
Imbibe is a semi-regular column that highlights wine, beer, hooch, booze, firewater or any other kind of potent potables available around town that we think you should drink.
Outside of China, baijiu is, and will probably always be, an acquired taste for some and an avoided taste for the rest. For starters, most of us probably can't even wrap our brain around the key ingredient, a cereal by the name of sorghum. And if that doesn't throw you off, the face-melting alcohol content likely will. To even begin to appreciate it, you have to radically recalibrate your palate. I'm finally starting to come around to this stuff, but it's been slow going and I've finally found a few that I could actually sip without a wince. Now, bear in mind: This is still baijiu we're talking about here. None of this stuff will sip as smoothly as single-barrel Bourbon on the rocks. But if you've got adventurous tastes, these just might convert you.
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Laobai Fenjiu

Laobai Fenjiu (老白汾酒) is a prime example what the Chinese call qing xiang, or light fragrance baijiu. This is the stuff they prefer to drink up north. If you've ever downed one of those tiny bottles of Er Guo Tou, that vile stuff that they sell in every Lawson in town, then you have already experienced qing xiang jiu. But don't let guilt by association dissuade you. This Shanxi spirit is worlds apart from its low-rent Beijing cousin. Admittedly, it's not one for first impressions. When you snap the bottle open, it unleashes an aroma reminiscent of nail polish remover or a light-duty industrial solvent. That quickly devolves into something more like a dry-erase board marker, which, let's admit it, isn't so bad. We all kind of like that smell for some strange reason, right?
...No? ... Just me? OK, never mind then.
Eventually, even these more volatile elements blow off, and what remains is shockingly palatable, I dare say even enjoyable. A mash of sorghum, barley and, of all things, peas, gives this stuff a pleasant sweet and sour quality that recedes away into a soothing boozy burn as you swallow it. There are odd hints of mint and anise on the nose and palate too.
An alcohol content of 53 percent by volume gives it a raw, rough-hewn quality akin to grappa or moonshine. That might not be a selling point for many of you, but I happen to love that kind of booze. And here's the best part: the aftertaste is minimal. It won't come out in your burps three days later. I promise. If you want to learn how to like baijiu — or at least tolerate it — this is a good place to start. And if nothing else, hey, the packaging is pretty cool. The bottle even comes with its very own earthenware cup.
Xiao Hu Tu Xian

Once you've cut your teeth on the "light fragrance" style baijius like Laobai Fenjiu, you can graduate up to the nong xiang, or "rich fragrance" baijius. This style is probably the most popular throughout China. When you're in a restaurant and can smell the bottle three tables away, odds are it's a nong xiang jiu.
You can drop a hell of a lot of coin on this kind of stuff. Big name brands like Shui Jing Fang and Wu Liang Ye start at around 700rmb and ascend to astronomical heights. That's an awful lot of money to shell out just to experiment with some booze. Xiao Hu Tu Xian (小糊涂仙), though, is a fine entry-level specimen.
It hails from Renhuai, Guizhou Province, which is also where they make Maotai, China's national spirit. Distilled from sorghum and wheat, Xiao Hu Tu Xian has complex aromas of nuts and dried stone fruits, with a slightly medicinal tedge to it. And no, that's not intended as a pejorative descriptor; some of my favorite single malt Scotches can be described as "medicinal" (cf. Lagavulin). What I like best about Xiao Hu Tu Xian, though, is the name itself. Literally translated it means "confused immortal." At 52 percent ABV, I imagine that's what most people feel like after they finish a bottle of this.
Gu Jing Gong Jiu

Gu Jing Gong Jiu (古井贡酒) is made in Bozhou, a small city in northern Anhui Province. This is fly-over country. About the only thing to do here is shop for dried sea horses at China's largest TCM market or get pissed on the local firewater.
They give tours of the distillery, by the way. The Bozhou Tourism Board says it's similar to visiting "the Bollinger Chateau in the Champagne region of France or the Glenfidch distillery in Scotland."
Also a nong xiang jiu, this baijiu spends eight years in clay jars in a temperature-controlled cellar. As with Scotch or Bourbon in barrels, this takes some of the edge off. The end result is strikingly smooth — as far as baijiu goes, at least. A mash of sorghum, rice, barley, wheat, glutinous rice and corn gives it a bit more weight and complexity than the Xiao Hu Tu Xian. It's hot on the attack with a warm, lingering finish.
Also, the bottle is just bitchin'. I mean, check out the dragon.
Where to find them:
Baijiu, as you can imagine, is pretty ubiquitous in Shanghai. These are all major brands in China, too, so they shouldn't be hard to find. Carrefour is a good place to look, as is Parkson. That's where I found both the Laobai Fenjiu and Xiao Hu Tu Xian. They sell both for around 200rmb a bottle.
Those random booze and smoke shops are another option. I found the Gu Jing Gong Jiu at one called Hai Yan on Changle Lu between Fumin and Changshu Lu. They sell it for 237rmb per bottle. These prices might seem a little steep for what I'm billing as "entry level." But, if you think this stuff is harsh, just you try and throw back a shot of 40-kuai rotgut from the convenience store.
Other Advice:
This might fly in the face of what a true baijiu connoisseur will tell you, but I find that it helps to let this stuff breathe a little bit before drinking it. A little dose of fresh air helps burn off some of the more pungent and astringent notes.
More importantly, remember: Baijiu is just a different beast. The biggest mistake you can make is casually tossing it down your throat like it's vodka or whiskey. You need to learn to crawl before you walk, so stick to small, sparing sips. The Chinese know this. Why do you think they serve it in such small glasses? Just let the alcohol slowly erode your judgement, then you can start ganbei-ing with abandon.
Finally, if you want to learn more about this stuff, be sure and check out Chengdu-based writer Derek Sandhaus's blog 300 Shots at Greatness. He explains how baijiu is made, suggests brands to try (I learned about Laobai Fenjiu from him) and he even delves into its history and cultural significance. His work has been indispensable in demystifying baijiu for me.