What a joke. Not the problem, the solution.
Every time they try to keep vodka away from Russians, it fails miserably. Imagine banning wine in France, scotch in Scotland, or bourbon in Kentucky, and then multiply the reaction about tenfold.
When Mikhail Gorbachev tried it in the early 1980s, the comrades started making booze in their bathtubs. There was also a run on antifreeze, shaving lotion and rubbing alcohol. They had to finally give up when emergency rooms became overcrowded.
Now, as a New Year's present to his people, President Dmitry Medvedev has doubled the minimum price from the ruble equivalent of $1.60 to $3.25 for a half-liter. That might sound like peanuts, but the average Russian worker only earns $650 a month.
Why I am telling you this? Because vodka is by far the most popular hard liquor in this country, too. "No contest," said Edward "Buddy" Nejaime, owner of Nejaime's Spirit Shoppe in Torrington. "We sell about 30 brands and flavors." Other package stores in the area confirm that vodka easily outsells all other hooch.
But we treat vodka differently than the Russians do. We mix it with fruity fluids and other dilutants, and, sometimes pretend we don't even drink it. As one ad claimed, "It leaves you breathless" — meaning it's harder to detect on your breath.
Russians don't mix vodka with anything, including ice, and don't worry much about their breath. They drink it straight from a frozen shot glass. No sipping allowed. Food is the preferred chaser. Vodka is mostly consumed at the dinner table, not standing around clinking glasses. Seated is clearly the best position to be in.
The Russian reputation for loquaciousness seems to be directly related to the fine art of dinner toasts, which provide the best excuse for downing yet another shot.
Vodka is also one of the few inventions Russia can legitimately lay claim to, dating back to the 14th century, although the Poles were pretty close. The Slavic word is a derivative of "water," which gives you some idea of its importance.
The equivalent of 2.1 billion quarts of it are produced each year in the former Soviet Union, and the average Russian drinks 19 of them.
America, with more than twice the population, downs about 20 percent of that per capita, according to liquor industry statistics.
When I lived in Moscow in the 1970s, vodka was very cheap for foreigners because we paid hard-currency dollars that were coveted by the Soviets. In fact, it was so cheap that it made very good windshield wiper fluid, especially in the winter, because it never froze. The first time I ever saw a grown Russian man cry was when my neighbor watched me pour a bottle of Stoly under the hood.
Designer vodkas from such funny places as Sweden, Holland, Finland and America are a fairly recent development, but anathema to a true Russian. Because vodka is little more than watered down ethyl alcohol, with a few impurities to give it flavor, paying up to $40 a bottle is, well, a marketing achievement.
Mevedev's new price edict is actually aimed at the cheap bootleg stuff that black marketeers peddle without paying excise taxes. Ironically, the new law may help sell the higher-priced legal brands, the experts say, keeping only the poorest drinkers out of the market.
No one says alcohol consumption in Russia should be taken lightly. The country has one of the worst drunken-driving records in the world, even though their DUI laws are quite strict.
Men are overwhelmingly the big offenders, and if weren't for women assuming the role of designated drivers, the roads would be even more menacing.
One reason why the new price law is unrealistic is that the prudes in the Kremlin treat alcoholism solely as a cause, not a symptom, of Russia's problems. They don't want to admit that vodka helps the bear get through the day.
George Krimsky can be reached at gkrimsky@rep-am.com.
Resource: http://www.rep-am.com/articles/2010/01/25/news/local/463039.txt
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