That’s the running joke in my old friend group, and it refers to all the dubious bottled stuff we drank in our youth. Not because we had any masochistic inclinations, but because that’s what the alcoholic offering looked like during the late Cretaceous period in which we lived our student years and the early days after. And the smoke- and decibel-filled nights we spent in places like Club A or Backstage had three common denominators: cheap beer, Lacrima lui Ovidiu (Ovidiu’s Tear, a sweet fortified wine), and Busuioaca de Bohotin. At the time (late ’90s – early 2000s), that was pretty much the peak of sophistication one could afford – financially, socially, and commercially. Lacrima and Busuioaca were my faithful companions at concerts by Timpuri Noi, Holograf, Vița de Vie, and Taxi; at birthday parties without cake or candles, but at ages I now look back on with infinite tenderness; at wild laughing and dancing sessions that only ended at sunrise.

Since those days, things have changed (thank heavens!) drastically. I wouldn’t drink Lacrima lui Ovidiu even when looking down the barrel of a gun someone points at me. But with Busuioaca, it’s a completely different story. The God of wine lovers has made it so that, “nowadays,” you’re no longer stalked by diabetes with every cork popped from a bottle of the stuff. Simply because this grape variety is now vinified – in some cases, admirably – in dry versions. The one from Strunga Winery or the one circulating under the code name Colocviu la Paris (crafted by Cotnari) are two I’ve tried. I plan to expand the “comparative study” at least with the Diamond version from Domeniile Averești. Or, why not, to cross the border with the proposal from our Moldovan brothers at Poiana. For the sake of the times when Busuioaca meant a mildly alcoholic compote. Just so I’ll have more reasons to laugh, and more stories that start with “Remember when…?”