Eating pickles with Madison's newest gold-medal vodka importer
Inhabitants of the greater Madison area, prepare for the imminent import of a gold medal-winning vodka, thanks to an amazing story of a bootstrapping start-up with connections straight to the source. Victor Apagov, a computer programmer from Minsk, Belarus, has figured out a way to get top-flight vodka from the motherland into America, and we are soon to be the beneficiaries of his new company Gvardia’s international vodka-transport construct. The A.V. Club managed to get invited to a tasting session involving one of only six extant U.S. bottles of Belarusian vodka Belaya Rus, which just earned a gold medal and “exceptional” rating from the Beverage Tasting Institute, and is in the final stages of FDA approval for local distribution, targeted for April.
Russians—and Belarusians—are extremely serious about vodka. The elaborate ritual around consumption of this potato-based alcohol starts with a bottle and, just as importantly, a kitchen table. Apagov, the company’s CEO, explains: “Back home, it is critical that it is not consumed standing up, the vodka,” (a word he charmingly pronounces as “wodka”). “What we want is to sit around a table, which is almost always in the kitchen.” Here everyone meets, and eats, and each shot of vodka is accompanied by a progression of toasts, which begin with generalized cheers (“Na zdoróvye!”) and progress through specific benedictions of health and luck bestowed variously on the assembled party. And it’s always a party: The deathless “rule of three,” which calls for at least three people to drink in a vodka session, is so ingrained in the cultural psyche that a system of holding one’s fingers out over the coat as an invitation for random strangers to complete a vodka-drinking group is considered totally normal.
When the group has gathered around the nearest and best kitchen table, much slicing and preparation commences, though some critical details were already handled in advance. (For example, pickles should be chilled for 24 hours, and the good ones only last two days.) In this case the tasting took place at Chief Evangelist Mary Zinn’s kitchen, with Apagov and their attendant families in a homey, life-affirming session devoted to talking about life and vodka rituals, with that distinction rapidly becoming blurry over the course of a 90-minute session.
First, Apagov began to slice pickles, from a jar with impenetrable Russian lettering. “These pickles, these were obtained from a limited supply only available in Chicago,” he says. Historically, the pickles are important as the vodka might be bad, and the acidity kills the pain (sort of like the lemon after bad tequila in a bimbo beach bar in Baja).
Then, the drinking. You take the vodka like a shooter, knocking it off in a single gulp. But in this case, we sniffed the shot and tasted it as you would wine so as to explore the differences between American vodkas, which taste “like nothing,” and Minsk vodka, which carries strong flavor: a mineral, grassy, tonic tone with notes of faint pepper and star anise. But in Russia no one ever sniffs it: Instead, people power it down, with heads back, from the small, petal-like shot glasses.
The ritual calls for two shots and an optional pickle chaser, then a rest while absorbent foods are consumed. A series of plates are handed around. Sunflower seeds, pumpernickel “black bread,” herring, and pickled cabbage are forked out, along with, in opulent circumstances, boiled potatoes and cured pork belly. After eating some cold fish and bread, the cycle of two shots with pickles begins again. (In Russia, when drinking vodka, if someone hands you a shot and you don’t drink it, everyone crowds around with concern and asks, “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”)
The food-vodka-pickle cycle continued. “These Nezhin pickles is not so good,” Apagov moaned between shots, English breaking down a bit, shaking his head. “They are not best Russian variety.” Too much sugar is added in the West as a preservative sometimes, he explains, apologizing despite his obvious effort to get the right pickles.
“But this is good vodka, no?”
With bellies full and warmth spreading outward to the extremities, the time comes for relaxation, conversation, and family. And maybe a few more shots of vodka.
