Alcohol was one of the first things human beings learned to make.  After eons of wandering about, chasing down big game and foraging, ancient humans decided that it was time to settle down.  We used complex tools, domesticated grains and animals, and constructed pyramids.  The transition to a more grounded lifestyle allowed for extra free time, and the naturally inquisitive human mind turned to the plant matter all around us.  Quite by accident, we discovered that the natural enzymes in saliva act as a catalyst for the fermentation of many grains and starches.

This discovery ranks up there with the invention of written language.  Historical records indicate we are a species with a strong pedigree of making our own hooch — Few civilizations throughout history have gone without some form of libation or another, whether it’s a corn beer tipple before human sacrifice (pre-Colombian South America) or a cool home-brewed ale to enjoy on the stained futon in your Berkeley co-op.

To honor humanity’s fine tradition of self-made booze, I’m presenting a round up of some of the world’s most popular DIY alcohol varieties.  These fine drinks represent the zenith of millions of years of evolution expressing themselves in the opposable thumb, upright posture, and well developed cerebellum that allow us to know when our palm wine is ready to drink.

Palm Wine
Since all you need to make palm wine is a palm tree, a container, and air, it’s now wonder it has such a wide reach.   The name changes with location: Emu in Nigeria, Tuba in the Phillipines, and in India and Sri Lanka, it’s called Palm Toddy, or just Toddy. But a few things remain constant.

The tree of choice in Africa tends to be the wild date palm, and in Asia, the coconut palm.  The palm tree is cut, and the sap is drained into a container.  This task is often completed by the appropriately titled ‘tapper,’ an individual whose job description includes climbing palm trees barefoot and inserting a spigot into the side of the tree.  The sap is sweet, and non-alcoholic, ten to twelve percent sugar, and completely neutral.  The sap is left to ferment naturally, often times in a plastic container such as a Fanta bottle or a drum for a bigger batch.  The high sugar content attracts natural yeasts necessary for fermentation, and thus the same containers are often reused, retaining the yeasts from the previous fermentation.

Within two hours, the sap will have fermented into a wine with an alcohol content hovering around four percent.  The taste naturally varies depending on the variety of tree, and as the fermentation process is rapid, the same batch will grow more bitter and approach a vinegar-like taste as the day wears on.  Commercial variants are available, but as this is a drink easily made fresh from readily available ingredients, folks have little incentive to look beyond their own backyards.

Palm wine can be converted fairly easily into spirits.  Distilled palm wine, stronger and without much of the natural sweetness of palm wine, goes by a variety of names and often plays a ceremonial role.  In Ghana, a tumbler of Akpeteshi is the traditional greeting awaiting a first time visitor to a village.

Kvass
Eastern Europe has the highest unrecorded alcohol intake in the world. Translation: more people are making their own booze here than anywhere else in the world.  It’s partly through economic necessity that the region has such a preponderance of do it yourselfers.  The post-Soviet era has been tough, and grinding poverty has provided a strong incentive for the people to produce their own hooch.  It’s also a country that values good drink — these are the people who invented vodka, after all.  Enter kvass: the Slavic home brew champion, named after a Slavic word meaning yeast.

Bread is key.  Kvass is typically made from wheat, rye, or barley bread that is naturally fermented.  For those without the means to purchase bread specifically for the purpose of kvass preparation, the drink is oftentimes made from stale, leftover bread.

The bread is dried and baked into suhari, or simple croutons.  The baked bread is then added to boiling water, removed, covered with a towel, and allowed to sit at room temperature for eight hours.  The soaked bread is then strained through a sieve, and yeast and sugar are added.  Ten minutes later, after the mixture has doubled in size, mint and more sugar are added, and the mixture is allowed to sit for another eight to twelve hours.  The mixture is once again passed through a sieve into a container, this time with raisins added to the mix for additional flavor, and the container is sealed.

The future kvass is stored in a cool (not cold) place for five days.  When the raisins float, the kvass is ready. The drink has a long history in the region. During the time of Peter the Great, (late 1600s and early 1700s in case you weren’t paying attention in your Russian History class), kvass was the most popular drink in the land.  It was widely credited with restorative powers, including the ability to act as an aid for digestion and a cure for hangovers.  For the next couple of hundred years, the drink was enjoyed by the proletariat and bourgeoisie alike, as a mainstay of life on monasteries and in villages.

With the collapse of the Soviet system, globalization has created a deluge of commercial imports from the world over.   Western soft drink companies muscled in to the former Soviet Bloc and began pushing out the native kvass producers. But the people weren’t having it.  Within the last few decades, consumers have turned back to domestically produced kvass, and the drink has enjoyed a revival. Rather than purchasing sham kvass from foreign enterprises, the good people of Eastern Europe and Russia are honoring their time honored tradition of turning sandwich holders into booze.

Chibuku
In the tin roof nightclubs of Southern Africa, the chunky, yeasty chibuku rules. With the nutritional clout of grits and the alcohol content of ale, chibuku is quite unlike any other libation out there — both a meal and after dinner drink all in one. Plus, it comes in a milk carton.  Four ingredients go into chibuku: maize flour, yeast, water, and millet or sorghum (grains common to Africa). First, Maize flour and water are mixed together in a pot to create a porridge, stirred the entire time to ensure proper consistency.

Once the maize porridge has cooled, the millet or sorghum is added. The contents are allowed to sit for one day, and the following day they are reheated, and yeast is added.  The ideal fermentation period is three to five days.  Too short, and the result is a drink with negligible alcohol content.  Wait too long, and the chibuku is too acidic to drink. When it’s ready, it will have a nice yeasty smell and a consistency somewhat similar to oatmeal, or a banana smoothie.  As the yeast is still working when it’s time to drink, the chibuku will have a zesty effervescence.  The commercial variety is commonly known as Shake Shake – perhaps self-contained directions for the drink. With its consistency similar to that of cottage cheese it could also be called Chew Chew.

The slew of empty cartons along roadways is testament to the drink’s popularity. Chibuku is a mainstay of the underground dance halls of the region, places with tin roofs, wooden benches, and loud thumping music.   A thin slit in the carton indicates solo enjoyment, while lopping off the entire top of the means that the chibuku is ready to be enjoyed communally.

The Best Kind of Handcrafts
It might be hyperbolic to declare that home brewed hooch is the cornerstone of civilization. But clearly, there is an innate drive in people to craft their own hooch. In addition to the few listed here, there are countless others:  Tiswin in the Sonora desert of the United States and Mexico, Caium in Brazil, Chicha in Peru, Feni in India. Here in the United States, we’re moving back toward a small, home production model that honors tradition.  We have home-distilled whiskey and home brewed beers.  Bartenders are making their own bitters.

I may never follow through with the do-it–yourself detergent recipe I looked up online, and I’ve made home made peanut butter and deodorant, I can tell you not everything is worth the time it takes to make them.  But through my office window, I can see a few palm trees. Perhaps it’s time to see what the city code says about sap collection.