Drinking Traditions of North Korea: 6 Beverages That Define the Table

North Korea’s drinking culture reflects climate, agriculture, and long-standing Korean ritual. Cold winters and limited rice harvests push brewers toward corn, barley, and potatoes, while traditional fermentations rely on nuruk, a grain-based starter rich with native yeasts and molds.

From farmhouse bowls of cloudy takju to distilled soju and herbal elixirs, alcohol marks seasonal labor, weddings, and ancestral rites (jesa). State-run distilleries in Pyongyang bottle ginseng and pine-pollen liquors, yet many households still ferment small batches to share within neighborhoods.

Munbaeju is a centuries-old Korean spirit with deep roots in the Pyongyang region. Despite its name—munbae means wild pear—the drink contains no fruit; instead, its pear-like bouquet develops naturally from a multi-grain mash (often wheat and rice, sometimes with sorghum) fermented with nuruk and distilled in a copper or brass sojugori. Traditional versions rest for months, allowing esters to settle and the fragrance to bloom. The result is a clean, elegant spirit, typically 40–45% ABV, with notes of ripe pear, white pepper, and warm cereal.

Historically poured at formal banquets and rites, munbaeju sits at the refined end of the Korean drinks spectrum. In and around Pyongyang, it pairs well with grilled meats, delicately seasoned beef dishes, and savory pancakes, where its aromatic lift cuts through fat without overwhelming the palate. Today, you’ll encounter it in small shot glasses at holiday tables and celebratory meals, sipped slowly rather than tossed back, and often offered by elders as a gesture of respect and welcome.

Kaesong is renowned for Koryo insam—Korean ginseng—and insam-ju (ginseng liquor) is a North Korean showcase for this prized root. The base is usually a neutral spirit or light soju infused with whole Panax ginseng, sometimes alongside honey for roundness. The maceration can last weeks to months, yielding a tawny, bittersweet digestif typically in the 30–40% ABV range. Expect aromas of forest floor, pine, and faint licorice, with a drying finish that speaks to ginseng’s medicinal reputation in East Asian pharmacopoeia.

Insam-ju appears at gifting occasions, banquets, and as a post-meal tonic, especially in colder months when warming drinks are favored. Bottled versions labeled as Koryo Insam Liquor are produced by state-run facilities in Kaesong and Pyongyang, where they’re marketed for both flavor and vitality. Locals serve it in small cups after hearty fare—braised meats, stews, or rich noodles—letting its herbal complexity settle the palate. For travelers, it offers a direct link between the peninsula’s herb lore and the DPRK’s regional agriculture.

Songhwa-ju is a traditional pine pollen wine that marries glutinous rice, nuruk, and collected pine pollen (songhwa), often with a touch of honey. Fermented and then carefully clarified, it typically lands at 13–16% ABV. The nose evokes spring pine, wildflower honey, and faint resin; on the palate it is gently sweet, medium-bodied, and lightly tannic from the pollen’s fine particulates. The technique blends cereal fermentation with a botanical infusion, a style long practiced across the Korean peninsula and maintained in the North by state bottlers and small producers.

Culturally, pine trees symbolize resilience and longevity—fitting for a wine used in toasts that wish health and long life. In North Korea, you may find bottled “Songhwa Liquor” in Pyongyang shops, served slightly chilled in small cups at celebratory meals or seasonal gatherings. It pairs well with banchan built around herbs and wild greens, and its subtle sweetness softens the spice of kimchi and seasoned fish. When spring turns to summer, songhwa-ju bridges the gap between herbal tonic and convivial table wine.

Makgeolli—called takju in many northern contexts—is the archetypal farmhouse brew. Made with steamed rice and nuruk, it is often extended with locally available grains such as corn or barley, and sometimes with sweet potato to bolster the mash in years when rice is scarce. After a one- or two-step fermentation, the mixture is coarsely filtered but deliberately left cloudy, retaining lactic tang, soft carbonation, and a creamy texture. Alcohol strength usually sits around 5–8% ABV. Expect yogurt-like acidity, rice porridge sweetness, and a faint green-apple note from active fermentation.

In rural areas, makgeolli is brewed in small batches, ladled into bowls after fieldwork, and shared communally—an everyday counterpoint to the formality of distilled spirits. In Pyongyang, simple eateries may pour fresh takju alongside savory pancakes, dumplings, or buckwheat noodles, where its acidity refreshes the palate. It’s most associated with harvest seasons and cooler weather, when a lightly chilled, frothy bowl restores energy. For visitors, makgeolli demonstrates how nuruk-driven fermentation adapts to local grain realities while preserving the convivial spirit of Korean farmhouse drinking.

Cheongju—also known as yakju when intended as a refined, medicinally esteemed wine—is the clear counterpart to makgeolli. Brewers steam polished rice, seed it with nuruk, and conduct a careful, cool fermentation before racking and clarifying. The result is bright and limpid, typically 14–16% ABV, with aromas of melon rind, steamed rice, and gentle florals. On the palate it is dry to off-dry, lightly umami, and far cleaner than rustic takju, thanks to slow, temperature-conscious handling and meticulous filtration.

Historically poured for jesa (ancestral rites), weddings, and official receptions, cheongju carries ceremonial weight across the Korean peninsula, including the North. In formal settings it is served at room temperature in small cups to highlight its fragrance and clarity. At the table, it complements delicately seasoned fish, tofu, and vegetable dishes, where subtlety matters more than power. If you encounter a banquet in Pyongyang or Kaesong, cheongju’s presence signals respect for tradition and a preference for balance over intensity.

While Korean soju historically relied on rice, North Korea’s distillers frequently turn to corn, barley, wheat, or sweet potato—crops that fit the country’s cooler climate and agricultural mix. After saccharification with nuruk, the mash is distilled in compact sojugori stills, then diluted to commercial strengths around 20–25% ABV, though home or specialty bottlings can reach 30–40%. Flavor ranges from neutral and softly sweet to grainy with a mild solvent edge in rougher cuts; better-quality versions achieve a clean cereal profile with a gentle warmth.

Soju is the DPRK’s everyday spirit: ubiquitous at restaurants, family tables, and workplace gatherings. Bottles labeled “Pyongyang Soju” and other regional names appear in state shops, and etiquette mirrors peninsula-wide norms—pour with two hands, accept with both, and avoid filling your own glass. It is sipped alongside grilled pork, kimchi stews, and noodles, where its neutrality resets the palate between bites. In winter, a small glass taken neat offers warmth; in summer, lightly chilled pours keep the focus on texture and food pairing.