Brewing Harry Potter's Butterbeer with Onlíner

Did you know that Butterbeer from Harry Potter has distinctly Belarusian roots? This was scientifically demonstrated by Stanislav Pridybailo, a brewing history enthusiast from Gomel. We have already written about his research, inadvertently sparking a wave of memes proclaiming, "Harry, you're Belarusian!" After that, it would have been a shame not to meet Stanislav and brew that very same Belarusian Butterbeer together as part of a special project with Alivaria. Especially since, as it turns out, making it at home is not all that difficult.

Harry Potter, Keanu Reeves, and Belarusian Brewing Traditions

Meeting Stanislav was certainly one of our most memorable experiences of the past year. After all, it is not every day that someone takes you to an island in the middle of one of Belarus's largest lakes to brew the country's oldest beer alongside a group of archaeologists, following recipes from the 16th century. Wooden barrels, lake water, wild yeast, and scorched straw — everything strictly according to the brewing instructions of our great-great-great-grandparents. You can read about how it all happened, as well as the story of how an IT specialist from Gomel became a passionate brewing historian, here.

Today, however, we have gathered for a different reason.

Just before New Year's Eve, Stanislav contacted us again:

"I think I've found evidence that Butterbeer from Harry Potter is actually a Belarusian invention. It's a variation of an ancient Belarusian beer soup called gramatka, whose roots go back to the 16th century, to the reign of Sigismund I. I've written a research paper and received reviews from members of the Academy of Sciences. Shall we tell people about it?"

Why not? The very next day, our article spread across Telegram channels with millions of subscribers (even the notorious Dvach joined in), giving rise to the meme "You're Belarusian, Harry!" and countless jokes along the lines of "First Keanu Reeves, now him."

According to internet users, that day John Wick gained a brother, while Belarus welcomed a "new child."

— Yes, we certainly made some noise. It was an interesting experience. By the way, afterward I was invited to write an article about beer soups for a respected beer magazine, so it was all worthwhile. I'd love gramatka to become part of our holiday traditions and national cuisine, so that people understand there's more to Belarusian food than just draniki.

And so, today, much to your delight (and Harry's), we have finally met up with Stanislav to prepare Belarusian Butterbeer together — step by step, with detailed instructions.

No millennial jokes about magic outside Hogwarts. Let's get straight to it!

"In the Middle Ages, Beer Soup Was Used to Treat Every Illness"

So, technically speaking, today we're making beer soup. And any proper discussion of soup should begin with a recipe.

Here's what you'll need:

• Butter — 30 g.
• Cane sugar — 50 g.
• Egg yolk — 1.
• Cloves — 0.3 g (2–4 pieces).
• Ginger — 7 g (2 teaspoons).
• Nutmeg — approximately 1 level teaspoon.

We weigh out the ingredients and carefully arrange them on small plates. Almost everything can be found in an ordinary supermarket. The only real challenge was finding whole nutmeg. As a result, I am now personally acquainted with the vendors at several spice stalls at Minsk's Komarovsky Market.

— But where would people in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania have obtained nutmeg and cane sugar back then? That sounds rather extravagant...

— That was my first thought too. But then I remembered that our country once stretched "from sea to sea," and that in any era you could obtain almost anything if you had enough money. And our nobility certainly had plenty of it. Many beer and mead recipes I've discovered from the late 16th century contain considerable quantities of ginger and nutmeg, Stanislav explains.

We add the egg yolk to the cane sugar and stir this fragrant concoction until it reaches the colour and consistency of mustard — using forks, naturally. We did have a blender, but our great-great-great-grandfather would hardly have approved.

Meanwhile, we bring Alivaria Dark Unfiltered beer (Аліварыя Цёмнае нефільтраванае) to a boil with the spices added.

— Actually, any Christmas beer would work beautifully, because this is traditionally a drink associated with the winter holidays, Stanislav explains.

Well, at least we managed to brew ours in time for Maslenitsa. That's something.

While the beer boils and our forks clatter against mugs filled with the egg-and-sugar mixture, Stanislav tells us about the history of beer soups.

— Back then, people used beer for practically everything, simply because it was harder to get poisoned by drinking beer than by drinking water straight from a river. Monks drank it while travelling, vegetables were added to it to make complete meals, and it was used to treat illnesses. Seriously, beer soup was even "prescribed" to women and children. Medieval engravings actually made fun of this practice: whatever illness you came down with, someone would prescribe beer soup.

— But how did you come to the conclusion that J. K. Rowling's Butterbeer was actually inspired by Belarusian beer soup?

— Being an intelligent person, she has never explicitly said, "Yes, this is a reference to soups from Tudor times." Britain is a country governed by law, after all. Who knows which descendants might still hold copyrights? But in various interviews, she has mentioned small details that led me to conclude that our gramatka — which also has Western European roots — comes closest to the original.

For example, she describes her Butterbeer as having a flavour reminiscent of less sickly-sweet butterscotch. And back then, that particular butterscotch flavour was achieved by heating a mixture of butter and cane sugar.

Incidentally, it's time to put our mugs aside for a moment.

We take the pots off the heat, strain their contents through a sieve to remove the spices, and then return them to the stove.

— Now it's time for teamwork. Carefully pour some beer into my mug with the sugar mixture — in a thin stream, just a little at a time.

I follow my beer sensei's instructions, although I manage to spill half a ladle while trying to pose for a photograph.

Nevertheless, the mixture in the mug gradually takes on the colour of a good latte, only noticeably thicker.

We carefully pour the resulting mixture into the pot. Then we add 80 grams of butter. Once the butter has melted, we stir everything together.

— If you keep the drink on the heat for about 30–35 minutes, the alcohol will evaporate completely, and the Butterbeer will become non-alcoholic. In other words, the flavour will remain, but it won't get you drunk. You could then even serve it to children and pregnant women.

Hagrid on Zybitskaya Street and the Taste of Childhood Caramel. What Did We End Up With?

It's ready.

We pour the drink into elegant glasses and marvel at how well the foam holds its shape. Judging by its appearance and aroma, it could easily be mistaken for coffee.

But describing the taste is surprisingly difficult.

The warming sharpness of ginger, caramel sweetness, the rich body of beer — how on earth do you put all that into ordinary words?

We invite the editorial team to try it.

The collective diagnosis: "Amazing! This is exactly how I imagined Butterbeer would taste."

Sweet, but not excessively so. The blend of spices doesn't overpower the drink; instead, it complements the other flavours. One of the dark beer varieties produced a more astringent result.

And there's something else: it tastes a little like those caramel candies we remember from childhood.

— Would I venture down into the dungeons for a drink like this? *Something in incomprehensible Harry Potter language* No. But I really like the taste, and I'd happily buy it every day if they served something like this in a coffee shop.

That was the verdict of our editor-in-chief, who: (a) once wore a Harry Potter costume to an office party, and (b) doesn't drink alcohol at all.

(If he was able to taste the drink, that must mean we successfully boiled away all the alcohol.)

Half the office lines up for the remaining Butterbeer.

Stanislav is the star of the day. For the past twenty minutes, he has been giving an impromptu lecture to a fascinated audience about one of the earliest known Belarusian brewers — Nikolai Mlechko, a standard-bearer from Orsha.

Everyone is all ears.

I catch a moment's pause and ask the question that has been on my mind throughout my acquaintance with Stanislav.

— Your research and recipes clearly generate enormous public interest. Have you ever thought about opening your own bar, for example, and brewing authentic old Belarusian beer there?

— Of course I've thought about it. In fact, I'm planning a meeting with investors who are prepared to invest in opening a small brewery specialising in traditional recipes.

After all, this is part of our heritage. A great many scientists are helping me, including professors from foreign universities, purely out of enthusiasm. I'm immensely grateful to them, and I will certainly find a way to repay their kindness and support.

I want to do everything within my power to preserve this heritage.

There's little left for us to do except wish Stanislav success and finish our glasses of Butterbeer.

Incidentally, we already learned that J. K. Rowling knows Belarus exists thanks to an interview with an editor of the legendary comedy programme Kalambur.

In one of her books, Hagrid gets into a fight with a vampire in a Minsk pub. (And notice — once again, it's a drinking establishment!)

But today, we achieved something even better: we brought a fairy tale to life and tasted it.

You don't have to be a fan of the books about our (as of recently) very own Harry to appreciate what you now have in your hands.

First, a recipe for a delicious traditional Belarusian drink.

And second, an ironclad argument for your next debate: the Boy Who Lived, Harry, apparently has the real surname Potterovich and comes from Belarus's Mogilev Region.

EXCESSIVE BEER CONSUMPTION IS HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH!