As spring melts away a long winter deep in Latvia’s vast forests, the stillness is almost imperceptibly broken by a rhythmic drip, drip, drip.
A small black tube protrudes from the trunk of a leafless tree growing among spruces, birches and pines. Trickling from it, into a plastic bag suspended below, is a clear, sweet, watery sap which has been one of this country’s most popular drinks for centuries.
Here, late March to mid-April is berzu sula, or birch juice, season. Stalls groaning with bottles full of the sap have popped up by roadsides, while top chefs tout it as an essential ingredient in Latvian nouvelle cuisine and scientists claim it is great for one’s health.
Linards Liberts, Latvia’s foremost birch juice expert and the man responsible for revamping its rustic image, is especially enthusiastic after this year’s long and bitterly cold winter. For him, even the snowiest cloud has a silver lining.
“The colder the winter, the sweeter the juice,” the 34-year-old Liberts said. “That’s why our birch juice is so special and why you can’t get it in France or Italy — it simply doesn’t get cold enough there for long enough. We’re lucky to have such harsh winters.”
As soon as the temperature hits zero, he and throngs of other birch juice fans flock to forests or their own back gardens to tap Latvia’s millions of birches, distinguished by their brilliant white bark.
For Liberts, this delicately sweet fluid has become the life-blood of his business.
At his small organic farm in the central Latvian town of Ikskile, his cellar would make any French winery proud.
However, instead of fermenting grape juice, it is stacked full of his birch juice products: still and sparkling wines, syrup, lemonade and schnapps, all elegantly-bottled and premium-priced.
“I have only around 200 trees. Compared to maple syrup production in Canada where even the smallest farms have thousands of trees, we’re Lilliput,” he said.
Still, Liberts is attracting an international reputation. Following an appearance at the World Organic Food fair in Germany in February, he received so many orders he had to turn away most of them as he was short on sap.
“People were amazed [at] how fresh and pure the taste is, especially if they have only previously encountered the pasteurized, sweetened versions of birch juice that are popular in Belarus and Russia,” he said.
Liberts is also doing his best to ensure birches are tapped in a way that causes the least possible damage.
“The old-fashioned way is to drill a large hole right into the heart of the tree, but we prefer to do something more like modern keyhole surgery. Seven millimeters is the optimum width of the hole and you should not go into the tree more than 3 to 4cm,” he said, adding that larger holes that damage trees only increase the flow by 5 to 7 percent.
The sap is also prized by eco-cosmetics maker Madara, one of Latvia’s most successful businesses with outlets in 28 countries.
Research into the sap’s anti-aging properties at the University of Latvia prompted the company to launch a line of products last year promising a youthful glow.
“Birch juice both stimulates the growth of dermal and epidermal cells, and delays cell aging,” Madara founder Lotte Tisenkopfa-Iltnere said.
Recnet studies conducted by researcher Dr Janis Ancans show the organic sap’s array of benefits as a powerful anti-oxidant.