A couple of points should be cited before initiating this review:
1) This book is a short history. A comprehensive account of drunkenness would be a thorough history of humanity and require much too much paper. Instead, the author has decided to pick definite points in history to see how people went about getting sozzled. What was it essentially like in a Wild West saloon, or a medieval English alehouse, or a Greek symposium? When an Ancient Egyptian girl wanted to go out on the lash what precisely did she do?
2) History books like to tell us that so-and-so was drunk, but they don’t explain the niceties of drinking. Where was it done? With whom? At what time of day? Drinking has always been surrounded by rules, but they rarely get written down.
In his introductory preface the author avers: ‘Drunkenness is near universal. Almost every culture in the world has booze. The only ones that weren’t too keen—North America and Australia—have been colonized by those who were. And at every time and in every place, drunkenness is a different thing.’ He goes on to adda that, ‘It’s a celebration, a ritual, an excuse to hit people, a way of making decisions or ratifying contracts, and a thousand other peculiar practices. When the Ancient Persians had a big political decision to make they would debate the matter twice: once drunk, and once sober. If they came to the same conclusion both times, they acted.’
And he concludes by saying, ‘That is what this book is about. It’s not about alcohol per se, it’s about drunkenness: its pitfalls and its gods. From Ninkasi, the Sumerian goddess of beer, to the 400 drunken rabbits of Mexico.’
Our taste for snifter may be a hardwired evolutionary attribute that disentangles us from most other animals. And it’s not by coincidence that distilled products are referred to as ‘spirits’, since they very much embody the quintessence of the substances from which they’re made. A great brandy captures the very spirit of the grapes from which it originated, just as a great whiskey captures the spirit of its original grain. In spirits, the humble products of the earth—grapes, corn, wheat, barley, potatoes, sugarcane—are transformed into rarefied quintessences.
The early alchemists who perfected the art of distillation in the Middle Ages were searching for ways to arrest living spirits, extracting them from their raw materials. The procedures that have been handed down to us from these medieval practitioners have become substantially more commercialized, obviously. But, at its heart, distillation even today retains a residual element of the inexplicable.
Since the earliest days of distillation, the suggestion of a “spiritual” element has always been at play in the appreciation of spirits. It is this that makes spirits an endlessly fascinating pursuit and perhaps even a near-mystical experience.
Alcohol and boozing have been around since ancient times. “Sea water can be rendered potable by distillation,” wrote the Greek philosopher Aristotle. His discovery was allegedly based on the simple observation that steam from hot food condenses on the inner surface of the cover placed over the dish. Archaeological and historical research shows that the science of distillation was known to ancient Egyptian, Chinese, and Near Eastern societies.
Forsyth sections his book into eighteen chapters and an Epilogue.
1. Evolution
2. The Prehistory of Drinking
3. Sumerian Bars
4. Ancient Egypt
5. The Greek Symposium
6. Ancient Chinese Drinking
7. The Bible
8. The Roman Convivium
9. The Dark Ages
10. Drinking in the Middle East
11. The Viking Sumbl
12. The Medieval Alehouse
13. The Aztecs
14. The Gin Craze
15. Australia
16. The Wild West Saloon
17. Russia
18. Prohibition
The initial chapters speak about how it all began. The dynamic constituent mutual to all alcoholic beverages is made by yeasts: microscopic, single-celled organisms that consume sugar and expel carbon dioxide and ethanol, the only potable alcohol. To our fruit-eating primate ancestors wavering through the trees, the ethanol in decomposing fruit would have had numerous alluring traits. Herein is suggested the notion, of the “drunken monkey” postulate.
The primates that ventured down out of the trees got entrée to a brand-new food source. If you could smell the alcohol and get to the fruit faster, you had an advantage. You defeated the competition and got more calories. The ones that stuffed themselves were the most likely to flourish at reproduction—and to experience (while eating) a fond rush of desire in the brain.
That buzz reinforced the appeal of the new lifestyle.
Archaeologists there are exploring another momentous transition in human prehistory, and a tantalizing possibility: Did alcohol lubricate the Neolithic revolution? Did beer help persuade Stone Age hunter-gatherers to give up their nomadic ways, settle down, and begin to farm?
The first glimmer of hope was a lady called the Venus of Laussel. About 25,000 years ago somebody did a carving of a lady with enormous bosoms and a large belly who appears to be holding a drinking horn up to her mouth. Not everyone agrees that it’s a drinking horn. Some think that it’s a musical instrument and that the poor girl was basically confused about which end to blow. Others think that it has something to do with menstruation. Of course, even if it is a drinking horn, it might contain only water. But that seems improbable as water-drinking isn’t typically something you carve in stone for all eternity. We shall, alas, never know.
Sumerians didn't discover beer, nor did the Egyptians, as some people believe. Theories point to beer being produced in the Neolithic Revolution more than 11,000 years ago. The first beer in the world was brewed by the ancient Chinese around the year 7000 BCE (called kui). In the west, though, the process now recognized as beer brewing began in Mesopotamia at the Godin Tepe settlement now in modern-day Iran between 3500 - 3100 BCE.
Evidence of beer manufacture has been confirmed between these dates but it is credible that the brewing of beer in Sumer (southern Mesopotamia, modern-day Iraq) was in practice much earlier.
Forsyth says, ‘The Sumerians had quite a few different kinds of beer: there was barley beer, emmer-wheat beer, brown beer, dark beer, light beer, red beer, sweet beer, beer with honey and all sorts of other spices, strong beer mixed with wine and filtered beer. These last two would be very expensive, and it’s perfectly possible that there would be one variety: the one they were making today.’
Early civilizations learned how to create medicines, perfumes, and flavorings using simple distillation. Following the process, the resulting concentrated versions of herbs, spices, and plants were easy to use and store. The ancient Chinese created a unique spirit from rice and beer, and in the East Indies as long ago as 800 B.C. arrack was made with fermented sugarcane and rice.
Despite the time-honoured awareness of the distillation effect, it was not until the early Middle Ages that the distillation of alcohol became a pervasive practice and the modern history of this extraordinary process began. The practice of distilling spirits was really instituted by Arab alchemists in the tenth century A.D.
The very word “alcohol” is in fact an Arabic word, as is “alambic,” or still. For centuries the Arabs had been (and, in fact, still are) making eye makeup using black powder that was liquefied, vaporized, and solidified again. They called it kohl. When wine was first distilled, the name of this cosmetic was used to describe the result—al koh’l—since the process was so analogous.
From the Arab masters, the knowledge of distillation was in due course passed to Western experimenters during the Middle Ages, who used it to fashion spirits.
In the Latin-speaking regions of medieval Europe, the newly discovered spirit was called aqua vitae (water of life). The reason for this rather grandiose name was the fact that, at first, distilled spirits were used mostly by alchemists, and many of these scientists thought that they had finally found the elusive “elixir of life.”
In the 13th century, for instance, the Majorcan chemist and philosopher Raymond Lully wrote that aqua vitae was “an emanation of the divinity, an element newly revealed to men, but hid from antiquity, because the human race was then too young to need this beverage destined to revive the energies of modern decrepitude.”
Wherever this knowledge of distillation spread, the Latin name was translated into the local language!!
In France it became known as eau-de-vie, while on the Irish peat bogs it was gaelicized into uisige beatha, which eventually was corrupted into the word “whiskey.” In Russia “water of life” evolved into vodka, from the Russian word for water, voda. In Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, the original Latin name took a Scandinavian turn to become aquavit.
15th century Europe saw the popularity of distillation take hold and spread like wildfire. It was completely unregulated, and anyone who understood how the process worked could build a primitive still and produce his own aquavit. For raw materials these cottage distillers used whatever was inexpensive and in good, constant supply. In Ireland and Scotland whiskey got its distinctive character from barley and a dose of smoky peat.
In France, Spain, and Italy wine was plentiful, and it formed the basis for locally made brandies. Barley, corn, and rye were the backbone of gin in Holland. Later, Caribbean sugarcane was made into rum and the Mexican agave, or “century plant,” was used in tequila. In Scandinavia the potato eventually became the spirits-making staple.
An incredibly pleasurable book this one!
History and sharp wordplay walk in amalgamation, to transport you along a journey into the domain of Bacchus – a world whose tete-a-tete with humanity dates back to a time before farming — to a time before humans, if truth be told.
The author cites anecdotes galore, all of which are exceedingly hilarious! Not a single fact is drowned in extraneous or tedious detail.
A must read for all tipplers out there. Cheers!!