Prague's Four Ancient Elixirs
Société Team
There is a shop in old Prague, tucked below the street, where four small bottles have been sold for centuries. An Elixir of Eternal Youth. An Elixir of Love. An Elixir of Memory. And an Aurum Potabile — a drinkable gold. The recipes trace back to the court of Emperor Rudolf II and his physician, Tadeáš Hájek — and they have stayed the shop's own secret ever since. Seventy-seven herbs in one of them, they say. Just the little bottle, and the long story it carries. We love an old mystery. We love it even more when we get to imagine our way inside. But we know plants. We know what warms, what steadies, what turns a jar to gold in the afternoon light. Here's our take. The Elixir of Eternal Youth — a bitters with seventy-seven voices Seventy-seven herbs is less a recipe than a devotion. It belongs to the great tradition of the imperial bitters — those deep, dark, aromatic compounds meant to be taken a single spoon at a time, morning after morning, as much ritual as remedy. A backbone of true bitters — blessed thistle, dandelion root, burdock, yellow dock — the plants the old herbalists reached for when they wanted to wake the body gently. Around them, the warm aromatics that make bitterness beautiful: angelica, fennel, anise, cardamom, cinnamon, clove, a knob of ginger, a curl of orange peel. Then the steadying ones, the plants we lean on for the long haul — ashwagandha, astragalus, holy basil, schisandra, hawthorn. A little licorice and rosehip to round the edges. Steeped together, softened in a gentle spirit, taken by the teaspoon. And if you truly wanted all seventy-seven — the full chorus, every voice in the choir — here is how we'd fill the jar: The true bitters, for the backbone: 1. gentian root · 2. blessed thistle · 3. dandelion root · 4. dandelion leaf · 5. burdock root · 6. yellow dock · 7. wormwood · 8. milk thistle · 9. artichoke leaf · 10. chicory root · 11. horehound · 12. centaury · 13. bogbean · 14. angostura bark The warm aromatics, to make the bitterness beautiful: 15. angelica root · 16. fennel seed · 17. anise seed · 18. star anise · 19. green cardamom · 20. cinnamon bark · 21. cassia · 22. clove · 23. fresh ginger · 24. galangal · 25. nutmeg · 26. mace · 27. allspice · 28. black peppercorn · 29. long pepper · 30. grains of paradise · 31. coriander seed · 32. caraway · 33. cumin · 34. juniper berry · 35. vanilla bean · 36. saffron The citrus and the orchard: 37. bitter orange peel · 38. sweet orange peel · 39. lemon peel · 40. grapefruit peel · 41. rosehip · 42. hawthorn berry · 43. elderberry · 44. schisandra berry · 45. quince · 46. fig The steadying roots, for the long haul: 47. ashwagandha · 48. astragalus · 49. holy basil · 50. rhodiola · 51. eleuthero · 52. American ginseng · 53. licorice root · 54. marshmallow root · 55. Solomon's seal · 56. fo-ti · 57. codonopsis · 58. maca · 59. reishi · 60. chaga The green and the fragrant: 61. peppermint · 62. spearmint · 63. lemon balm · 64. lemon verbena · 65. lemongrass · 66. garden sage · 67. rosemary · 68. thyme · 69. bay leaf · 70. hyssop The flowers, to finish: 71. rose petals · 72. calendula · 73. elderflower · 74. linden flower · 75. chamomile · 76. lavender · 77. cacao nib You don't need all seventy-seven. But there's a reason the old shop counted that high and stopped — at some point the making itself becomes the medicine. The full recipe — the seventy-seven-voice bitters A grand apothecary batch. Makes about 1.5 quarts (roughly 3 pints) of finished bitters. You'll need: a clean half-gallon glass jar or small crock with a tight lid · a kitchen scale · a knife or shears for chopping roots · cheesecloth and a fine mesh strainer · a coffee filter or two · a funnel · amber glass bottles for keeping. The menstruum (the spirit that holds it all): about 6 cups (1.5 liters) high-proof neutral spirit — a clean 100-proof (50%) vodka or grain spirit is perfect. High proof matters; it draws the resins and oils the softer plants keep tucked away. The botanicals — by their groups. Weigh each group to its total, using roughly equal parts of every herb within that group. Use dried botanicals throughout (save the ginger, which goes in fresh): True bitters (the fourteen, #1–14): 28 g total — a light hand here. Gentian and wormwood are fierce; let the gentle ones carry the weight. Warm aromatics (the twenty-two, #15–36): 66 g total — lightly crack the seeds, pods, and berries first to wake their oils. Citrus and orchard (the ten, #37–46): 40 g total. Steadying roots (the fourteen, #47–60): 70 g total — chop the hard roots and mushrooms small so the spirit can reach in. Green and fragrant (the ten, #61–70): 20 g total. Flowers to finish (the seven, #71–77): 14 g total — these go in last and lightest, for perfume more than punch. (About 238 g of botanicals in all — a proper choir.) The making: 1. Chop the roots, barks, and dried mushrooms into small pieces. Lightly crack the seeds, pods, peppercorns, and berries so their oils can find the spirit. Slice the fresh ginger into thin coins. 2. Layer everything into the clean half-gallon jar, the heavy roots at the bottom, the flowers drifting on top. 3. Pour the high-proof spirit over the botanicals until they're covered by two fingers' width — about 6 cups. Everything should sit fully submerged; tuck down anything that floats. 4. Seal, and write the date on the jar. This is a slow one. 5. Steep in a cool, dark cupboard for 4 to 6 weeks , giving the jar a gentle turn and shake each morning. That daily shake is the whole ritual — a small appointment with the thing you're becoming. 6. Strain through cheesecloth set in the mesh strainer, then gather the cloth and press the botanicals hard to wring out every last aromatic drop. For a clear, jewel-dark bitters, polish it once more through a coffee filter. 7. Sweeten if you like — start with 2 to 4 tablespoons of honey or a rich simple syrup per pint, stirred in warm and tasted as you go. Or leave it bone-dry, the old way. 8. Funnel into amber glass and label. Kept cool and dark, an alcohol bitters like this holds for a year and longer, only deepening as it rests. How to take it: a half-teaspoon in a little warm water, mornings. A spoon, not a glass. This is a tonic, not a drink. A gentle note: gentian and wormwood make this potent and properly bitter — keep the pour small, and keep it occasional rather than by the tumbler. Wormwood is best avoided in pregnancy, and licorice, taken heavily over a long stretch, can nudge blood pressure up. If you're pregnant, nursing, or taking medication, let this one be a daydream until you've talked with your own practitioner. The everyday version (a small-batch aromatic bitters — makes about 1 pint) Not ready for all seventy-seven? Here's the same spirit, scaled to a single jar. Roughly chop and combine 2 Tbsp bittering roots (gentian, dandelion, burdock, blessed thistle), 3 Tbsp warm aromatics (cardamom, cinnamon, clove, star anise, fennel, a curl of orange peel, a few coins of ginger), and 2 Tbsp steadying roots and berries (ashwagandha, astragalus, schisandra, rosehip, hawthorn). Pack into a clean pint jar and cover with 2 cups high-proof neutral spirit. Seal. Steep in a cool, dark cupboard 2–4 weeks, shaking the jar each morning. Strain through cheesecloth and press the botanicals well. Sweeten, if you like, with 1–2 Tbsp honey or a rich simple syrup. Bottle in amber glass. Take by the half-teaspoon in a little water, mornings. But there is something quietly true underneath the old name. To take one careful spoonful each morning is to make a small appointment with yourself. That habit — that pause — is its own kind of keeping. The Elixir of Love — a wine that asks you to slow down This one was never really a spirit. It's a wine — seasoned, warmed, carrying its herbs softly. The original leans on tribulus terrestris, an old-world plant with a long romantic reputation, and we'd have to send away for that one; it isn't in our drawers. But we know exactly who it would keep company with. Damiana, first — the tender heart-opener. Then rosebuds, because of course. Cardamom and cinnamon for warmth, a little ginger for the flush of it, a whisper of vanilla to make the whole glass feel like an invitation. Warmed into good wine, rested, strained, poured slowly. And here is the secret the elixir already knows: the magic was never in the bottle. It's two people, unhurried, on an ordinary evening, choosing each other again. The wine only marks the moment. That's the whole recipe, honestly. The herbs are just the excuse to sit down. The full recipe — a spiced herbal love-wine Makes 1 bottle (750 ml). Keep it, chilled, for about a week. You'll need: a nonreactive saucepan (stainless or enamel, never bare aluminum) · a wooden spoon · a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth · a funnel · a clean bottle or a lidded carafe. The botanicals and the pour: 1 bottle (750 ml) of a soft, welcoming wine — a fruit-forward red or a floral white, whichever you'd rather sip 2 Tbsp dried damiana leaf 1 Tbsp dried rosebuds or rose petals 4 green cardamom pods, lightly crushed 1 cinnamon stick 3 thin coins of fresh ginger 1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise a pinch of saffron threads (optional, for warmth and color) a curl of orange peel (optional) 2–3 Tbsp honey, to taste 2 Tbsp brandy (optional, to fortify and steady it a few days longer) The making: 1. Pour the wine into the saucepan and warm it gently over low heat. Never let it boil — you want it steaming, barely trembling, no more. Boiling burns off the very softness you're after. 2. Add the damiana, rosebuds, cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, vanilla, saffron and orange peel if using, and the honey. Stir once, slowly. 3. Hold it just below a simmer for 20 minutes , letting the herbs open into the warmth. 4. Take it off the heat, cover, and let it rest and infuse somewhere cool for 24 hours — overnight and then some. This is where the flavor deepens and rounds. 5. Strain out the botanicals through the mesh or cheesecloth, pressing gently. Stir in the brandy now, if you're using it. 6. Funnel back into a clean bottle. Keep it chilled and drink within about a week — a little longer if you fortified it. How to serve it: small, at room temperature or gently warmed. Two glasses at a time, and no phones at the table. A gentle note: it carries wine and, if you fortify it, brandy — so, slowly, and only if you're 21 or older. Damiana in generous amounts is best set aside during pregnancy. The Elixir of Memory — kept by something that remembers For the clear and steady mind, the old bottle turns to ginkgo — and so would we. It is one of the few trees on earth older than almost everything, individual ginkgos standing a thousand years, the whole species remembering itself since long before we were here to notice. It feels exactly right that a remedy for memory should be held by the most patient rememberer in the forest. We'd braid it, again, into wine. Ginkgo at the center, then the companions we trust for a bright and gathered head — gotu kola, brahmi, a little rosemary (the old herb for remembrance, tucked into wedding bouquets and funeral wreaths alike), peppermint to lift it, holy basil to calm it, hawthorn leaf to keep the heart in the conversation. A small glass, for concentration, for holding on to the things we're afraid of losing. (One honest note, because we can't help ourselves: ginkgo doesn't mix with blood thinners. Even a daydream keeps that one in mind.) The full recipe — a ginkgo remembrance-wine Makes 1 bottle (750 ml). Keep it, chilled, for about a week. You'll need: a nonreactive saucepan · a wooden spoon · a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth · a funnel · a clean bottle. The botanicals and the pour: 1 bottle (750 ml) of a crisp white wine 2 Tbsp dried ginkgo leaf 1 Tbsp dried gotu kola 1 Tbsp dried brahmi (bacopa) 1 tsp dried rosemary 1 tsp dried garden sage (optional — the second old herb for memory) 1 tsp dried peppermint 1 tsp dried holy basil 1 Tbsp dried hawthorn leaf and