At Raffly Langi’s family longhouse in Sarawak, on Malaysian Borneo, the tuak rice wine did not come in a branded bottle or a tasting flight.
His aunt has brewed the drink for Gawai, the harvest festival celebrated by Dayak communities, an umbrella term for indigenous groups in Sarawak whose longhouses have long been centres of family, rituals and communal life.
She made it from steamed glutinous rice and a cake called ragi, prepared with rice flour, yeast and spices to kick-start fermentation. Once ready, the tuak was drawn from a jar and served without flavouring.
Years later, 33-year-old Raffly has carried that family recipe to the Klang Valley, the urban region around Kuala Lumpur, where he produces tuak under the brand Tuak Alus and develops modern flavours for drinkers who are unfamiliar with the traditional brew.
Tuak traditionally comes in sweeter indu, or female, and drier laki, or male, versions, but artisan brands now also offer flavours derived from pandan, pineapple and roselle.
The drink can still be bought in Sarawak for US$5 to US$7.50 in an unlabelled plastic or glass bottle, while at Klang Valley pop-ups, producers sell premium bottles and promote brand collaborations and tasting flights, with prices around US$25 or more each.
But as it moves from longhouses into mainstream markets, brewers are confronting a persistent question: how much can tuak be changed before the culture that gives it meaning fades?