Photograph by Burçin Esin
The evening began traditional Türk Sanat Müziği, setting a mellow tone as we all enjoyed our first few rounds of drinks. But as more rakı flowed and spirits lifted, the playlist shifted to livelier tunes like Altın Gün and Ezhel, marking our collective slide from sober to decidedly tipsy.
I ventured into the kitchen to refill our water pitcher, navigating through louder music blaring from the speakers—a stark contrast to the earlier tranquility. The kitchen had become the epicenter of noise, making it nearly impossible to hear anything clearly. This cacophony, combined with my own tipsy state and a bit of a language barrier, set the stage for the night’s memorable mishap.
My friend, seeing my empty glass, decided to help by topping it off. Miscommunication ensued—he filled it with rakı, thinking he was doing me a favor. I, parched and unassuming, grabbed what I thought was my water glass and downed it in one go. Immediately, the fiery burn of undiluted rakı hit me, and I reacted instinctively, spitting it out—right on him.
His confused expression mirrored mine as we both processed what had just happened. I quickly reached for the now-full water pitcher, desperate to wash down the taste, and poured myself a fresh glass of actual water before heading back to the party, leaving my tainted rakı glass behind.
That night, I picked up an essential piece of rakı wisdom: always sniff before you sip when handling a clear liquid in a rakı glass, especially as the traditional rules of the rakı sofrası begin to blur and your ability to discern sharpens less than your thirst.
