This article will not be translated into serbian. I don't believe that it would require any explanation there for at least next hundred years; if it ever does, I'll be glad to be absent from that universe.
Pronounced ruh-kee-yuh, stress on first.
The reason I have to write this is that there's no english word for it. It's „eau de vie“ (see, not english) and is usually called brandy, which it is not. The misnomer passes simply because it'd hamper the conversation to have to explain the following each time. Even I often just say 'brandy' when speaking english. To add to the confusion, what was sold as brendi/brandy here was most often fake, industrial alcohol with stuff added to taste, which were quite a success, specially the „Stock 84“ (aka štok), italian thingy, which was the actual wine distillate, sold along many domestic fakes.
By the definition on wikipedia, brandy is a wine distilate. Rakija, however, has nothing to do with wine, this is distilled straight from fruit - so, no wine, no grain. Just fruit.
It is named after its fruit, just adding a suffix. So apple - jabuka - gives jabukovača (not the same as calvados, no post-process mumbo-jumbo), kruška (pear) kruškovača (with the william pear rakija being called viljamovka), trešnja (sweet cherry) trešnjevača, višnja (sour cherry) višnjevača (see below), kajsijevača (apricot - kajsija), dunjevača (quince - dunja), breskovača (peach - breskva). The exceptions to this naming convention are šljivovica (plum - šljiva) and, komovica (grape after wine is decanted) and lozovača aka loza (vine - loza, so not named after the grape - grođže). There are also funny given names - gromovača (grom - lightning strike), izuvača (izuti se - to unshoe oneself).
On the subject of višnjevača, and various berries - dren (dogwood), cranberry, even raisins etc - that's usually bad rakija with fruit dropped into it to fix the taste. It may also take the color from the fruit, specially višnja. Likewise, various medicinal herbs may be added, more prominent of those being kleka (juniper, rakija is called klekovača), pelinkovac (pelin - wormwood leaf) and lincura.
As for the color, rakija should have none. It's just a clear liquid. Many people, though, add oak chips, or store it in barrels, allegedly aging it. Most of the time, they're trying to cover for errors in the production (rotten or even moldy fruit, letting fermentation go on into vinegar phase) by adding that aged taste, which sometimes work. There are exceptions, of course, some of these yellow things may be quite good, but I generally approach them with reserve.
As for procurement, the industrial brandy is, nowadays, not bad, and actually quite decent ones can be found on shelves. However, your mileage may vary. There are many small manufacturers, mostly going for some bit of brand recognition, and again it's a matter of luck. You may run into someone who just achieved some market share and pumped up the production beyond the capacity of his own orchard, started buying fruit who knows where and the quality suffered. The general rule of thumb is that you should try it first or have a supplier whom you can trust.
Downsides: if it's not pure, may cause serious hangover, with headache, dry throat etc, specially if drunk too fast. One sips it, bottoms up is considered fit for notorious drunkards only. Bad taste may come from šljivovica, because the traditional serbian peasant gathers the plums (doesn't pick them, waits for them to fall off their branches), puts them in the barrel, seals it and then goes tilling and harvesting, and remembers the barrel when he has the time, months later. During that time, all the bitter taste from the pits has dissolved through the pit's shell and influenced the taste. When distilled just on time (after the alcohol fermentation is over and before the onset of the vinegar phase), this doesn't occur.
Moonshine is legal in Serbia. Around 2013 there was a new law which regulated that, but it's generally unenforcable, because it puts the line between production for one's household and commerce at 90 liters per year, which is impossible to count, as the season lasts from june to november, and any extra amount may vanish while it lasts, so there's not even a good time when to take the count.
Having being burned with bad experience many times over, we two generally stayed away from rakija for decades, until dad bought the vineyard and started distilling his own. But then it was a loza, which isn't quite to our taste. By 2011, we already had some homemade of our own, but didn't have the culture yet (v. 10-VIII-2011.). By 2015 we invented tutifruti, rakija of mixed fruit; in 2020 its papazjanija variety.
13-IX-2024 - 13-IX-2024