovered
that it wasn't made in Africa but instead came from Poland
and ZU was short for Zubrowka.
I can't tell you how completely surprised and delighted I
was to be holding this bottle in my hands. I felt like a child
on Christmas morning waiting to tear into my first present.
It was like a reunion with a long lost friend you thought
had died and then you accidentally bumped into at the mall.
I grew up on this stuff and it has triggered delightful memories
of my wild and crazy childhood. Yes that's right I said childhood
and I am fully aware that the legal drinking age in America
is 21, but let me explain.
As
you can probably guess by my last name I am Polish. I was
born in England as my parents were immigrating to America
from Poland along with a dozen or so aunts and uncles and
cousins. Our families settled in Detroit and Chicago and Cincinnati
depending on where they could find work. The one common denominator
in all those cities was the "placowka" which literally
translated is the outpost. In these cases it was more like
the local tavern where Polish immigrants hung out. It was
a combination bar and eatery where old world favorites were
served. It always had a hall attached where wedding receptions
took place and bingo was played on Thursday nights and union
meetings were held. It was a family type place that actually
welcomed children and even crying infants, like me. Getting
me to shut up was way beyond difficult. One day my mother
finally figured out how to do it.
Before
I go on with that let me say that you have to understand that
the national Polish drink is vodka. Hell we invented it and
I'll beat to a pulp any Russian who tries to say otherwise.
The Polish drink more vodka than water and I do not exaggerate,
well maybe a little bit. There were shots of the stuff on
every table and all up and down the bar. It was everywhere.
About half the shots were filled with straight up plain old
vodka but the other half were bison grass flavored vodka,
a favorite from the homeland. People would come in and order
their special dishes from the past accompanied by shots and
for a brief moment they would be transported back to places
they had left behind and places they would never see again.
It was during one of those meals that I was in full piss and
vinegar mode when my mother had enough of me. She dipped one
finger in a shot of bison grass flavored vodka and shoved
it in my mouth. It was love at first taste. I stopped crying
and squirming and yelling and pooping in my diaper and really,
really wished I could talk so I could say just one word, "MORE".
In
Europe it was, and still is, a custom to give even children
a taste of wine or spirits with meals and for special occasions.
As I grew older and wiser and reached the ripe old age of
9, I took full advantage of this old world tradition. I quickly
learned that running amuck in the "placowka" and
roughhousing with other boys and chasing little girls would
wear thin on everyone in the place and eventually someone
would slip me a little something to "calm that asshole
down". That little something more often than not turned
out to be Bison grass flavored vodka. Those rollicking good
times of my childhood eventually came to a much too soon end
but my recollections of those few tastes of that vodka stayed
buried in my subconscious only to resurrect this week.
I
finally snapped out of my revelry and gazed upon the clear
bottle with the green pin striped label and the words "The
Original" jumped out at me. God, I hope so. This hooch
has been made in Poland for over 600 years. This is a rye
grain vodka that is infused with the aromatic plant Hierochloe
odorata. It is called Bison grass because it is the favorite
food of Europe's biggest remaining herd of bison that live
in a remote corner of Poland in the last remaining primeval
forest in Europe. This plant grows in small, hard to find
clumps, resists cultivation and still has to be harvested
by hand.
This
vodka is a very, very pale green and inside the bottle is
one tall lone blade of Bison grass. Popping open the cap I
jam my nose into the neck of the bottle and inhale green fields
of gently swaying grasses and faint hints of incense. There
is absolutely no alcohol/ethanol up front. That botanical
treat is followed by vanilla and lavender and, of all things,
walnuts. Those flavors continue right down from the nose and
flow seamlessly onto the palate. Never has a nose been so
faithfully followed up by a similar experience in the palate.
It lays calmly and smoothly on the tongue only to provide
a bit of a tingle as it goes down with a nice long floral
finish. This is an absolutely delightful infused vodka and
if you have read any of my other rants you know that in all
these years I have only tasted one other infused
vodka that I thought was worth drinking. All the
others taste like hopeless cesspools of chemical and toxic
waste.
Buy
this vodka and try it and you will see and experience what
I fell in love with way back when, even as a youngster with
a decidedly uneducated palate. At just around $25.00 per bottle
it's a super premium steal with a unique flavor all its own.
By the way, I got mom a taste and didn't tell her what it
was and asked her to see if she could identify it by flavor
alone. She took that first sip and simply looked at me and
then tilted her head to one side and her eyes lit up and all
she said was one word, "Zubrowka".
She sank down into her favorite chair and her eyes misted
over and with an unfocused gaze she looked up and I could
tell she was back at the "placowka" holding me in
her arms and lovingly shoving her finger down my throat.
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