In a country where the yeast for fermenting alcohol is as holy to some Nepalis as the cow is to others, embracing the fiery sweet homebrew is nearly a civic imperative.
It was a warm evening, the days long and the fields in my village barren before the monsoon, when I tasted jãd—Nepali for homebrew—for the first time. I must have been six, or maybe even younger. I remember not being put off by the mush of fermented rice and asking for more—it was cooling, it filled me up, and it made the world go atilt. I remember dancing all the way home. Even now, when I think of that evening, the smile on my face stretches from ear to ear as I recall the fading evening and the warmth that radiated from my belly.
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