The traditional Balkan drink’s unfamiliar texture and less-than-appealing chalky beige-brown colour have had many a foreigner cringe in disgust at the mere sight of it. But not this one.

Magdalena Rahn

Making boza reminded me of something that my medieval studies professor had said about ale in the Middle Ages. He described it as a thick, slightly fermented liquid made from grain. At the time it sounded horrid; now, living in Bulgaria, it sounds like boza.

For the uninitiated, boza – be it Turkish, Bulgarian, Serbian, Montenegrin, Macedonian or Albanian – is basically a mixture of water, some sort of grain and sugar, which is then left to sour or ferment (depending on whether it will be consumed in a Muslim country).

According to Pacara Boza, the premier boza-producing company in Albania, the beverage originated in Mesopotamia about 8000 to 9000 years ago. When the Ottoman Empire took hold of the Balkans in the 13th century, they introduced the drink as boza, a word which comes from the Persian “buze”, meaning “millet”. Like all things fermented, it could have slight levels of alcohol, so when the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed IV prohibited the consumption of alcohol in the 17th century, boza, too, was blacklisted.
But, thanks to the innovativeness of the Albanians, it was transformed into a thick, sweet, non-alcoholic drink,  and boza saw the light again.
While in Turkey recently, I read that boza was still a delicacy there, and that the oldest boza shop in Istanbul – Vefa Bozacisi, dating to 1876 – still exists. It was in Bursa, though, that we really saw the drink present everywhere in stores. So I bought a bottle. It is the colour of butter. Opening it, I was surprised: it was as thick as applesauce (though as smooth as cream) and had a strangely apple sauce-like flavour, too, particularly when sprinkled with cinnamon. Nothing like the brown Bulgarian boza, which, while sweet too, has a slight sour tang, and is thinner, more the consistency of a thick cream soup.
I eat my Turkish boza cold with a spoon out of a glass cup; Bulgarian boza I drink cold from the 330ml plastic bottle, though not too often because all the commercial Bulgarian boza that I have ever seen (and I read the labels, too) has aspartame or some other chemical sweetener in it. Pity.
Turkish boza is most often made from bulgur, though the recipe I found said that half rice could be used; Vefa boza uses millet. Bulgaria most commonly uses wheat flour, while Albania uses corn meal and wheat flour. Each grain will give a different taste.
I decided that it could not be that hard to make. A quick search on the internet provided recipes for the Bulgarian (www.omda.bg/engl/cook/boza.htm)and Turkish (www.yogurtland.com/2005/08/15/boza) versions; a bit of further delving gave a Macedonian one (which resembles the Bulgarian one).
Day 1
Bulgarian boza: The starter is easy to make – toast some flour, mix it with a bit of sugar and water, and set to ferment in a glass.
Turkish boza: Using all bulgur, I soak it overnight.
Day 2
Bulgarian boza: Requires no tending.
Turkish boza: The soaked bulgur is cooked till mushy, then pressed through a sieve. Unfortunately, my sieve is very small and has a hole in it, so the liquid from the bulgur mush that is to be pressed through the strainer with the back of a spoon also has some chunks of bulgur in it. We’ll see. The consistency of the resulting liquid is thick and creamy white. Nice. I guess that I just have to mix it with sugar in a glass container and leave it to ferment.
Day 3
Bulgarian boza: The starter has started. I boil toasted flower with sugar and water and let it cool. Then I mix it in with the starter. It seems really thin; that’s what happens when I don’t know how much a “teacupful” of flour is.
Day 4
The process continues.
Day 5
The Turkish boza has done something... It smells really sour and is separated. Ick! I add more sugar and it tastes better.
The Bulgarian boza is still watery and has not done anything. I use it to make bread.
Day 6
The Turkish boza, which has since been relegated to the fridge, has stared to effervesce. I like it, though would like it even more if it did not have the chunks of bulgur. It is nothing like the Turkish boza that I had in Bursa. Unfortunately, I cannot read Turkish, so it is hard to tell what the ingredients are.
I’m not sure my experiment could be called successful, but it felt worthwhile. What makes me happiest is that the transformation of original products into boza includes the beneficial process of lactic fermentation. So, yes, go ahead, do try this at home.

Source: Month2Come