At nine in the morning, in the center of Zemun, Belgrade, Niko picks me up in his ride. I chide him on his fancy BMV wagon. Wisely, he ignores the comment. Since we have two hours to drive to Subotica, on the Serbian-Hungarian border, he needs to focus on the road.
During the trip, we compare our grandparents’ war stories. His great-uncle enlisted in the Yugoslav army, essentially as a spy. My grandpa was on Normandy Beach at the D-Day Invasion.
Neither of us had to go to war.
Our only fight this week will be against Serbia’s most powerful force, the almighty rakija drink. We are going to the north of Serbia for the Young Rakija Festival.
Mlada Rakija Festival In Angryville
Mlada Rakija Festival, or in English, Young Rakija Festival, takes place in November in the village of Ljutovo (literally translated, Angryville,) near Serbia’s northernmost city, Subotica. The festival has been at a local family farm for 17 years now, but recently it has gained some national recognition. We only knew of it since a mutual friend, Paul, is from Subotica, and he invited us.
Our Airbnb is in the town of Palic, which is next to Subotica. This area is on the border of Hungary, so the Hungarian influence – the people, the food, the architecture – is everywhere. When we drive into Palic, we are surprised at the unusual water tower in the center of the city. This is the first of many striking buildings we will see over the weekend.
Our Airbnb host is waiting for us in front of his apartment. He leans casually against an all-white motorcycle. When we pull out a cooler full of booze, and a bag of cigars, he doesn’t look concerned. Instead, he laughs and says, “Looks like you will have a good time here.”
Paul arrives soon after us. We greet him with his Hash House name.
“Well, well. Hello, Burnabitch.”
“Jesus Christ. Don’t mention that name around here. Nobody needs to know that I worked for…”
“…that bitch?”
Niko needs to exchange some American dollars for Serbian dinar. On Paul’s advice, he goes to a parking lot where a man sits in his car. Since Palic is a town, many illegal vendors are available to quickly exchange Serbia dinar for Hungarian forints or other foreign currency. After we get the money, we hail a taxi to Ljutovo for the Mlada Rakija Festival. The taxi is only 15 Euros for everyone.
Old Cold Konak, Young Hot Rakija
The Mlada Rakija Festival takes place at a “Konak,” a kind of Serbian ranch. The weather is overcast, and a wet fog mists the air. Despite this, it is crowded, and the ground is muddy from the steps of all the attendees. A fence of thick pine trees encloses the property, and we go to a break in the pines where a makeshift gate is placed. We have to wait in line to pay 500 dinars for the entrance fee and a tasting glass.
Once we enter the konak, Paul is already receiving greetings from people who haven’t seen him in town in years. Niko and I get used to this happening every few minutes. Paul is social and has no problem chatting away, but, as always, “don’t mention Burnabic.”
Our first taste of the local young rakija is a shot of quince, called “dunja” in Serbian language. Although rakija is Serbia’s national drink, in Vojvodina they prefer rakija made from sweet quince over the strong plum more typical to the country. We drink it at a stand where they are offering snacks to help us consume the alcohol. We have toast covered in fat and spicy red paprika. Paprika is a staple of Hungarian cuisine, so we encounter it on everything in this region which borders Hungary.
Rakija is not the only libation here. Stands offer flavored homemade liquors, regional wine, and – yes – craft beer. We all want beer, but first, we try homemade Serbian versions of Bailey’s, Kahlua, and Campari. The single craft beer stand, Beercuz, is from Novi Sad. Their beers and rakijas are good.
We eat lunch, or rather, we snack constantly. First, one farmer offers us long cuts of ham from a cured pork leg he has displayed on his stand. It’s rich, salty, and filling. Later, we have sandwiches filled with fermented vegetables, like coleslaw, and “svarci,” which is similar to Mexican chicarrones. Finally, we fill up on langos, a Hungarian specialty of fried dough with cream on top.
At 1:30pm, there is an awards show. It is organized chaos. A beautiful presenter shouts the names of the winners over a rowdy crowd. No one seems to hear her, and more often she receives loud compliments from the drunken men. Our rakija consumption increases. At some point, Niko and I, being the rare foreigners at the festival, are interviewed by an agricultural channel about our impressions of the festival.
They want a quote in English.
What to say? We like the young rakija…a lot.
Around 6pm, just after sunset, we attempted to hitchhike from Ljutovo into Subotica. I got my thumb narrowly clipped by a passing car. It’s swollen, but not broken. Now, I’m angry in Angryville. While we waited on the country road wondering what to do, Paul recognized a passing bus that would take us into town. We hailed it, and they stopped to pick us up.
Finding Craft Beer In Subotica
Once we are in Subotica, Pavle takes us to Bates, a wonderful kafana. We order bowls of spicy paprika soup followed by huge plates of mixed barbeque. A tamburasi band plays on a small stage, while in front kids dance with their parents. We order a round of rakija, and, even though it isn’t as good as anything we drank at the festival, we toast to a good day.
Now, what craft beer does Subotica have?
Samo Pivo is Belgrade’s first, and most well-known craft beer bar. What many people do not know is that their founders come from Subotica. After some years of success in Belgrade, the owners decided to open another location in their hometown.
Unfortunately, my time at Samo Pivo Subotica was short.
Generally, in 2021, Serbia had completely relaxed its COVID restrictions. Still, I carried my COVID vaccination car with me. Yet, we had ridden buses, entered restaurants and been at a big festival without anyone asking us for vaccination proof. Samo Pivo was the only exception. They asked for my ID. I showed it to them, and they noted that my last vaccination was more than 3 months earlier. It had expired three days ago.
Paul and Niko rolled their eyes.
I asked the staff if I could quickly go inside and take pictures of the place. I wouldn’t order anything. They agreed. While I walked around taking pictures, a group of friendly locals called me out in English and invited me to their table for a beer. They asked me what my favorite beer was. I told them, and they ordered it. Samo Pivo’s staff was not amused. So I chugged the beer, thanked them, then ran out.
Paul knows another pub with lots of craft beer, Beer & Caffe. When we enter, the first thing I notice is the bartenders speaking Hungarian. I didn’t expect much from the beer selection, but it was quite good. And, surprisingly, there is local beer from Subotica, Pivara Patuljak. The IPA is one of the best ones I’ve had in Vojvodina. Or maybe I’m happy to take a break from a day of rakija.
We order another round while Paul regals us with the dirty business of his former employer.
After midnight, we enter a random building, go to the third floor and walk down a hall to an unmarked white door. Loud drum’n’bass pounds on the other side. We open the door and step into a small rave. Laser lights dance off the walls. Several people share the DJ duties. A makeshift bar is in one corner of the room. No one asks me for my COVID proof.
Tomorrow, Paul wants to give us a historical tour of Subotica. But that is tomorrow. Tonight is the rave.
For a guide to the best craft beer bars, brewpubs and breweries in Novi Sad, click here
