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My neighbor invited me over for what I thought was a quick coffee and turned into a three-hour rakija tasting session. He had homemade plum, quince, and walnut varieties, each with a story about where the fruit came from and how his father taught him to distill it. The walnut one was unlike anything I have ever tasted - dark, complex, slightly bitter. He refused to let me leave without a bottle. Serbian hospitality is something I was not prepared for and I am so glad I was not.
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