Post-war drink: The local alcohol that's bringing us back to life

In the past two weeks, I barely drank. Alcohol in general, and wine in particular. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t feel I had the palate, the appetite, or the desire. Nothing had any taste.

I know there are people who clung to it. The truth? I surprised myself. Between one siren and the next, half a minute from a concrete shelter, you don’t exactly pop open a bottle of Syrah for the aroma. And then it ended, more or less. And by the first weekend of “routine,” the alcohol was back in the bloodstream. Thank God.

Israeli alcohol, especially now, is a sharp reminder of how we survived. It’s not always refined and classic—sometimes it's even rough, stubborn, and too direct—but also full of life. And I thought this is exactly the time to return to it, to the bottles that waited for me on the shelf for better days.

I opened Arak Gabriel from the Adom Distillery in the midst of the battles, when a friend came over for a work meeting. He only drinks black coffee and arak, and it was a perfect opportunity to open the bottle that had been waiting on the counter for a long time.

In the last five years, Adom Distillery—founded by Gal Cohen, originally a chemical engineer—has been producing very special drinks. The alcohol, made from organic dates grown at Kibbutz Samar in the Arava, is transformed in the distillery into white brandy, aged desert brandy, arak, gin, and a coffee distillate.

The smooth arak was delicious without any additions (I almost never drink arak straight), and even the arak enthusiast confirmed this was something entirely different.

After the ceasefire, I was curious to open Amalia from the same distillery—a wonderful herbaceous gin, which with a bit of ice, brought my breathing back to normal.

Arak Gabriel: NIS 90

Gin Amalia: NIS 120

One of my old-new Friday habits, just before opening the evening wine bottle, is to have a small afternoon vermouth.

This is already the second year in a row that I’ve adopted vermouth as my main summer drink. It’s light and uncommitted. Meaning, you don’t have to finish the bottle that day if you only want one glass.

There are many vermouths I love—especially the Israeli ones. One that’s even stronger than usual is the Galilean vermouth from Julius Distillery in the Western Galilee.

Almost 20% alcohol, very dry, made from Dabouki grapes, and barrel-aged. It has body and intensity, and it's perfect for our current emotional state.

Between waves of war and waves of jellyfish, it’s beach season—no matter how you look at it. Last year, when Milk & Honey Distillery launched their whiskey soda cans, I thought it was the best innovation of the Israeli summer.

Why? Because it's an exceptional alternative to a sad plastic cup of overpriced beer on the beach. It's a poke in the eye of the inspectors who don’t allow glass or plastic bottles on the sand, and most importantly: A top-notch Israeli whiskey drink.

A little tip: if you’re at home, drink it in a highball glass with lots of ice. Another little tip: Don’t settle for just one six-pack. It’ll be gone fast.