REMEMBER THE DAY high art was trash-borne? Warholian graffiti of Madonna on soup cans? Well, you could think of vodka the same way: as postmodernism bottled. Unlike whisky and brandy, which require shamans and blenders calling for elaborate rituals to concoct the drink, vodka, made from humble things like potatoes, sugar beet molasses and grain—virtually anything with starch or sugar—screams of modesty. Visit a place where it is made, and you get what you see. There are no gothic trapdoors, no dark and brooding cellars, no flights of steps inside to complicate the narrative. It dispels the very miasma of mysticism, hoary times and creation myths that shroud other drinks.
In the past, all they had to do was toss some yeast into mashed grain or fruit, ferment it, distill…
