A little vodka alchemy from U'Luvka

Apparently this is what a balance of male and female looks like

My sister is a Human Resources type. Nowadays she is freelance, but she used to work for a “wealth management” company. Clearly anyone above a certain level in the business was assumed to have wealth of their own that needed management, and they would regularly receive presentations from people with investment opportunities to offer. One such was a new vodka brand called U’Luvka. You’ve probably heard of it now but at the time it was a bold new concept. I’m not sure why there was a feverish belief that it was a surefire money-spinner but, several years down the road, I spotted a bottle in my local Sainsbury’s, marked down from £35 to £30 (I think it was nearer £42 originally). Needless to say, curiosity got the better of me and I bought one of these oddly-shaped bottles to find out what the fuss is all about.

The bottle was, I believe, one of the selling points; the brand owners clearly believe no one could resist its charms. Personally I find it really annoying—at 14½ inches too tall to fit on a normal shelf, poorly balanced for pouring, etc. And I don’t know what it is saying about the vodka—it’s like a giant crystal sperm.

I tend to be suspicious of any “ultrapremium” vodka, as clearly there is a lot of marketing bollocks going on to make up for the fact that vodka doesn’t taste of that much. (And I assume that vodka rather lends itself to this kind of marketing, as the sort of person who is won over by it probably doesn’t like booze that much and might be upset by something really flavourful.) I actually dislike Grey Goose, as it tastes unpleasantly sweetened to me.

High-end vodka usually ends up trading either on provenance or on notions of “purity”. (In fact producing 96% pure alcohol and diluting it with distilled water is relatively easy, but most punters probably wouldn’t like the taste of it; I gather that most of the fancy filtration techniques used on vodka are more about nudging the flavour one way or another.) U’Luvka is made in Poland and the back story concerns a 16th-century chemist and alchemist named Sendivogius (Michał Sędziwój) who distilled a vodka for the court of King Sigismund III. Apparently the court’s habit of constantly offering toasts of vodka meant that they were plagued with permanent hangovers from the rough spirit: Sendivogius was commissioned to distil something purer, thus freeing the court to carry on quaffing while still being in a condition to carry on affairs of state. Of course, while darker spirits, red wine, port, etc., do contain congeners that might make you feel rougher, if you drink enough of any booze you will get a hangover, however “pure” it might be. And I can’t imagine that a court that is permanently drunk is going to be any more competent to govern than one that is permanently hung over! Anyway, U’Luvka claims—in a vague sort of way—to be a rediscovery of this recipe.

Sendivogius: no longer involved in the production of U'Luvka

It is made at a distillery outside Wroclaw from a blend of 50% rye, 25% wheat and 25% barley grown in the north of Poland. Despite the blarney about purity, the vodka is deliberately filtered only twice to retain a certain amount of character. The packaging is apparently all about alchemy, embodying the balance of opposites: the bottle is meant to combine female (the rounded body) and male (the tall—if inexplicably crooked—neck). The symbol on the front merges the alchemical glyphs for spirit, soul, man and woman, thus presumably celebrating alcohol’s ancient transformative power to get men and women together (something they possibly regret the next morning once the spirit has worn off). Even the suggested cocktails on the website all have names relating to alchemy.

For all this guff, I can report that fortunately U’Luvka isn’t bad at all. For me the nose has a striking aniseed/caraway character, presumably from the rye, essentially fresh and vibrant, with an orange zestiness and a cereal note. On the tongue it is very smooth, creamily approachable and with an impression of icing-sugar sweetness, yet without actually being cloying at all. It is subtle and poised, but with some balanced complexities, whispers of wood, rubber and pineapple. It retains these qualities in a vodka Gimlet or vodka Martini, and does indeed make good examples of these cocktails.

I grab a few other vodkas for comparative purposes—Ketel One, Chase and Russian Standard. Ketel One has the most similar character, though with a slightly richer mouthfeel and darker notes of chocolate and a hint of strawberry. Chase has a woodier nose and is very plump in the mouth and has a darker balance than the bright U’Luvka. Russian Standard is admittedly outclassed here, coming across as a rougher spirit.

I like U’Luvka, but would I buy it again? Probably not. For me Ketel One offers a pretty similar experience for about £10 a bottle less (and a more practical bottle design at that), while for the same money as U’Luvka Chase offers a more sumptuous presence if you are planning to sip it neat.

One mystery is the name. Unless I’ve missed it, nowhere on the website do they explain it, though elsewhere online I’ve found an explanation that it means “legless” in Polish, referring to the vodka toasting glasses used in Sigismund’s day that had no bases and so could not be put down until empty. Legless indeed…

Danzka vodka

Mooching around in Copenhagen airport on the way home the other week I came across Danzka Vodka. Ah, a local tipple, I thought.

In fact the front label immediately admits that it is “imported”. Oddly, the Wikipedia entry for the brand states that it is made in Denmark from Danish wheat, though the website makes no mention of where it is actually distilled (only that it is made from 100% wheat), preferring to focus on the bottle design. Given that has been owned by Belvedere since 2006, perhaps it was once made in Denmark (it’s been going since 1989) but Belvedere now find it easier to produce elsewhere, perhaps in France.

The bottle is made from brushed aluminium and they make no bones about the fact that they are trying to chime with Denmark’s fame for chic minimalist design. They point out that it is unbreakable and “infinitely recyclable”. Does that mean I can take the empty back to the shop and get it refilled from a bucket out the back? At least if I get the shakes and drop it, it won’t smash. Or perhaps they just mean the aluminium is recyclable. In any case, they also make the point that a metal bottle cools more quickly when you put it in the freezer, so if you like your vodka frozen and you’re in a hurry to start necking it as soon as you get back from the shop, this could be the one for you.

Danzka has a nose lightly fragranced with violets, berry fruits, chocolate, a bit of curaçao, maybe a hint of strawberry. On the palate it’s fairly smooth, fruity and again slightly floral. I compare it to a couple of vodkas I have to hand, Green Mark and Russian Standard: compared to the former, Danzka seems softer and more fruity, and a rougher spirit—which is not to say that it is rough as such. Green Mark has a quiet nose and a balanced, minerally body. To me it seems a bit more “grown up”, somehow. It produces a refined, poised vodka Martini.

Russian Standard, on the other hand, is green and sappy, vegetal and herbaceous, with a nose of caraway and carrot, and a palate that is smoother than Danzka. It makes a fun Martini with dominant earthy, vegetable notes.

I’m not actually a massive fan of drinking vodka from the freezer, because few vodkas seem improved by it and many are worsened—this makes sense, when you think about it, because all the aromatic elements are going to be subdued by the low temperatures. I’m told that one shouldn’t taste vodka like a wine but should knock it back, but this just seems silly to me. If anyone tells you their product is best tasted by pouring it down your throat, bypassing your tongue, then I figure they’ve got something to hide.

Nevertheless, I try all three vodkas from the freezer (and I’m sure the Danzka did indeed chill the fastest, but I wasn’t in any great hurry). I find the characters remain essentially unchanged; the Danzka is relatively perfumed, but now has a more bitter, dry finish. Overall I also find it has something “over-mellow” about it, like overripe bananas.

Over here you can buy Danzka from the DrinkShop for £22.85 (my airport bottle is 40% ABV but I see that the UK version is 37.5%), but unless you’re turned on by the bottle I wouldn’t really bother. Both Russian Standard and Green Mark are much more interesting, in my opinion, and considerably cheaper. If you want something super creamy, try Sipsmith (slightly cheaper), or for an in-your-face minerally character, taste the extraordinary Krepkaya. It works out slightly more expensive, but then it is 56% ABV…