Drinking Traditions of Sousse: 6 Local Beverages That Define the Sahel

Sousse, Tunisia’s Sahel port on the Mediterranean, blends a busy medina, resort-lined beaches, and centuries of trade. Its hot, dry summers and mild, breezy winters shape what people drink, from seaside aperitifs to warming digestifs.

Here alcohol sits alongside Muslim norms: sold in licensed shops, poured in hotel bars, and enjoyed discreetly at home. Local tastes reflect Phoenician and Roman viticulture, French-era cellaring, Tunisian‑Jewish distilling, and the palm‑rich oases of the south.

Boukha is Tunisia’s emblematic fig eau‑de‑vie, and it’s common to see it on Sousse hotel backbars and in licensed bottle shops. Made by fermenting Mediterranean figs and distilling the wash—traditionally in copper pot stills—it emerges crystal clear at about 36–40% ABV. The nose suggests sun‑dried fig, raisin, and almond skin; the palate is round yet dry, with a peppery snap and a lingering fruit‑pit bitterness typical of stone‑fruit brandies. Originating with the Tunisian‑Jewish community in the late 19th century—famously commercialized by Bokobsa in La Goulette—Boukha migrated from family tables to national staple. In Sousse it’s taken as an aperitif or digestif, neat or lightly chilled, and often lengthened with lemon soda as a casual “boukha‑citron.” It pairs naturally with brik (a fried pastry with egg and tuna) or grilled sardines along the corniche. Travelers will find it in resort lounges around Port El Kantaoui and in city wine shops; at home, it’s poured for guests to mark holidays and life milestones, a small shot that carries both coastal sunshine and diaspora history.

Thibarine is a date‑based herbal liqueur with a story tailor‑made for curious drinkers. Created in the early 20th century by Trappist monks at the monastery of Thibar in northern Tunisia, it blends macerated dates with a guarded mix of botanicals—often including cinnamon, clove, and citrus peel—then rests to marry flavors. Bottled around 40% ABV, it pours amber to deep mahogany. Expect aromas of caramelized date, orange oil, and baking spice; the palate is velvety and bittersweet, ending with a gentle tannic grip that makes it a natural digestif. In Sousse, Thibarine shows up after hearty couscous or lamb with harissa, ordered in cooler months when the spice and warmth feel especially welcome. Bartenders sometimes riff on a Manhattan by subbing a splash of Thibarine for part of the vermouth, leaning into its date‑spice profile. While production is now commercial rather than monastic, the name anchors Tunisia’s agricultural heart—dates from oases, citrus from Cap Bon, and spice routes that long passed through these ports—into a single glass you’ll most often encounter in hotel bars and licensed restaurants.

Cedratine is Tunisia’s beloved citron liqueur, a bright counterpoint to the region’s cooler‑season foods. Producers macerate thick citron (cédrat) peel and zest in neutral alcohol, distill or filter, then sweeten and rest before bottling, typically at 36–40% ABV. The aroma is intensely zesty—think candied lemon, pith, and a whisper of vanilla—while the palate balances citrus oil bitterness with sugary roundness. Historically associated with Mediterranean citrus culture, Cedratine flourished under French‑era spirits know‑how and thrives thanks to Tunisia’s coastal groves. In Sousse, you’ll encounter it as a post‑dinner sipper on ice, or stretched with tonic and a lemon twist as a low‑effort highball in seafront hotel bars. Locals also tuck it into winter desserts or use a spoonful to perfume fruit salads. The liqueur’s appeal makes sense in the Sahel: a climate of sun and saline breezes that elevates citrus oils and suggests easy, chilled drinks. Look for Cedratine in “caves à vins” near the medina and in resort lounges; if you enjoy Italian limoncello, this Tunisian cousin offers a drier, more aromatic take.

Ask what pairs with Sousse’s grilled dorade or spicy merguez, and locals will often point to vin gris—the Tunisian style of very pale rosé. Made by gently pressing red grapes (commonly Cinsault, Grenache Gris, and Carignan) with minimal skin contact, the juice is cool‑fermented in stainless steel to preserve freshness, yielding 12–13% ABV. Aromas lean to strawberry hull, white peach, and sea spray; the palate is crisp and quietly saline, built for seafood and sun. While vines have been rooted here since Phoenician and Roman times, modern vinification took shape under French influence. Today, appellations near Tunis—such as Mornag and the Coteaux de Carthage—supply bottles you’ll see widely in Sousse restaurants along the corniche and at Port El Kantaoui. Order it well‑chilled as an aperitif or with briny oysters and harissa‑spiked salads. Its pale color signals restraint rather than sweetness, which confounds some visitors; think Provence in style but distinctly Tunisian in its salt‑kissed finish. For a reliable introduction, ask sommeliers for a “gris” from coastal estates, and expect a glass that mirrors the Mediterranean just beyond your table.

From the Cap Bon peninsula, Muscat de Kelibia brings the floral lift of Muscat of Alexandria to Sousse wine lists every summer. Typically fermented cool in inert tanks to spotlight aromatics, the wines sit around 12–13.5% ABV. Expect orange blossom, fresh grape, and apricot on the nose, with a dry, brisk palate that can carry a faint saline edge from the maritime climate. The AOC around Kelibia benefits from steady sea winds that moderate heat and help preserve acidity—an agricultural advantage that suits Tunisia’s long, hot growing season. In Sousse, travelers will find Muscat de Kelibia by the glass as an aperitif in marina bars and with grilled calamari or fried red mullet at casual seafood spots. Not all versions are dry; some producers bottle off‑dry or late‑harvest styles, but the most common restaurant pour is dry and zesty. If you enjoy intensely aromatic whites (think Albariño or Torrontés), this Tunisian benchmark offers a Mediterranean cousin with a distinctly local signature shaped by Cap Bon’s exposure and sandy soils.

Legmi (also spelled lagmi) is fresh date‑palm sap tapped in southern oases like Gabès and Tozeur and trucked to coastal towns, including Sousse, especially in season. Collected at dawn from cut spathes, the sweet, milky liquid begins fermenting almost immediately via ambient yeasts; within hours its sugar drops and a light sparkle appears. Fresh legmi is often under 2% ABV, but by afternoon it can reach 3–4% or more, turning tangy and lightly sour. The flavor shifts from honeyed coconut and green banana to a yeasty, kefir‑like profile as the day warms. In Sousse, you may encounter it in markets or via itinerant vendors—usually in unlabelled plastic bottles—where it is consumed quickly, sometimes with grilled fish at lunch. Culturally, legmi reflects oasis agriculture and the pragmatism of hot climates: a perishable, nourishing drink that naturally becomes alcoholic if time passes. Because it ferments spontaneously, quality varies widely; seek vendors who keep it cool and sell out by midday. Travelers curious about Tunisian tradition will find in legmi a living link between palm groves and the Sahel table.