Of Juice and Hooch
A Survey of Rwandan Beverages
Passion fruits make a bad first impression. They are nasty little wrinkled brown balls that barely contain anything except seeds. Instead of becoming more beautiful and voluptuous as they ripen, like bananas or pineapples, they shrivel. Upon further acquaintance, however, I have learned to overlook its bedraggled appearance and high maintenance personality because it is such a nice breakfast companion.
Jus de maracuja, the local name for passion fruit juice, is sold in most grocery stores in big bottles of concentrate. Because the label did not say 'concentrated,' I did not know it needed to be mixed with water and consequently thought it a bit overpowering the first time I drank it. Blended in proper proportions, though, it is nothing short of charming.
The best way to drink maracuja juice is to spike it with Ugandan Waragi, the local hooch. Waragi makes a bad first impression as well. The very word waragi sounds like it causes blindness. Empty bottles litter the streets on Monday mornings, propped up on windowsills or clutched by men sleeping in the alleys between shops. I always thought it was either too strong or too local hooch-y for my taste. In reality, it is a fragrant, gin-like liquor that is especially agreeable when blended with juice and reasonably cheap at around 10 US dollars per liter.
Banana beer is another unique regional offering. Bananas are sun-warmed, buried in leaves, reheated, and liquefied into a yeasty brew. The presentation of banana beer is a little quirky. Almost no one in Kigali calls it 'banana beer.' I got confused looks when I asked for it at a local grocery. After some searching, I discovered that banana beer is called 'banana wine' in the city. The drink is definitely closer to beer than wine; but who am I to raise a fuss over semantics? There are two categories of banana beer that you can choose from. The first is banana beer in professional plastic bottles with uniform labels. The second is mystery banana beer, which comes in all different shapes of secondhand bottles (mostly Old Jack's Whiskey bottles) with semi-attached homemade labels bearing a pencil sketch of banana leaves. If you go for the latter, make sure the cap is properly sealed before you buy it. Someone grabbed a swig out of my bottle before it reached the shelf.
Depending on shipments from Kenya and Tanzania, an assortment of fruit ales is sometimes available in groceries. Happiness tasted a little too much like dirt, but strawberry wine (which may or may not be wine) is pink, sweet, and exciting if you are nostalgic for the days when wine coolers were fashionable to drink in public.
Mutzig and Primus, the two local brands of Rwandan beer, are present in every restaurant, bar, and corner shop. Both are decent light brews, but most drinkers cultivate an unspoken brand loyalty. Primus is the more pleasant of the two to sip. Mutzig is cheaper, slightly stronger, and is therefore the brand most men can be seen grasping in bars.
The wine situation is dire. In the US, one can find a good bottle of wine from South Africa, South American, or Australia for under ten dollars. In Rwanda, the starting price for a bottle is usually ten dollars. This princely sum buys you offensive table wine rejects from Italy and France. The most pervasive of these is Regina, an Italian vino da tavola with a tartness that burns your tongue. Letting it breathe does not help: with a little air, the bottle goes straight to cooking grade. Slightly nicer wines from France and South Africa can be found for 15 dollars, but they are not fifteen-dollar quality. In restaurants, drinking red wine is a desperate act. The pricey offerings usually taste like either port or vinegar.
European church wines are exported to Rwanda for recreational purchase. Predictably, these wines are chunky and will not dazzle the connoisseur. Cyprus Altar Wine is the most common offering: it has a menacing black label with a gold cross radiating God's light.
Finally, locally grown, roasted, and distributed Maraba coffee is a genuine triumph. In fact, the quality of a Kigali hotel should be judged by whether or not it offers Maraba for breakfast. Most of them serve Nescafe or other pathetic, watery brews; serving Maraba coffee indicates that the hotel has a higher level of class. Cafe de Maraba is available in stores and has the advantage of being sold in an attractively Bohemian fresh-pak.
Passion fruits make a bad first impression. They are nasty little wrinkled brown balls that barely contain anything except seeds. Instead of becoming more beautiful and voluptuous as they ripen, like bananas or pineapples, they shrivel. Upon further acquaintance, however, I have learned to overlook its bedraggled appearance and high maintenance personality because it is such a nice breakfast companion.
Jus de maracuja, the local name for passion fruit juice, is sold in most grocery stores in big bottles of concentrate. Because the label did not say 'concentrated,' I did not know it needed to be mixed with water and consequently thought it a bit overpowering the first time I drank it. Blended in proper proportions, though, it is nothing short of charming.
The best way to drink maracuja juice is to spike it with Ugandan Waragi, the local hooch. Waragi makes a bad first impression as well. The very word waragi sounds like it causes blindness. Empty bottles litter the streets on Monday mornings, propped up on windowsills or clutched by men sleeping in the alleys between shops. I always thought it was either too strong or too local hooch-y for my taste. In reality, it is a fragrant, gin-like liquor that is especially agreeable when blended with juice and reasonably cheap at around 10 US dollars per liter.
Banana beer is another unique regional offering. Bananas are sun-warmed, buried in leaves, reheated, and liquefied into a yeasty brew. The presentation of banana beer is a little quirky. Almost no one in Kigali calls it 'banana beer.' I got confused looks when I asked for it at a local grocery. After some searching, I discovered that banana beer is called 'banana wine' in the city. The drink is definitely closer to beer than wine; but who am I to raise a fuss over semantics? There are two categories of banana beer that you can choose from. The first is banana beer in professional plastic bottles with uniform labels. The second is mystery banana beer, which comes in all different shapes of secondhand bottles (mostly Old Jack's Whiskey bottles) with semi-attached homemade labels bearing a pencil sketch of banana leaves. If you go for the latter, make sure the cap is properly sealed before you buy it. Someone grabbed a swig out of my bottle before it reached the shelf.
Depending on shipments from Kenya and Tanzania, an assortment of fruit ales is sometimes available in groceries. Happiness tasted a little too much like dirt, but strawberry wine (which may or may not be wine) is pink, sweet, and exciting if you are nostalgic for the days when wine coolers were fashionable to drink in public.
Mutzig and Primus, the two local brands of Rwandan beer, are present in every restaurant, bar, and corner shop. Both are decent light brews, but most drinkers cultivate an unspoken brand loyalty. Primus is the more pleasant of the two to sip. Mutzig is cheaper, slightly stronger, and is therefore the brand most men can be seen grasping in bars.
The wine situation is dire. In the US, one can find a good bottle of wine from South Africa, South American, or Australia for under ten dollars. In Rwanda, the starting price for a bottle is usually ten dollars. This princely sum buys you offensive table wine rejects from Italy and France. The most pervasive of these is Regina, an Italian vino da tavola with a tartness that burns your tongue. Letting it breathe does not help: with a little air, the bottle goes straight to cooking grade. Slightly nicer wines from France and South Africa can be found for 15 dollars, but they are not fifteen-dollar quality. In restaurants, drinking red wine is a desperate act. The pricey offerings usually taste like either port or vinegar.
European church wines are exported to Rwanda for recreational purchase. Predictably, these wines are chunky and will not dazzle the connoisseur. Cyprus Altar Wine is the most common offering: it has a menacing black label with a gold cross radiating God's light.
Finally, locally grown, roasted, and distributed Maraba coffee is a genuine triumph. In fact, the quality of a Kigali hotel should be judged by whether or not it offers Maraba for breakfast. Most of them serve Nescafe or other pathetic, watery brews; serving Maraba coffee indicates that the hotel has a higher level of class. Cafe de Maraba is available in stores and has the advantage of being sold in an attractively Bohemian fresh-pak.
posted by LookingGlassLand.com at 6:46 AM
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