Spotykach (спотикач, spiced sweet liqueur)

The joke is right there in the name: spotykach, from spotykatysia, to stumble. It tastes sweet and obedient at first, all clove warmth, cinnamon bark, nutmeg, and dark sugar, then it stands up from the glass a little later and reminds you it was horilka all along.

This belongs to the after-dinner end of a celebration, when the plates are messy, the pickles are still on the table, and someone has started telling a story too slowly. My Aunt Nadia wrote only, "warm it until the smell changes," which was rude of her and also correct. The raw alcohol edge softens, the spices stop shouting separately, and the whole pot begins to smell round, like winter fruit peel and cupboards where the good glasses live.

The one thing that decides the drink is restraint with heat. You warm the strained horilka into syrup, but you don't boil the alcohol away or cook it harsh. Keep it low, keep your nose over the pot, and bottle it once the spice smells married to the sweetness. Then wait a few days if you can. I know. Comedy.