What I Am Drinking in Romania

In 10 seconds my secret will be out, but I don't care. My drink of choice these days is...Lowenbrau. (Cue chorus of “Lowered Expectations.”) Gimme a break, it's cheap. Hawkeye Pierce performed miracle operations right in front of our eyes for 11 years under the influence of homemade potato vodka. I think I can survive life in the Lowenbrau wilderness for a while.

It's not like the streets are running with ales. Romania is a country in love with light alcohols. For beer, they like lagers. Ursus is a popular brand. I haven't quite worked out why, but it is, and it's much worse than the big L. It's the Bud of Romania.

And on that note I have to tell you that, if you come to Eastern Europe and you want the King of Beers, you will be shot on sight. Sorry about that: It was just too tempting. If you honestly want to put that stuff in your mouth, you have to order a “Bud.” Not a “Budweiser.” Because if you order a Budweiser, you will get something really tasty – a Czech-produced beer that just kind of floats around on your tongue and makes you utter little noises of contentment and swear to be good for the rest of your life if God will just let this stuff keep coming over the border. It's good. Or else I've just been here too long already and my brain has gone all squishy.

What isn't the color of dogpee is usually Guinness. However, if you go to The Dubliner, which is the Irish pub where the Brits in town hang out, you can find a Kilkenny red, which isn't half bad. Finding that made me extremely happy for about half an hour, after which I remembered I am now on a freelancer's budget.

And yes, I'm petitioning the ghost of Webster to make “dogpee” one word.

Timisoarana is another lager I don't care for. I tried it in Timisoara and was a bit saddened that I didn't like the local brew. I was cheered up, however, by finding a corner wine store in which a man sold us red wine right out of the barrel. He had two barrels: one marked “dulce” (sweet) and the other, “sec” (dry). Mark and I went for the “sec” like mad mongrels on a rampage. It was in a plastic bottle with a screw cap, but it remains one of my favorite Romanian drinking memories that actually has something to do with the alcohol consumed.

Tuborg, on the other hand, is a different animal. I like the Tuborg Strong, which is a high-gravity affair that fairly knocks me on my tush.

We have, of course, been warned away from many types of alcohols, but since we can't remember the names of them, all warnings have been in vain. Curiosity will probably win in the end anyway. (I used to regularly drink a home brew beverage that looked for all the world like orange Nehi, and was called kittesol, which the Web defines as “orange Georgia moonshine.” We drinkers nicknamed it “kill us all” and it damned near did.)

Recas and Murfatlar are two names that come to mind when I conjure up images of “good Romanian wine.” They're a couple of decently meaty reds. Most reds here closely resemble watered-down cranberry juice and have a taste that reminds me of unsugared cocktails. I don't know anything about the whites except that the place is infested with them.

Beer is relatively cheap here. I was in a coffee shop the other day and the beer there (cool, huh?) was only 35 cents more than the coffees. Rum and whiskey, on the other hand, will cost you your first born child.

Everyone drinks vodka. It's cheap and plentiful. I have started drinking vodka also, but mostly to be sociable. You can't taste the stuff. No matter how much you put in your drink, you just can't get that nice little bite that rum or whiskey gives you.

Not that I have been experimenting with how much vodka you can fit into your drink. Really.