The Overlook Cocktail

Even now my witness is in heaven; my advocate is on high. - Job 16:19

Recently I had the good fortune to finally track down a bottle of the mythical Advocaat, an egg-based Dutch concoction that played a pivotal part in the Stanley Kubrick film The Shining. I didn't know what to expect, but I was a bit taken aback by its viscous texture and ripe custard funk.


So what to do with it? At first I tried the logical first thing that entered my mind - the mixture that Jack Nicholson in the film jokes about after Grady the Satanic Butler spills Advocaat all over him and into his own drink:

Bourbon and Advocaat.

Although "add bourbon to it" is almost always a surefire solution to any dilemma about what to do with any given liqueur, this time it just didn't work for me. Advocaat is such a thick and cloying substance, the bourbon just gets lost in it unless you add a lot. And frankly, I just don't want to waste that much Russell's. The sharp custardy taste of Advocaat doesn't mix well with bourbon anyway - it isn't like Egg Nog at all, as I had presumed it would be.


This is probably best geared towards enhancing its weird sweetness, rather than trying to combat it. Southern Comfort might blend better with it than bourbon, but I don't have any in the JSH liquor cabinet and didn't really feel like going out and buying some just for a long-shot experiment.

No, clearly this is a job for Amaretto. Throw weird sweetness at weird sweetness. The recipe is simple: equal parts Amaretto and Advocaat.

Today was an unseasonably warm day, so I spent a pleasant hour this Christmas Eve Eve sitting on the old veranda, basking in the sun and sipping an ice cold... er.... what do I call this? How about the Overlook Cocktail? (So named for the film's Overlook Hotel)


But, my faithful acolytes and adepts, I can't bullshit you. If the question was put to me, will you ever fix this drink again?, I gotta say no. It's just too rich, too eggy, too much like a stale flan strained through too much dishwater to be helped by creekwater. Though I appreciate its mythic resonance and lineage, this is one devil I don't need to dance with in the pale moonlight.

(I did scan the web for inspiration, but everyone else's recipes sounded even worse than mine. Check out the Fluffy Duck, a truly turgid-sounding mix of Advocaat, creme de cacao, and 7up.)

December Status Report

I haven't been posting to this blog in quite a while, mainly because I haven't been concocting anything new lately. Unlike a lot of drink-recipe blogs by people who don't actually make the drinks they talk about, I only report on what I'm drinkin'. And this fall and winter, I've found myself sticking to my recent discoveries. It's hard to experiment with new cocktails when I just keep buying more and more bottles of Zwack.

And when I'm out and about, I've tended to fall into a comfortable rut of frozen margaritas at Ernesto's and Fiesta Mexicana. But oh, what a festive rut!

Meanwhile, the dangerously dumb trend of alcoholic energy drinks has been dealt a serious blow, I'm happy to report. I've ranted here previously against Jagerbombs, the unholy pairing of Jagermeister and Red Bull (I wouldn't even drink Red Bull by itself, not even if you paid me) and now you can click here to share in my glee about Four Loko being forced to change its formula.

There's other impending news in the offing, though it's not quite time to speak of it here. But I will say that my old eatin'-and-drinkin' column Nightlife Notes will soon return as part of a new journalistic endeavor that will be launched on January 1st.

Stay tuned, pallies. The rollercoaster is about to begin.

Mad Men Cocktail Culture

I don't have an iPhone and probably never will (played with 'em many times, but I just don't like 'em and don't understand the hype), so I won't get to try out this intriguing gee-gaw: the AMC "Mad Men Cocktail Culture" iPhone app. Says here: "Think you can make an Old Fashioned as good as Don Draper can? This new game challenges your skills at mixing '60s-era cocktails." Of course, I have no idea who's judging at the other end, and those of us who came out of the box with that Don Draper feeling don't need approval from some electronic gizmo anyhoo.

Deep-fried Beer

Breaking news in the gentlemanly sciences: a Texas man has successfully found a way to deep-fry beer. Look upon his works, ye Mighty, and despair.

Apparently, the trick is to have a pocket of beer trapped inside a ravioli made of pretzel dough which then gets deep-fried at 375 degrees for about 20 seconds. According to the report, this is just enough time to cook the dough but not to evaporate the beer, nor to cook out the alcohol from it. Mark Zable said it took him three years to get it just right, and he's filed for a patent on the process. According to his website, he's going global with this baby: "If you are interested in purchasing Fried Beer for your restaurant or bar, please use the Contact Us page and send us an email."

I'm going to have to try this out for myself at home, of course, strictly in the name of science and all its wonders. Stay tuned for a Kentuckified spin on Zable's Texan-fried treat.

Almond Pear Martini

Who doesn't love pears? And almonds? And Platinum 7X vodka?

Although Looza makes a nice bottled pear juice, I happen to have a flotilla of these jars of pears in syrup, and dumping them down the juicer for martini purposes seemed like to good way to clean out my pantry.

Originally I simply set out to have a simple pear-juice martini, but then a bottle of organic almond extract caught my eye and I knew in a heartbeat that this would kick the proceedings up nicely. (I love almond extract; I put it in my iced coffee, smoothies, even on cereal.)

There's no exact formula here - mix to taste:


2 parts pear juice
1 part vodka
a few drops of almond extract

Shake together with ice, strain and pour.

Balsamic Vinegar Martini

If "vinegar" and "martini" aren't two words you associate together, start associatin', Jack.

This drink is a real treat for the senses, especially for those of us who already adore Vermouth and who already knew what most Americans still can't wrap their heads around: Vermouth is a perfectly good drink straight-up on its own, not just as a mixer to be doled out in drops and dashes.

Think of Frederic in Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, who is consistently chugging Vermouth. Frederic, however, prefers the Italian variety while my own heart is with the French.

Here the Vermouth takes a back seat to the vodka but nevertheless has a presence far exceeding the comfort zone of Western bartenders. And as a compliment to the drink's core gimmick - Balsamic vinegar - the dark sweet Vermouth is parfait, vraiment.


Here's the rundown:

2 oz. Vodka
0.5 oz. Noilly Prat Sweet Vermouth
1 dash of Balsamic vinegar (real, barrel-aged Balsamic, not the fake common stuff)

Shake together the vodka and vermouth with ice. Pour strained. Add a small dash of Balsamic (a little goes a long way!)


A lot of bartenders recommend bringing fruit into the mix. Not I. The most I would dare introduce to this would be maybe, just maybe, a dash of orange juice. But personally, I think that just murks up an already murky drink past the point of systemic murk-icity. It also brings the drink a step closer to being something else entirely, namely a Satan's Whiskers, which is Gin or Vodka, Sweet Vermouth, orange juice, orange liqueur, and bitters.

Just be content to enjoy the subtle interplay between the Vermouth and the vinegar, staged against the backdrop of the almighty vodka.

Banana Clover Club

I was perusing the built-in recipes on my one of my cocktail shakers today and noticed a recipe for something called a "Clover Club". It says:


2/3 dry gin
1 egg white
1/3 lemon juice
grenadine
ice


Curious, I did some quick Googlery and found a Wikipedia entry about it that says:

The Clover Club Cocktail is a cocktail consisting of Gin, Lemon Juice, Raspberry Syrup (or Grenadine), and an Egg white. The Egg white is not added for the purpose of giving the drink flavor, but rather acts as an emulsifier. Thus when the drink is shaken a characteristic foamy head is formed.

The Clover Club Cocktail is a drink that pre-dates Prohibition, and is named for the Philadelphia mens club of the same name, which met in the Bellevue-Stratford hotel.[1] It has a long history dating back to at least 1911, and was enjoyed by the captains of industry who were members of the famous club. In its Heyday the drink was described by Jack Townsend as being enjoyed by the pre-prohibition gentleman who would have fit in with those of the club, and was a "Distinguished patron of the oak-paneled lounge." However, by the time that Townsend was writing about the drink it was becoming unpopular, and was eventually all but forgotten.

The drink seems to have been forgotten partly due to the use of raw egg in the cocktail, which many people shy away from, and partly due to the complexity of its preparation. Despite the use of what some may consider to be strange ingredients the cocktail is enjoyable, and has been described as tart with the added syrup giving the drink complexity, and the egg white providing body as well as a foamy head.

Wikipedia gives the recipe as:


1 1/2 Oz. Gin
3/4 Oz. Lemon Juice
1/4 Oz. Raspberry Syrup (or Grenadine)
1 Egg White

Dry shake ingredients to emulsify, add ice, shake and served straight up.


Eager to resurrect this "forgotten" drink, I consulted the kitchen and determined some adjustments would be necessary. I'm all out of gin, so I substituted vodka. No Grenadine or raspberry syrup in the house either, so I went for a more tropical motif using banana nectar. Since banana was now the theme of the drink, I decided to omit the lemon juice. And instead of fresh egg whites, I took the lazy way back to the ranch and used powdered egg whites.

The final verdict: it's weird. But I like weird.

The package of powdered egg whites says to use 2 teaspoons of the powder to equal 1 egg white, but I deliberately used more egg whites than called for, just to see what would happen. I used 2 heaping tablespoons, and when I say heaping, I mean heaping.

My version:


1 1/2 Oz. Vodka
2 tbsp Deb-El Egg Whites
2 tbsp water
1/4 oz. Looza banana nectar

Shake the egg whites and the water together, then add vodka, banana nectar, and ice. Shake again.



What I got was a much richer, frothier, firmer head on the mixture; one that resisted pouring out, which was handy - I filled the glass 3/4 full and then ladled out the foam to sit atop the liquid. It's almost meringue-like in its consistency, which probably isn't what the old boys at the Clover Club had in mind. In fact, this is so far off from the original recipe that I should probably just call it something else entirely. Any ideas?

The Primordial Soup Cocktail

I consume equal parts junk food and health food, and I believe they mostly balance each other out. I'm not a big fan of vegetables in general, but I will consume anything if you reduce it to liquid. So I constantly run my Waring juicer and fill it with tomatoes, carrots, spinach, lettuce, cabbage, bananas, lemons, limes, oranges, apples, radishes, turnips, onions, grapefruit, watermelon, honeydew, canteloupe, guava, papaya, pears, strawberries, ginger root, pineapple, grapes, kiwi, celery, horseradish, etc., all in one big witch's brew of Plastids.

The resultant mixture isn't for everybody. I love the total plant-fiber immersion of it, but I've had even vegetarians tell me they don't find it palatable to have all those things mixed together into one super-powerful primordial soup.

And that's just what I call it when I add booze - the Primordial Soup Cocktail. At various times, I've added rum, vodka or cachaca to the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink juice mix, and I can report that the brainpower rush that comes from all that bombardment with planty goodness is exponentially enhanced by alcohol.

The Primordial Soup with rum isn't far off from various Zombie recipes, which usually calls for mixing three different types of rum with three different types of fruit juice. I hope you'll agree my version punts it to the vanishing point, especially when served in a Hurricane glass.

Some people's idea of a Zombie, however, is to mix several different types of liquor entirely - vodka, rum, gin and even bourbon. To do that with my mega-mix from the juicer would be such a senses-reaming experience I'd be tempted to name it the Total Perspective Vortex, in honor of Douglas Adams.

(Of course, it would probably taste bizarre and possibly make the imbiber quite ill and send them to Shambala. So, of course, we have to try it.)

The Hungarian Caipirinha

What happens when the unstoppable force of Brazil's Cachaça meets the unmovable object of Hungary's Zwack?

It didn't sound very good, but I had to find out.

Unfortunately, in my attempts to add Zwack to a traditional Caipirinha, I found that lime juice simply ruins the Zwack, even if it's just a few drops. They just don't get along.

(And then I wondered - why there isn't a snooty fine liqueur that does for lime what Cointreau does for orange? Did a quick Google search and discovered that yes, there are such products, but I've never heard of any of them. Will get back to y'all on this. Look for a redux of this recipe in the future.)

So, forget the lime juice. As the plastic surgeon said to the Joker, let's see how we did:


2 parts Zwack
1 part Cachaça (Dark or Gold type)
5 dashes of Angostura Bitters

Shake well.
Chill in shaker in freezer for a few minutes.
Reshake and quickly pour into shots.


I chose Ypioca Gold as my Cachaça of choice specifically because it's the funkiest, bitterest brand out there with a psychoactive whap-a-dang that perfectly matches the Zwack that those crazy Hungarians have wrought, God bless 'em. Bela Lugosi, thou art avenged.

Keep it Zwacky. Let the Zwack dominate the formula and you can't do wrong. The Cachaça pipes up and makes its presence known in such a loud shrill voice that one might even make it 3 parts Zwack to 1 part Cachaça and still come out alright. For perversity's sake, I added several shakes of Angostura Bitters, which is a bit like coals to Newcastle here but what the hey.

I suspect what it really needs to push it over and to make the Hungary-Brazil fusion fair and balanced, however, is Lluvia de Estrella Lime Tequila liqueur. I'll let ye know.

Kraken Black Spiced Rum

For some time now, there's been a bottle on the shelf behind the bar at Havana Rumba that keeps catching my eye. Kraken Black Spiced Rum, they call it. Exquisite retro-steampunk-pirate packaging, right down to an authentically antiquey bottle with raised lettering and fingerloops at the base of the neck. The label bears the image of an old-timey giant octopus or squid, right out of Jules Verne. What's not to love?

Well, as it turns out, nothing. I recently had the good fortune to sample a Kraken Pina Colada at Havana Rumba and was bowled over as if I'd been mauled by the giant squid. This is clearly no ordinary rum, friends. Hoist up the John B's sails, see how the main sail sets.

Though dark rums are generally not used in a Mojito, I'm thinkin' about getting one specially-made next time I'm propping up the bar there and hearing the siren-song of the mighty and mysterious Kraken.

The first thing you notice about the stuff is that it's not just dark, it's black. I mean black. Black as pitch, black as night, black as coal or Coca-Cola. I don't know whether or not they chose the squid motif because the rum itself resembles squid ink, but it's a charming thought, isn't it?

It's 94 proof, which really makes me wish I'd gotten to try a shot of it straight without all the Pina and the Colada, tasty though that was. I'll probably score a bottle of it soon anyway and start contriving some seaworthy recipes for it.

Tell Captain Morgan we won't be needing his services anymore, thanks.

The Kentucky Colonel Cocktail

The Kentucky Colonels have their own official cocktail, and it may come as a surprise that I have yet to try it. I do have several recipes for it in my files, but this is basically it:

2 oz. bourbon
1/2 oz. Benedictine (the liqueur, not the cucumber dip)
Twist of lemon peel

Shake well. Pour over crushed ice in a rocks glass. Garnish with the lemon peel.

The term "Kentucky Colonel" is an honorary title bestowed by the governor of Kentucky. It dates back to the War of 1812 when the Kentucky Militia were called out and Governor Isaac Shelby found their services useful; he decided to appoint one of them (Charles S. Todd) an aide-de-camp on the Governor's Staff with the rank and grade of honorary Colonel. Since then, the ranks of these Colonels has swelled to many thousands, including Bill Clinton, Johnny Depp, John Glenn, Tiger Woods, and yours truly.

Sooner or later I'll get around to trying the Kentucky Colonel Cocktail, but it may have to be out somewhere and not here at home, because I just don't keep Benedictine around and am not inclined to go out and buy a bottle just for this recipe. My next liquor store purchase will probably be St. Germain's, so maybe I'll report back here at some point with a newer and truer old-world drink for the new millenium.

(Thanks to The Tipsy Texan for the photo!)

Don't Get Jägerbombed

One of the stupidest pasttimes in all of drunkitude is the growing practice of mixing alcohol with caffeine, which is a little like mixing oil and water. (Just ask BP about that.)

As Wikipedia notes:

The effects of a Jägerbomb are held to be different from those of other alcoholic drinks. This is attributed to the fact that the energy drink has a stimulating effect upon the central nervous system, whereas the alcohol has a depressing effect. Consequently, some of the effects of intoxication are masked.

Right. So, uh, if you're in a bar spending your hard-earned bucks on booze, why on Earth would you want to choose a drink with which the effects of intoxication are masked?! Save your money and just don't drink, if that's the case!

And according to FOX News:

Caffeine and alcohol can be a deadly mix. The rising popularity of mixed drinks like the "Jager Bomb" (Jagermeister and Red Bull) or the self-explanatory "Vodka and Red Bull" has worrying implications for road safety, research shows.

The problem stems from consuming a stimulant alongside an intoxicant, which clinical studies have shown can reduce the perception of being drunk but not the impairment.

I don't even know why people find "energy drinks" so appealing anyway, but to ruin perfectly good Jägermeister is even more ridiculous and even more of a crime.

Mint Julep

To paraphrase Mark Twain, everybody talks about the Mint Julep but nobody ever does anything about it.

I recently read some magazine article - can't remember where now - that talked about how played-out, overrated, and overhyped the Mint Julep is. They talked to some bartender who said she rarely is ever called upon to make one, except by the occasional rube tourist at Derby time. The article also stated that although people go through the motions of having Mint Juleps for Derby, few people actually like them and they toss them aside after a few token sips for tradition's sake.

I posit that the reason these people feel this way about the Mint Julep is because they've never actually had one prepared properly. Hint: it doesn't come from a pre-made bottle, it doesn't come from a store-bought syrup, and it doesn't come from a mix. That this goes without saying should go without saying.

If you really want to do it right, follow the poetic instructions of General Simon Bolivar Buckner Jr. to the absolute letter. Failing that, here's my simple solution that doesn't involve simple syrup:


Granulated sugar
Powdered sugar
Fresh mint leaves
Finely crushed ice
Bourbon

Muddle one pinch of mint with the granulated sugar in a metal Julep cup. Some will tell you to just gently bruise it and not pulverize it, but I say go nuts and pound the hell out of it. The granulated sugar will help give you something to grind against.

Fill the cup to the top with finely crushed ice, fine as a Sno-Cone. Pour bourbon almost to the top, then add your second pinch of mint. It's your second pinch, that will garnish the top, that you want to just mildly bruise and not smush into pieces. Then dust the top generously with powdered sugar.

Those with bourbon-sensitive palates should note that a proper Julep, contrary to how it's commonly fixed, is essentially bourbon with a little mint and a little sugar, NOT mint and sugar with a little bourbon. If you prefer bourbon-based drinks in which you can't taste the bourbon, you might consider the likelihood that bourbon-based drinks are not for you.

Also note that a metal cup is a must - preferably a genuine Julep Cup intended for this purpose, and if it's an antique one (see image of mine above), all the better. If you're doing it in a container made of glass or plastic, don't even bother. Just have a Gin Rickey instead or something.

Alternate versions: if you're dead set on having a Mint Julep even though you don't like bourbon, may I recommend cutting the bourbon somewhat with either Barenjager (my first choice) or Southern Comfort. I suppose eliminating the bourbon entirely in favor of these beverages is permissible - what the hell, it's your drink, buddy - but the thought of it makes the purist in me all fremdschämen.

Aunt Beru and the Blue Leader

For years now, there's this little baby bottle of 'island blue' sweet-and-sour "Pucker" schnapps that's been taking up space in the official JSH secret cocktail lounge.

How did it get there? I have no idea. Certainly isn't something I'd choose to part with coin for, myself. As Colleen Graham astutely observed in a review of it: "there was not one mix I tried where Island Blue Pucker didn't completely destroy the drink. Even a dash did some otherwise good cocktails in."

It must have been imported by a guest and left behind, at some sort of evening of debauchery whose details are likely best kept buried in the archives of the mind. So, the other night I decided to clean out the bar and get rid of that silly little bottle of dreadful drink. And what better way to accomplish that task than to mix it up for some Ouzo shooters?

Since it isn't likely that the mating of Island Blue Pucker and Ouzo has been consummated previously on this planet, we consider this another big win - however pyrrhic - for our side. And it actually tastes pretty good, surprisingly enough.


What to call it? Victoria, faithful Jedi that she is, promptly suggested two names, both of which just happen to be Star Wars-themed: Blue Leader and Aunt Beru. (Luke's Aunt Beru, as you may recall, is briefly seen filling a pitcher of some sort of blue milky substance.)

So it is, with the powers invested in me as the Mayor of Pulcova, I hereby decree an Aunt Beru to be the name for the mix in shot form, while it's designated a Blue Leader when enjoyed in a martini glass.


It's 2 parts Ouzo, one part Pucker. Shaken on ice, which gives it that lovely magickal louche, also known as The Ouzo Effect (which would make a great band name) and Ostwald Ripening (not so much).

Don't make the same mistake I did and consume large quantities of Ouzo when you have to get up at 6am the next morning. Ouzo can be a very mind-altering beverage - especially a bottle that's aged, as mine is. I tossed and turned in bed having crazy fevered dreams all night. But that's life in the Blue Leader's Squadron.

Orange Jicama Cocktail

I've always wanted to make a jicama martini or a jicama cocktail, and finally I've done so. Another victory for our intrepid team of researchers at the Creeps Science Department.

Jicama has a slight bland funk to it, one that doesn't matter so much when you eat it raw but it sure as heck stands out when you're drinking the juice. The original plan had been to make it a vodka-based martini, but instead I opted to fight funk with funk. Rather than trying to mask the odd vegetable whang of jicama, I threw something equally pungent at it: Cachaca.

And not just any Cachaca, but Ypioca Gold, the granddaddy of all powerfully senses-reshuffling mega-fermented Brazilian golden goodness.

So what's the recipe? The envelope, please:

3 parts freshly juiced jicama
1 part cachaca
1 part Cointreau
1 tbsp sugar

Shake well. Garnish with orange slice if you got one (I didn't).



This "wild root cream oil" kinda bev'age obviously isn't for everyone. Me, I'm fine with it minus the Cointreau, but I think the average palate would take to it a little better with that orangey touch. You may be just fine using Grandma but I'm a snob and must have my Cointreau. (I haven't tried Mandarine Napoléon yet but it's on my to-drink list.)


Wasn't inclined to give this'n a clever name - the "Orange Jicama" suits me fine. I think the turnip-like rooty-grassy zing of jicama might be even better paired with the smooth and cucumberly Hendrick's Gin, and experiments in the "Hendrick's Jicama" are forthcoming. I might also attempt a theoretical drink called a "Hillbilly Jicama", with bourbon or Southern Comfort as the kicker.

Bacon-Infused Old Fashioned

While surfing the web for maple-powered bourbon cocktails similar to The Veranda, I came across a recipe on nymag.com for an Old Fashioned that uses maple syrup and bacon-infused bourbon:

2 ounces bacon-infused bourbon
1/4 ounce Grade B maple syrup
2 dashes Angostura bitters
Twist of orange

For tips on how to make your own bacon-infused bourbon, read the full article at nymag.com or also peruse Brendan & Wayland's attempts at bacon-infused vodka.

View the video of PDT's Don Lee making a Bacon Old Fashioned here!

The Veranda Cocktail

Something I whipped up tonight in the Appalachian Voodoo Research Kitchens, and I call it a "Veranda".

The secret formula is as follows:

1 oz Bourbon
0.5 oz Maple Syrup
1 oz Bärenjäger
0.5 oz apple cider

Shake well.

I garnished it with apple here strictly for visual effect, but actually, if I were to serve this in a bar, I would probably cut a smaller segment, skewer it, and let it repose in the drink. Apples begin to oxidize the moment you cut into them, and would almost certainly turn an unsightly color before the customer has finished drinking it.

A variation I could foresee would be getting cinnamon into the mix somewhere, and there's probably already a recipe out there like this with Southern Comfort in place of the Bärenjäger.

If one didn't have Bärenjäger handy, you can always make it yourself by infusing pure-grain with honey.

Lychee Martini

You can learn more than you probably ever wanted to know about the Lychee Martini by clicking here on lycheesonline.com, but here's my personal recipe straight from the JSH files:

■ 2 oz Vodka
■ 1 tsp Lime juice
■ 2 oz Lychee nectar
■ 1 tsp Cointreau

Shake gently. Garnish with one or two lychees on a skewer.

I've also heard of some people adding a little Sake to the mix, but haven't tried that myself - I must admit I am intrigued.

I first had a Lychee Martini at the great Basa Modern Vietnamese restaurant here in L-ville.

The White Blizzard

From Martini Art:

Ingredients:

•4 ounces of Absolut Vanil vodka
•1 ounce of clear Creme de Cacao
•2 ounce of Godet White Chocolate liqueur
•1 teaspoon of coconut flakes
•2 freezing martini glasses

The mix:

•Add the vodka to a shaker half full of cracked ice.
•Shake vigorously for a full minute.
•Add the white chocolate liqueur, and Creme de Cacao.
•Swirl the shaker for another full minute, and then let it rest for a minute.
•Strain your martini into the freezing martini glasses.
•Each glass gets half of the coconut flakes.
•Stir each martini gently to start the blizzard!

Me, I skipped the coconut flakes and used vanilla Three Olives instead.

Underberg

What the fuck is Underberg? I don't even know. It's German and it comes in a tiny bottle wrapped in old-looking brown paper. It tastes like crap, but powerful crap, in a good way, you know, like Jagermeister and Killepitsch.

They've been making the stuff since 1846 using a super secret process involving 43 exotic herbs and aging in barrels of Slovenian Oak. But when you've overindulged and have pushed way too much pasta down your pate, the stuff hits the spot like no Rolaids can. Like the package says, "it cannot be explained - it must be experienced." (It also says Underberg is "not a beverage".)

Did I mention it's 44 percent alcohol?