It's been a while, so let's discuss an alcoholic beverage again. My favorite type of hard liquor--one flavored with anise. Today's post is about the Greek version of this, called ouzo. The one I tried was Ouzo 12, from Kaloyiannis--Koutsikos SA Volos.
According to what I read online, ouzo's origins date back to the 14th century, when monks on Mt. Athos made a liquor called tsipouro. One version of this was flavored with anise. Then, skip ahead several hundred years, after Greek independence in the 19th century, when Greeks began making their own liquors again. In 1856 a man named Nikolaos Katsaros began distilling ouzo in the town of Tyrnavos, which he dubbed Tyrnavou. Ouzo got a real boost in popularity when another anise-flavored drink, absinthe, was banned in much of the world in the early 1900's (see my post on October 18, 2015 for more on that drink, and its banning.) By 1932 traditional ouzo was made using a copper container for distilling. Aside from anise, many other herbs and botanicals are used for flavoring, such as fennel, mastic, cardamom, coriander, cloves, and cinnamon. Although exactly which ones, and in what amounts are usually a trade secret. I also couldn't find out what grain or fruit is the base of the alcohol. The resulting "ouzo yeast" is then distilled. The beginning and end parts of this process are then removed, and distilled again, while the middle part is then the ouzo. That's the traditional way. Some modern distillers "cheat" by mixing the ouzo yeast with a premade ethyl alcohol, as this is cheaper. Also, like champagne, tequila, and bourbon, only ouzo made in Greece, using some proscribed manufacturing methods, can legally be marketed as "ouzo," at least in the EU. For example, all official ouzo has to use at least 20% ouzo yeast to qualify, and the result must have an alcoholic content of between 37.5 to 50%. Then there's the mystery of the name. Reportedly, back in the 1800's silkworm cocoons were stamped "uso Marsiglia," or "for use in Marseille." This became synonymous with saying something was of "superior quality." Then a visiting doctor had some of the traditional Greek liquor and loved it, remarking it was "uso Marsiglia," and the first part of the expression stuck as the name. Although others claim the name is from the Turkish word for grape, "uzum." (Maybe grapes are the base for ouzo sometimes?) As with other anise liquors, consumers often mix it with water and/or ice, which often causes the resulting mixture to go milky white, called the "louching." Other drinkers take it straight, but combined with food such as fish, fries (chips), olives, cheese, etc.
On the bottle I bought it mentions that its ouzo has been made since 1880. Although this evidently refers to the original recipe or tradition, since the company has only been bottling it since 1950. The website offers yet another explanation of the name "ouzo," as it claims it comes from the Italian word meaning aniseseed, "uso." (For the record, when I looked online, sites said "uso" means "use" in Italian, and "aniseseed" in Italian is "seme d'anice," so this explanation doesn't appear correct. Although I'm not a linguist, nor do I know anything about Italian, so keep that in mind.) Kaloyiannis-Koutsikos (sometimes rendered with a "g" replacing the "y" in the first part of the name), is in turn owned by W.S. Karoulias. This larger company partners with many other wineries, distilleries, and breweries. Some examples include Anhydrous, Barafakas, Lakonia, Yamas, Paulaner, and Jagermeister. Additionally, the "12" part of the title is a call back to the number put on ouzo barrels dating back to the 1880's.
Ouzo 12: It had a clear color, and an anise-y odor. The taste was also anise-y, or to my palate, good. As far as other anise-flavored liquors, I thought it was considerably better than aguardiente, but not as great as Arak Razzouk. Or about on par with Yeni Raki or Sambuca. Which all means that it was tasty, and I quite enjoyed it. If you like anise flavoring, you'll probably like this one, too. The anise flavor was bold, and strong enough. I had mine plain, as a shot. I didn't feel the need to water or ice it down, so I didn't get the louching effect or anything. So overall a more than solid booze, and I would recommend it.
We're not done with anise-flavored liquors. We NEVER will be! (Okay, that's an exaggeration, but hopefully there will be at least a few more. Definitely sambuca (Italy), and perhaps Armenian oghi, Bulgarian mastika, and French pastis. And any others I can locate. And yes, I will cover non-anise liquors too--I'm an enthusiast, but I have my limits.
Finally, I'm happy to report that "Death's Garden Revisited," the cemetery-themed anthology I was a part of which came out in paper format about a year ago, is now out in electronic format. It's $5.99 to buy, or $0.00 if you have Kindle Unlimited. So head on over and help yourself to some fun, poignant, interesting, and sometimes morbid tales about the places where the dead are buried.
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