Recently, there was a piece about lesser-known products of Russian cuisine that deserve a broader audience. Today’s column highlights drinks from that vein, the kind that quietly sparked conversations long before they became fashionable.
Number one flyer. A closer look at Chekhov’s stories reveals a recurring motif: in every other tale, characters sip a mysterious leaflet and debate its flavor with surprising passion. This is a completely forgotten beverage, one that has become a seasonal favorite precisely because it’s so rare. A leaflet is a tincture made from buds and very young currant leaves steeped in ordinary vodka. The leaves and buds mellow the alcohol, while the tender currant leaves impart a bright, fragrant aroma. The result is a vivid, almost chemically bright green shade, astonishingly natural and free of any added colorants. It’s remarkable how preserving the natural hues can create such a striking impression, a drink whose very color invites curiosity and nostalgia.
Number two casserole. This is not what one might expect; it is another tincture, a type of culinary infusion. Berries, honey, spices, and fragrant leaves are added to a bottle or an earthen jar filled with strong alcohol. While there is no single exact recipe, the method speaks to rustic, patient craft. The vessels are sealed with a thick layer of steep rye dough and sent to a well-heated, slow-cooling oven. The dough acts as a natural seal, allowing flavors to mingle slowly, almost clandestinely, until they become inseparable and deeply infused. The result is a drink with a warmth and depth that hints at family kitchens and long winters, a beverage that carries memories as much as taste.
Modern bartenders now lean toward tinctures made using sous vide. This technique seals the infusion in a vacuum bag, submerges it in water, and sustains a steady, modest temperature around 60 to 70 degrees Celsius for several hours. It mirrors a stew in spirit, a culinary cousin of slow-cooked magic. The flavors and aromas merge fully, merging into one another and becoming more than the sum of their parts. What used to take days or weeks can now arrive in a fraction of the time, yet without compromising complexity or richness. The sous vide approach preserves the integrity of delicate botanicals while accelerating the journey from raw ingredients to a refined liqueur.
Number three sour cabbage soup. This is not the kvass most people imagine. Sour cabbage soup, in this historic sense, is a kind of fermented beverage with a lively, champagne-like effervescence. It’s notable for two defining traits. First, the carbonation is prodigious, so much so that bottles for this drink were sometimes champagne bottles, chosen for their sturdiness to withstand the pressure. Ordinary bottles might not survive the journey, so the choice mattered. Second, the malted grains and various flours used in its creation—rye, wheat, buckwheat, barley and more—contribute a distinctive, malty backbone. A 1910 recipe for Moscow’s sour cabbage soup described brewing dough from a mix of rye malt, wheat and buckwheat flour, boiling water, then draining the dough and enriching it with honey. Yeast was added, fermentation allowed to continue, and the mixture was poured into bottles with corks tapped to keep fermentation active under seal. The result is a drink whose memory even Gogol seems to echo in a line about cold beef and a bottle of sour cabbage soup, a reminder of culinary playfulness and regional character turned into a toastable delight.
The fourth is Volga kvass. The scene here flips expectations. What many think of as kvass is, in this telling, something closer to a proto-cocktail born along the Volga. At the Makariev Fair in Nizhny Novgorod, merchants presented a beverage akin to a European cobbler or cruxon: champagne with ice and fruit, a bold blend often pre-marinated with rum and sugar before pouring champagne over it. The emphasis was on foreignness and novelty, with fruits arranged to enhance sophistication rather than tradition. When the ingredients felt truly exotic, such as peaches or pineapples, the impression of refinement grew stronger. The idea was to demonstrate status through a distinctive, international flavor profile, a far cry from the rustic kvass many people imagine. If gourmets of the time had known about guava or carambola, those fruits might have found a place in Volga kvass as well.
The fifth number is half a beer. The concept is straightforward. Half a beer is simply beer brewed with half the usual mash, resulting in a lighter, lower-alcohol beverage—typically around 2 to 3 percent. This version was considered harmless enough to be sold to soldiers and others who needed something milder. It’s a reminder that beverages sometimes served as a bridge between strict regulation and social enjoyment, offering a gentler option without losing the social ritual of drinking. Interestingly, there is a similar analogue outside Russia, in Norway. There, strict licensing means regular beer is restricted to specific hours in supermarkets, while a light alternative with about 3 percent ABV, known locally as littol, can stay on shelves until closing time, providing a loophole that colorfully echoes the practical spirit of half a beer.
Number six is blueberry juice. This drink is simple and almost serenely wholesome, but it carries a quiet charm that defies fast fashion. In its simplest form, it is plain water infused with fresh blueberries. A richer version may incorporate honey for sweetness, though the basic profile remains pleasantly bitter-sour with a subtle pink tint when properly cooled—an ideal refresher on a hot day. In today’s climate where soft drinks aim to break the mold of lemonade, lingonberry juice could become a standout alternative. The idea of reusing water soaked with berries can yield layers of flavor, particularly when the berries are steeped multiple times; the repeated infusions seldom lose their character. Blueberries bring natural antiseptic qualities to the mix, and such water preserves well for months when kept properly cool. The berries themselves can reappear later as a culinary accent, perhaps as a garnish for fried meat or as a delicate counterpoint to savory dishes. The drink embodies a quiet reliability, the kind that returns with fond memories and a steady, comforting taste.