I’m standing in a distillery in Poland, about an hour and a half away from Warsaw. Copper stills clatter and hum, working their magic on a spirit we’ve been drinking for, well, a very long time. A river of water pulls potatoes (yes, really) downstream in a building where they’re heated and distilled. The smell is bready and roasted, thick in the air. It’s comforting. Familiar. It absolutely has character, which is funny, considering vodka’s reputation as the spirit that has none.
“Vodka has a terroir just like any other spirit,” says Tad Dorda, founder and CEO of Poland’s Chopin Vodka. Chopin, one of the world’s most celebrated vodka producers, has been pushing against the idea of “neutrality” since the brand launched in 1993, when “luxury vodka” was almost a punchline. Dorda’s assertion feels especially true here, surrounded by piles of potatoes, next to the fields that feed this exact still.
The definition, according to the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) — which regulates spirits in the U.S. and provides standards of identity — is that vodka must be a neutral spirit “without distinctive character, aroma, taste, or color.” It changed slightly in 2020, after years of pushback from distillers who argued the rule didn’t reflect how vodka is actually made or understood. The updated language relaxed certain purity requirements and allowed small adjustments such as limited sugar and citric acid, but the core expectation of neutrality never truly disappeared. And the “odorless and tasteless” legacy remains so embedded in the category that many consumers and bartenders still assume vodka is supposed to erase itself on the palate.
The U.K. and EU definitions don’t do much to counter that perception. Under EU Regulation 2019/787 — which the U.K. essentially adopted post-Brexit — vodka must be distilled from agricultural raw materials in a way that, essentially, reduces the organoleptic characteristics of those ingredients. Producers can filter, treat, or redistill the spirit until almost nothing recognizable remains of its original grain or potato. In practice, the law frames character as something to minimize rather than express. For distillers trying to highlight ingredient, process, region, or texture, these standards lag behind where the category is heading — and where many argue it has been for a long time.
The problem is that for decades, vodka’s legal definition has imposed a linguistic straightjacket on the category that shapes how consumers, bartenders, and even some distillers think of it. But talk to anyone actually making or thoughtfully pouring vodka, and they’ll tell you: This definition has never reflected reality.
The Terroir We Refuse to See
At Chopin, Dorda’s quest to express vodka’s real character begins with the decision to distill single-ingredient vodkas including potato, rye, and wheat.
Chopin’s potato vodka is creamy and full-bodied, almost voluptuous. The rye expression is spicy, sharp, and peppered. And the wheat bottling is floral, sweet, and soft. Three different spirits expressing the same landscape in three completely different ways. “It’s the purest reflection of its raw ingredients and where they come from,” Dorda says. “Poland absolutely has its own terroir.”
“While the traditional take on vodka is that it is made to be odorless and tasteless, that is no longer a helpful way to describe what is a vibrant and varied spirit category.”
At France’s Grey Goose, master distiller Gianluigi Torta echoes the same truth: Start with good ingredients, honor them, and vodka will show you exactly where it came from. “Our wheat has the ideal balance of starch, gluten, and minerals,” he says. “When you begin with an ingredient of this caliber and treat it with the same care throughout the production process the result is a vodka that naturally expresses texture and character.”
In Picardie, wheat is classified and regulated; Grey Goose uses only the highest grade, blé panifiable supérieur. And its water, sourced from a protected limestone-filtered aquifer in Gensac-la-Pallue, shapes the spirit’s final texture. Other Grey Goose bottlings like the Altius, blended with water influenced by Alpine mineral formations, show that place — not neutrality — is what defines the vodka’s signature taste.
Behind the Bar, Perception Is Already Changing
Though New York’s cocktail renaissance in the early aughts brought backlash against vodka as a “boring” spirit — with some bartenders insisting they wouldn’t even carry it behind the bar — sentiment around the spirit is changing.
“While the traditional take on vodka is that it is made to be odorless and tasteless, that is no longer a helpful way to describe what is a vibrant and varied spirit category,” says Charlotte Voisey, executive director of Tales of the Cocktail Foundation. And for some, their frustration with the neutrality myth is palpable.
“Vodka gets called neutral mainly because consumers aren’t shown what makes it interesting,” says Sondre Kasin, director of bars at COTE. “It is true that some vodkas are neutral, but the high-quality ones actually carry a lot of flavor.”
Kasin looks for texture, mouthfeel, minerality — the same way a sommelier evaluates wine. “Think about it as a richness that is mellow and balanced when you taste it,” he says. For him, vodka’s expressiveness is emotional as much as aromatic. “You also have to think about how the cocktail makes you feel.”
“Without the addition of botanicals or the significant impact on flavor that oak maturation has, vodka distillation must be exceptional to produce a high-quality spirit.”
At Friends of Friends bar in Chicago, owner and operator Abe Vucekovich frames vodka in a way that paints a picture: “Vodka’s superpower in cocktails is its subtlety. It doesn’t need to be a ‘Karen’ trying to speak to the manager. It should be more like Meryl Streep in a supporting role — so effortlessly good you barely notice she’s there, but she’s holding the whole thing together.”
In his bar, vodka quietly supports big bitter spirits, lifts delicate juices, and gives structure to carbonated builds. That’s not neutrality; that’s technique. “It stretches flavors, gives everything some breathing room, and adds ABV in a way that brings depth without shouting,” Vucekovich says. It’s a point of nuance — neutrality is not the same as subtlety; and not all vodkas are subtle.
At Denver’s outpost of world-renowned cocktail bar Death & Co, bar manager Evan Flynn sees the same thing play out nightly. “I think we’re so quick to use vodka with things that have such big flavors because of it being ‘a blank canvas,’ but often in this process, we miss the way that vodka also helps tie ingredients together,” he says. “Vodka choice and its flavor presence (or lack thereof) can influence how the Vesper displays the rich bouquet of citrus and herbs in the gin and Cocchi Americano.”
Flynn seeks out vodkas with weight and lushness — spirits that coat the palate and impart texture. When a vodka cocktail appears on the Death & Co menu, its flavor isn’t muted. It’s picked for the particular cocktail they’re trying to create.
“If vodka is chosen as the primary ingredient, we need to be sure vodka choice is absolutely a part of the conversation,” he says. “Leaning into the inherent qualities of the vodka should always dictate how it is handled.”
Craft Vodka and the Rise of Ingredient Curiosity
Not all vodka is made from wheat or potatoes — or at sea level, for that matter. In Colorado, Aspen Vodka’s master distiller Jerod Day emphasizes the role of water and altitude. “Our red winter wheat is grown by the Whiskey Sisters in eastern Colorado, exclusively for us,” he says. That grain, combined with Rocky Mountain water and a high-altitude boiling point, creates a spirit that is distinctly regional — even if the altitude influences process more than flavor. Sustainability and local sourcing define Aspen Vodka as much as its taste.
Consumers are increasingly seeking out these stories — grain-specific vodkas, region-specific vodkas, vodkas that reflect more than just the idea of “smoothness.” As Day puts it, “Consumers want to know more about what goes into the products they’re purchasing. It’s not just about the ingredients; it’s also about the brand and the story behind the distillery.”
New York-based Harridan Vodka uses 100 percent organic corn sourced from nearby farmers in its bewitching vodka. Bottled at 88 proof, the extra body adds real richness to the palate. And in Washington State, Dry Fly crafts a vodka from locally grown wheat, imparting a naturally fruity, creamy profile with a savory kick on the finish.
After 25 years judging blind spirits tastings, Diageo ambassador and Crafthouse Cocktails founder Charles Joly knows better than anyone how wildly vodka expressions can vary. (Diageo’s vodka portfolio includes Ketel One, among others.) He encourages people to test it themselves: Set up three vodkas, side by side, in white wine glasses. Swirl, smell, taste, and note the differences.
The New Vodka Narrative
Vodka does not need to reinvent itself. It needs to reintroduce itself. The category is wide, expressive, and absolutely shaped by terroir. The legal definition will continue to evolve, and already has started to change. Now, consumers have some catching up to do.
But what will a truer definition look like? Dorda points to the Scotch regulations as a possible starting post — particularly the requirement that Scotch be “distilled in such a way to retain the flavor and aroma of the original ingredients.” In vodka, the accepted definition still mandates the opposite: that it be distilled “without distinctive character, aroma, taste, or color.” That’s the tension. Producers like Dorda want a definition that acknowledges historical ingredients, allows aging, and removes arbitrary requirements on the number of distillations. In other words, a framework that lets vodka express its base material instead of engineering it out of existence.
No matter if the definition changes, Voisey offers this take: The category, even as it stands today, deserves respect for the way that many styles of vodka are distilled. “Without the addition of botanicals or the significant impact on flavor that oak maturation has, vodka distillation must be exceptional to produce a high-quality spirit. You could say that there are fewer places to hide,” she says.
In that Polish distillery, Dorda said something that stuck with me long after our tasting of many of Chopin’s spirits: “Vodka should be distilled to preserve its taste rather than restricting it.” He’s right. Vodka has never been neutral. We’ve just never been taught how to taste, or really, perceive it. But thankfully, that’s changing. We’ll see if the definition changes, too.
