Although it wouldn't be the first word I'd use to describe my website, Spirit Animal is pretty apolitical. As such, there's not a compelling reason for why I'd want to use this site to talk about red versus blue, hot-button social issues, or what I think about local water rights. It's not to say I don't have opinions about some of these things, but I don't know if you guys care to hear about them.
That preface laid down, I will say this: if I bought a Russian-made vodka these days, I know I'd feel scummy about it.
Drop me an email if you want to tell me I'm full of shit, I suppose, but at least from my vantage point, it seems we're living in a time where an authoritarian, dictator-for-life type looked out his window at a sovereign, democratic nation, then proceeded to say, “Yeah, I'm gonna take that. And if the people over there have a problem with that plan, I'm going to either kill them or knock out their power in the dead of winter.”
There are lots of good moral and political arguments to be made here in America as to what, if anything, should be done about this state of affairs. Additionally, there are vibrant discussions to be had about whether boycotts and economic sanctions actually do motivate change, or whether they just screw over those who are the least complicit in the behavior of those who actually do pull the political levers.
Label it activism or it label it the most impotent form of “attaboy” consumerism: rather than rebuying an old favorite, I gave the nod to Khor when I needed a new bottle of vodka. Literally the only thing I knew about Khor is that it's Ukrainian. At least one local store has starting merchandising Khor via an “end cap” display with blue and yellow colors in an attempt to mimic the Ukrainian flag. A lot of retailers want to make sure that we know what we're buying, and good on them.
I've before said that Vodka can have nuance and character. It isn't all just vaguely inoffensive boozewater whose highest aspirations are found in phrases like, “Goes down easy,” or “Can't even taste it,” or the even more depressing “Does the job.” All that said, Khor is not the vodka I would bring to a tasting in order to prove that point to others.
“ I decided to conduct my own ‘special military operation,’ pitting Khor directly against the regular-old Russian Standard. Sadly, it did not fare well for the Ukrainians. ”
Khor isn't bad. The dominant flavor, to me, is a buttery lemon cream that pulls the whole experience together. At times, it's a little bitter, but not in a way that's unacceptable. Sometimes, the bitterness shows up as almond; at others, it’s reminiscent of raw bell pepper in that it has both a sweet and a vegetal punch. On the back end of the tasting, you’ll encounter a sweetness similar to black licorice or aniseed. When it works, Khor is clean and refreshing, and would avail itself well in any cocktail that calls for vodka.
However, let’s be real: Khor is a $12 vodka, and I think when one offers a spirit at that price, some sacrifices are inevitable. Nosing this gives a lot of the story away. It's not so raw that the vodka wallops you, but it is a little too industrial for my liking. No lie: I shampooed my car's floormats a week ago, and damned if Khor didn't bring that sense memory screaming back from the recent past.
Beyond that, the bitterness isn't for me. What's interesting is that switching between a neat snifter of Khor and a small glass with the Khor poured over ice, I find the vodka allowed me to experience the bitterness in two different ways. Think of a schoolyard bully raising a clenched fist and asking, “Where do you want it?” With ice, you get the bitterness more on the sides of the tongue as citrus rind. Neat, it sat right in the middle of my tongue.
I've mentioned in the past that even for those of us with well-developed palates, sometimes it helps to taste any new vodka alongside a known benchmark. Juxtaposition is a great way to differentiate products and find nuance in a category largely defined by neutrality. As such, I decided to conduct my own “special military operation,” pitting Khor directly against the regular-old Russian Standard.
Sadly, it did not fare well for the Ukrainians. Side-by-side, Russian Standard is far more neutral in the nose, showing up a little more metallic where Khor was heavier on the acetone. Taste-wise, RS lacked the lemon cream of the Khor, but had far fewer off-notes. Stepping up to RS's premium brand extension, the Imperium, the Khor was blown out of the water by the fancier vodka’s delicious and gentle combination of sweet-and-savory. It was a total rout.
If you're disappointed by that turn of events, trust me: I was also. I wanted so very much to find a new favorite here. There was no other reason to put Khor in the cart past its country of origin. But now that I’ve had a little time to think, let me take what I've learned from the experience and give you two options.
First, you could still buy a bottle of Khor, knowing full well it won’t be as good as Russian products at a similar price point, like Russian Standard, Stoli, or Beluga. And again, these are excellent vodka producers. However, in some roundabout way, buying these bottles feels a bit like putting a few pennies in a jar marked “Help us drone strike civilian power plants.” Or perhaps the one marked, “Your funds help provide convicts with the combat drugs they need to commit war crimes!”
Alternately, when you need a vodka, you could support a producer in a country that isn't being chastised by the whole of the UN, like Reyka (Iceland), Belvedere (Poland), or St. George (America). At the same time, I would take the $12 you'd have spent on Khor (more if the spirit of giving strikes you) and instead donate those funds to a charity of your choice actually making a difference. For example, chef Jose Andres' excellent and inspiring World Central Kitchen, which is currently working each and every day to provide displaced Ukrainians with hot meals.
Just my two cents.
