Tsipouro (Tsikoudia/Raki)

Tsipouro is Greece’s homegrown brandy, distilled from the humble grape pomace left after winemaking. Often called Greek grappa, it is a clear, potent spirit traditionally produced in rural villages from regions like Thessaly, Epirus, and Crete. The first sips of tsipouro might surprise newcomers with a warm, clean burn that spreads through the chest – a signature of its 40–45% alcohol content. Yet along with the heat comes a mellow aroma of grapes and wood, sometimes a whisper of anise. Tsipouro embodies the frugality and festivity of Greek countryside life: nothing was wasted, and the leftover skins and seeds gave rise to a festive drink.

Historians trace tsipouro’s roots back centuries. Legend holds that Orthodox monks on Mount Athos first distilled pomace wine around the 14th century, creating a purer, stronger drink from the remnants of the vine. Over time, knowledge of making raki or rakia (as it’s known in parts of the Balkans) spread to winemaking villages across Greece. By tradition, families would store their pomace in big barrels for weeks, allowing natural fermentation, then distill this mash in copper stills (often in the villages on autumn nights, called kazani festivals). It was and remains an artisanal craft, often a communal event to harvest and share spirits, cheese, and laughter.

Culturally, tsipouro sits at the heart of Greek social gatherings. In many tavernas you’ll find tsipouro as a standard after-meal offering, accompanied by small bowls of olives, nuts, or crunchy fried delights. It is customary to toast after a hearty meal: plates of lamb or fish are followed by a tsipouro digestif, signaling a night well-enjoyed. In Crete, the same concept is called tsikoudia and is revered as a symbol of hospitality. Islanders will raise a small glass saying “Yamas!” (cheers) before sipping. Because of its strength, tsipouro is never gulped; it’s meant to linger, warming the guest and aiding digestion.

Flavor-wise, plain tsipouro tastes fiery and dry, with nuances of grape and sometimes wood if aged. Some varieties are unadorned (chondros) while others are infused with anise or myrtle berries (tsipouro tsikoudia with anise, similar to ouzo), giving a hint of sweet licorice. Serving tsipouro is simple: it’s poured chilled (often from a freezer) into shot glasses, without mixers. A refreshing twirl of ice cubes can open up the aroma, but purists prefer it neat. Unlike ouzo, adding water to tsipouro is rare; its character is enjoyed pure or with ice on the side.

Recently, tsipouro has found a modern fanbase among craft spirit aficionados. Small distilleries bottle artisanal batches, sometimes aging them in oak for a soft golden color and mellow taste. Yet the essence remains the same as grandma made it: small sips at afternoon gatherings, conversation, and seeing the milky pattern swirl in a cold glass. Tsipouro is about savoring simplicity – the raw distillation of sun-ripened grapes into a clear spirit.

In summary, tsipouro is a reflection of Greek life’s sturdy roots and warm hospitality. It connects drinkers to the vineyard harvest and communal traditions. Whether enjoyed in a mountain village or city café, it signals celebration, fellowship, and the Greek way of transforming even waste into moments of pleasure.