Fiery digestifs that'll bring tears to your eyes: Grappa and marc

During the early '90s - about the time the public's thirst for sickly sweet wine coolers subsided in nightclubs - grappa, Italy's equivalent to moonshine, became the craze in dinner houses. Bars with top-shelf stock began to pass out quaint menus for grappa along with their dessert cards and cappuccino offers that would make any Italian laugh. The menus shamelessly asked for US$5-15 per pony of grappa, making this so-called rural spirit - previously sold for pennies - one of the most expensive habits in the lounge.

Like any other trend, the taste for grappa was driven by a marketing scheme that sold the packaging more than the product, and for most imbibers, the look was far more refined than the taste. Distillers bottled their crude leftovers of pressed wine in Italian handblown glass, and then charged up to $300 per 750-milliliter bottle.

Some grappa proved to be smoother and tastier than others, but the relation had little to do with price. Fortunately, grappa is no longer the latest craze, and so imbibers' expectations of the drink are more realistic. But unlike most fads, grappa has earned a place on the digestif menus of the most respected establishments.

In Italy, brandy-makers adhere to the country's official definition of the distillate, and any batch that falls short of the definition is called grappa. In France, the equivalent is marc, in Spain and Portugal it's aguardiente, and in Germany it's testerbranntwein. All these are variations of pomace grape brandy or eau de vie (pronounced "owe-duh-v" and meaning "water of life"). The latter is an unaged spirit distilled from a variety of fruit. Although you might find grappa on a menu of eaux de vie, you'd never come across an eau de vie on a grappa menu, which usually divides the brandies by grape varietal. Other spirits, most notably whiskey, also derive their names from the loosely used phrase eau de vie. The term evolved from early alchemists interested in the essence of elements. Their main tools for breaking down organic matter into medicinal elixirs were heat and boiling. As they boiled different liquids, many reported watching the steam rise toward the heavens much as they'd imagine one's soul might, assuming of course they had led an at least mildly well-behaved life. Instead of letting the steam and all its presumed magical properties escape, they developed a method to capture it that rewarded them with eau de vie to warm the throat, if not the soul.

Eaux de vie are most often clear, though some have a slight yellow or green tinge. They come in a variety of tastes, most notably poire Williams (pear), pisco (grape), framboise (raspberry), cassis (currant), kirschwasser (cherry), and mirabelle (yellow plum), and are as fiery as the likes of grappa. Because of their lack of aging, most contain fusel oils, which are rarely to anyone's liking and technically acrid, oily liquids from imperfectly distilled liquor. But if you can get past the notion of paying $7 for something that initially tastes how you'd imagine boat varnish to taste, you may develop a liking for these firey brandies. Fortunately, the other qualities of eau de vie smooth, if only slightly, the harsh fusel oils.

In the case of grape brandies, the key ingredient - the fruit's pomace, or leftover skin, seeds, and stems - is extracted from the pressing of higher quality wine. This practice evolved out of harvest workers' ingenuity in reaping benefits from the vintners' wastes. A few good or even not-so-good bottles of grappa could keep even notorious malcontents mild through a cold winter, the most popular time for these distillates.

The same holds true for eau de vie (again, the same type of brandy, but usually made with fruit other than grapes). When distilling eau de vie, the entire fruit is used for a pomace richness that's most satisfying as a digestif. A good eau de vie should be enjoyed only after a meal or at evening's end. It may be chilled slightly and served in a large, frosted pony glass or snifter. Chilling the spirit and the glass helps buffer the taste of fusel oils. I'm also convinced that one way to avoid discomfort the morning after a night of drinking and dining is to sip poire Williams as a nightcap.

Eaux de vie, like grappa and marc, are tied to locales. Those living outside the United States usually have an easy time selecting an eau de vie - they just pick their native spirit. However, if you live in the US and would like to try a domestic eau de vie, look for products from Clear Creek Distillery of the greater Portland, Oregon, area. The owner and distiller of Clear Creek spent a great deal of time in Normandy, Alsace, and Germany learning the art. His poire Williams is my absolute favorite of all eaux de vie. He has great skill, and because he's in the Northwest, he's able to grow nearly all his own fruit. Also, if you're just beginning to sample eaux de vie and other such brandies, Clear Creek's poire Williams is the least offensive for most imbibers.

Personal experience or the recommendation of a trusted friend are the best ways to judge eaux de vie and grappa. Trying an untested brand is a crapshoot, regardless of its price tag. If you're unable to sample eau de vie or grappa brands at your local restaurant or bar, look for 375-milliliter bottles. If you happen to end up with a brand not to your initial liking, try a shot of it in a cup of coffee on an especially cold evening or day. In Italy, some bars actually open early in the morning for those wanting a pony of grappa in their coffee to inspire the spirit before work. Like the French, the Italians have a knack for coining agreeable phrases for habits typically frowned upon, at least first thing in the morning. They call their spiked coffee "caffè cometto."