The famed German polymath, etymologist and expert in Asian languages Berthold Laufer (1874–1934) first drew attention to the possibility that “booze” was derived from the Turkic or Persian boza or buza. This alcoholic beverage made from cereals was popular in medieval Asia and had since spread across the known world. Laufer’s article, ‘On the Possible Oriental Origin of Our Word Booze’, appeared in the Journal of the American Oriental Society in 1929. English lexicographers, he said, believed that “booze” came from the Low German busen – to revel and drink to excess. They were unaware that the Mongols had long since adopted boza, a Turkish drink discovered in Central Asia, which in Mongolian became bodzo. As Turkic tribes migrated, the drink went with them, and the word boza gradually entered both the Slavonic and Romance languages, thanks in part to the expansion of the Ottoman Empire…

Boza is a traditional, cereal-based, fermented beverage. Sweet and tangy, it is warming and sustaining in winter and used to be described as “liquid bread”. Fresh, it is non-alcoholic yet comforting and mildly euphoric in its effect and still greatly enjoyed by young and old. The simplicity of its production and its unusual thick consistency suggest primeval origins. According to food historians, boza may have been one of the original fermented drinks from which different beers and ales evolved.

Although usually made from millet, other cereals may also be used – corn, barley, rice, oats, wheat, bulgur, even bread, depending on what is locally available. Recipes for boza vary, but the results are generally similar and, for those brought up on it, distinctly addictive.

Travellers frequently remarked on the Ottoman fondness for boza. Writing in 1806, the seasoned explorer François Pouqueville, Napoleon’s consul in Greece, noted in his memoir, Travels Through the Morea, Albania… to Constantinople, that while wine was “the common drink of the Greeks”, a small number of Turks drank “different liquids”. These included “the boza, a thick kind of liquor, made from bruised barley fermented”. Mehmed the Conqueror (r 1451–81) certainly seems to have been fond of boza. Palace kitchen accounts from 1473 describe it being prepared specially for him from barley and millet flour, though it was often brought to the palace from outside. In his book on cookery, Muhammed bin Şirvani, physician to Mehmed’s father, Murad II, mentions boza being made from either rice or barley. Both involved a complicated mix of ingredients and required earthenware jars for fermentation.

The Moroccan explorer İbn Battuta recorded the Turkish love of boza in 1334. He described small bowls of white liquid (which he found rather acidic) being served with the food when he was a guest of the bey Tülük Timur in Crimea. He later learnt that it was called bûza and made from düki (bulgur, or cracked wheat)…

Three centuries later, another dedicated traveller, the Ottoman courtier Evliya Çelebi reports that boza was popular with the Janissaries and that boza-makers followed the army along with the cooks. Boza, he says, is filling and gives the body strength and warmth.

In an excellent article, ‘Boza, Innocuous and Less So’ (on academia.edu), the food historian Mary Işın distinguishes between the two kinds prevalent in Ottoman times. One is the familiar sweet, innocuous, non-alcoholic boza we enjoy today in Turkey. The other, the “less so”, is acidic and intoxicating, and known as Tatar boza.

According to Evliya, another boza fan, both were popular in 17th-century Istanbul. He goes into great detail about the difference between the “innocuous” and the “less so”. He is full of praise for the sweet boza made from the millet of Tekirdağ, on the Sea of Marmara – how milky-white, smooth and thick it was; how customers drank it sprinkled with grated cinnamon, cloves, ginger or nutmeg; and how lifegiving it was, wholesome for pregnant women and stimulating the milk of nursing mothers. This boza, he adds, never goes to your head even if you drink ten ladles (çömce) of it. To emphasise how innocent sweet boza is, he remarks that pious and learned people enjoy it, too.

By contrast, he has dire warnings about the boza shops in ports and back streets selling the sour, over-fermented, inebriating Tatar boza. These were no more than taverns selling cheap alcohol to sailors and porters.

Alcoholic boza can be traced back to the Tatars themselves. Josafa (Giosafat) Barbaro, a 15th-century Venetian adventurer, merchant and spy based in Tana (ancient Tanais, modern Rostov, then a thriving trading post on the Sea of Azov) also served as emissary to the Golden Horde. In Travels to Tana and Persia, he praises the fertility of Crimea and mentions that “their drynke is called Bossa, which signifieth ale”.

In 1876, Eugene Schuyler, US Consul General to Constantinople and the first American diplomat to visit Central Asia, grumbled in his book Turkistan about “buza, a kind of beer made of grain, the effect of which is immediately to stupefy and deaden the senses rather than to inebriate”. By the time he reached Kyrgyzstan, Schuyler had come round to buza, finding it “very intoxicating” and “the taste not unpleasant”.

Some years ago, in Crimea, we had the chance to taste a cousin of this Tatar boza. Pleasantly fizzy and slightly tangy, it was different from our Istanbul boza, but almost as enjoyable. In Eupatoria (the Turkish Gözleve), friends and families would meet and chat over a glass in boza parlours that looked like coffee houses.

Sâmiha Ayverdi, a Turkish writer who grew up in an aristocratic Ottoman family in the old Istanbul district of Şehzadebaşı, describes life at the dawn of the 20th century. In her memoir İstanbul Geceleri (Istanbul Nights), she recalls how guests who arrived after supper were offered coffee and fruit sherbets, then one more thing, especially in winter: “A servant was quickly sent round to Vefa with empty containers to be filled with boza from the shop’s spotless white marble jars and would rush back to the house to serve the visitors.” Ayverdialso describes how the street vendors were usually handsome Albanians in traditional white felt caps and black baggy trousers, whose cries of “İkşi vâr, tâtliiii” (Sour and sweet!), in a charming heavy Rumelian accent, would pierce the sleepy Istanbul night.

In those days Istanbul had several boza shops, but the one pictured here, Vefa Bozacısı, an old establishment dating back to 1876, next to the ancient Aqueduct of Valens in the old city’s Vefa district, has survived. Istanbullus, myself included, are addicted to its boza. Whenever our path leads us that way, we call in for a delicious glass. Despite being a winter drink, properly consumed only from October to April, it is served chilled and always provides a welcome interlude in a hectic day, whatever the time. In summer the shop produces şıra, a refreshing raisin juice, another traditional Turkish drink.

Vefa Bozacışı was founded by Hacı Salih Efendi, who emigrated to Istanbul from Prizren in Ottoman Kosovo in 1870. Boza was already his family’s trade at home, and he started making it to sell in the streets at night. His boza soon caught on and even the grandest local houses were buying it. Demand was so great that he settled in Vefa and started a business with his son.

Hacı Salih was a perfectionist and continued to make the boza himself until his death in 1933. Thereafter, his son and grandsons kept up the quality and enlarged the business. In the early days of the Republic, when surnames became mandatory, the family took the name Vefa.

Everybody, young and old, students, professors, passers by – even Atatürk himself – visited the shop. His glass is displayed in a glass case. After a century and a half the boza shop in Vefa is still thriving, but the enterprise has grown hugely, and boasts a new factory. The Vefa family now produce about two tonnes of their delicious boza a day, to be distributed around the city.

Vefa’s classic light boza is made from Anatolian millet, water, sugar and yeast. Fermentation gives the beverage its effervescence, while the lactic acid gives a slight tartness. If the fermentation is kept short, boza is sweet and non-alcoholic. Otherwise, the acidity rises, as does the alcohol level. Alcoholic boza is not available to buy anywhere today, but you could always try making it at home.

Containing vitamins A, B, C and E, boza is a wonderfully wholesome and heartwarming drink; as Evliya Çelebi reported, it was once the food of warriors. Today’s custom of serving it with cinnamon powder, and even roasted chickpeas, raises the protein and mineral content, making boza even more filling and energising…

WAYS TO MAKE BOZA AT HOME

1/3 glass (or 50g) rice (rinsed) 1 glass (or 250g) granulated sugar Half a glass shop-bought boza (as a starter) or 1 tablespoon bread yeast diluted in warm water

This recipe is adapted from Sofra Nimetleri (Blessings of the Table), a book by an elderly Istanbul gentleman. It was not unusual for the men in old families to prepare certain festive treats such as helva, pickles or cider (tükenmez), but also boza. The quantities are always fairly generous, as it would be distributed as a gift among neighbours and friends. Smaller quantities are called for here.

1 After soaking the bulgur overnight in plenty of water, cook it with the rice in water on a moderate heat until mushy. Add extra water if required to stop the bottom from burning.

2 Purée the mixture in a blender or food processor, then strain through a fine sieve to obtain a smooth texture. Stir in the sugar on a low heat until it dissolves and set aside.

3 When it has cooled but is still warm, stir in the mother boza (as you would with yoghurt) or the diluted yeast, and leave in a warm place, wrapped in a thick towel or blanket, to ferment for 2 or 3 days, stirring and tasting from time to time.

4 The boza is ready when tiny bubbles form on the surface. Be careful when pouring it into a jug as it can froth over. Store in a fridge or cold place until needed. If it is too thick, dilute with water.

For more recipes read Bring on the Boza in the ditigital edition.

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Issue 67, December 2024 Beauty in the Wilderness
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