Vodka is one of the world’s best-known spirits, enjoyed across the globe. But where did it come from, and how did it develop into the drink we know today? In this interview, Alexandr Gorokhovskiy talks about his PhD research on the origins of Russian vodka. A few years ago, he moved from the alcohol industry into academia to investigate the early history of this iconic liquor. On Monday 7 September, he defended his doctoral thesis, ‘The Dawn of Vodka’, which tells a story that goes beyond the drink itself.
To begin with, Alexandr, how did you go from working in the drinks industry to conducting academic research into vodka?
My path to academic historical research has been quite unconventional. I spent around 18 years in various marketing roles at one of the world’s largest spirits companies, working in various countries and for a number of major global brands. As I had to delve into the history of drinks for my work, I gradually developed a strong and lasting personal interest in the subject.
The more I read, the more I realised that no thorough scientific research has been carried out into the national drink of my country of origin, Russia. There is, of course, a substantial body of popular literature on the subject, but it does not provide a satisfactory answer to a question long neglected by historians: how and when did Russian vodka originate? I realised that I could make my own contribution to this. And so I began my research, which ultimately led me to Erasmus University Rotterdam.
What exactly is your research about?
There is a gap in our knowledge regarding the history of the origins of Russian vodka. I am attempting to fill this gap with my research by investigating the context in which the early use of distilled alcohol emerged in Russia. In particular, I am looking at how the production of spirits gained a foothold in early-modern Muscovy.
In my thesis, I investigate how distillation technology was transmitted into Russia, how it was adapted to the Muscovite context, and how the state appropriated, regulated and institutionalised the production and distribution of spirits. In doing so, I use the history of distilled spirits to examine how Muscovy became part of Eurasian networks of exchange, knowledge transfer and state-building.
"I came up against a problem faced by any historian attempting to research early modern Russia: the extreme scarcity of sources."
What is the main question of your research, and how have you sought to answer it?
My central research question is: ‘How did the art of distillation come to Moscow-Russia, and under what circumstances was it first used for the production of drinkable spirits?’.
When I started working on my project, I immediately came up against a problem faced by any historian attempting to research medieval and early modern Russia: the extreme scarcity of sources. Much has been lost to fire, warfare, and political upheaval, or simply to neglect and improper archival storage. Even when relevant texts do survive, they rarely address the subject of my study – alcoholic beverages – because of the character of the Muscovite written culture. Drink appears only sporadically, usually as a symbol of sin, in ceremonial contexts, or in tax registers.
Archaeological evidence is also scarce: only two intact early stills have been recovered in Russia so far, both dating from the first half of the seventeenth century. Owing to these limitations, I had to rely primarily on foreign travel accounts by Europeans who visited Moscow.These included individual reports, memoirs, diplomatic and private correspondence, supplemented by manuscript phrasebooks and dictionaries of the Russian language compiled by Westerners. I cross-referenced these with a limited set of surviving Russian sources: government decrees, tavern ledgers, tax documents, provincial reports, diplomatic archives and records from the Apothecary’s Chancellery, as well as folkloric sources such as legends and satirical works.
And how does your thesis answer that research question?
It has been previously suggested that spirits might have been introduced to Moscow via ecclesiastical channels or via the Mongols following Batu Khan’s invasion of Russia in the thirteenth century. But my thesis shows that this is unlikely. Instead, knowledge of distillation appears to have reached Muscovy as part of the early modern dissemination of European pharmaceutical knowledge. There is substantial evidence that distilling techniques came to Russia through Western printed medical and distillation literature and through the activities of European medical practitioners. Doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries from the German lands, England, and the Netherlands who were employed at the Muscovite court transmitted and applied technical expertise that helped to prepare the foundations for the subsequent local production of what would later be known as vodka. This fits in with a broader European pattern in which distillation was initially closely linked to medicine.
So how did vodka become a drink that was widely consumed in Russia?
Historically speaking, this is an interesting question, and in the case of Muscovy, a particularly noteworthy one. The transition of spirits from medicinal use to the category of recreational substances took a different course in Russia than in Western and Central Europe. Thanks to printing and the relatively high levels of literacy in Europe, distillation manuals were widely disseminated amongst the population. As a result, distilling soon became a commercial activity outside the realm of pharmacies.
In Muscovy, by contrast, printing developed later, literacy remained restricted, and technical knowledge circulated through relatively narrow professional networks. Under these conditions, the transition from medicinal to recreational consumption followed a different route. In my thesis, I argue that a crucial role here was played by the influx of Livonian Germans who were forcibly relocated to Muscovy during the Livonian War (1558–1583). From the mid-1560s until the late 1570s, these displaced communities enjoyed the exclusive right to produce and sell strong alcoholic beverages, including spirits, thereby contributing significantly to their wider consumption. Over time, they abused this right to such an extent that the Tsar, alarmed by the rising levels of drunkenness among his subjects, eventually ordered to destroy Moscow’s German quarter and revoked all the privileges previously granted to its inhabitants. It is striking that, contrary to many popular beliefs, the Muscovite government initially sought to restrict the consumption of spirits, rather than to encourage it.
"Knowledge and technology almost never arise or develop exclusively within national borders."
What socially relevant lessons can be drawn from your research?
Through my research, I demonstrate that the history of spirits cannot be understood within the confines of a single drink or a single country. The case of Muscovy is therefore not just about the history of vodka, but forms part of a wider narrative concerning distilled spirits and of the technologies, practices, people, and knowledge that shaped their evolution across Eurasia.
Generally speaking, my research reveals something fundamental about human societies: knowledge and technology almost never arise or develop exclusively within national borders. They spread through contact, exchange, adoption and adaptation, and are subsequently shaped to meet local needs. The history of spirits is a fine example of this.
How has your research changed your view of the world today?
As I mentioned, mapping the routes by which spirits reached Moscow has implications that extend far beyond the history of alcohol itself. It also demonstrates that early modern Russia was less isolated than is usually portrayed. In fact, it was firmly embedded in a broader European context, which facilitated the transfer and adoption of technical and economic knowledge
That is why I believe that Russia should be seen as an integral – albeit idiosyncratic – part of the early modern European world, which actively participated in trade, the dissemination of knowledge and cultural exchange. In that sense, Russia was, and must historically be regarded as, a European country whose development formed part of shared processes that shaped early modern Europe as a whole. For me, this is an important conclusion, as it runs counter to the persistent tendency to place Russia outside the European experience and instead situates it firmly within the wider, interconnected history of the continent.
You mentioned earlier the scarcity of sources; were there any other challenges you faced during the process?
Due to the lack of primary sources, I had to travel to Russia on a number of occasions to work with material from libraries, special collections and local archives. Given the current geopolitical context, that was no easy task.
But Russia wasn’t my only destination. As an external PhD candidate, I was living in France whilst writing my thesis. So even to work with the collections at Erasmus University, I had to travel back and forth to Rotterdam from time to time. I would like to take this opportunity to thank the staff at the EUR Library warmly for their help in locating and preparing the books I needed, and for arranging inter-library loans and obtaining material from other collections.
Fortunately, many early modern sources have been digitised, which meant I was still able to consult a great many sources remotely without having to travel to every library or archive to view the originals.
Which works, people or events have inspired you during your research?
One historical figure I kept coming across during my research – and whom I have come to see in a new light – is Ivan IV (better known as Ivan the Terrible), whose decisions had a direct influence on the origins and development of Russian vodka. The deeper I immersed myself in his era, and the more closely I became acquainted with his personality, the more fascinated I was by what a monumental, contradictory, and ambiguous individual he was – and, at the same time, how understudied, vilified, and trapped within a set of deeply entrenched stereotypes he remains. In my view, Sergei Eisenstein came perhaps closest to capturing the full complexity of the first Russian Tsar in his cinematic diptych, Ivan the Terrible, which I greatly enjoyed rewatching several times.
My dissertation actually brings up quite a number of historical figures whose lives would each deserve their own film adaptation, including Isidore of Kiev, Nicolaus Bülow, Bartholomäus Ghotan, and Maximus the Greek. All of these people are truly extraordinary and unique, each in their own way, and it is well worth looking them up.
What are your next steps now that you’ve completed your PhD?
I’d certainly like to publish my research as a book. Fortunately, there are publishers who have already shown interest, so I hope this will happen in the very near future.
The most “national” of traditions can have the most international of histories.
If you could share one message about your research with the world, what would it be?
The history of any national identity should not be reduced to a single moment of invention or a single place of origin. Technologies, practices, and knowledge travelled across societies, acquiring new meanings and helping shape what later came to be seen as distinctively national. The most “national” of traditions can have the most international of histories.
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