Thursday, March 17, 2022


Thanks to Tim and Gary (!), I am now aware of Jeppson's Malört, Chicago's answer to San Francisco's bizarre fondness for Fernet Branca and Jägermeister. It helps you digest the deepdish pizza. Perfect for sipping. The "hold my beer" of liqueurs.

It is unlikely that I will ever try it. I like Fernet Branca, Jagermeister, and Underberg, but Malört has an aftertaste of bugspray, according to a panel of experts (random people on the internet who are now questioning their life choices).

It's a Swedish cultural thing.

Severely so.

What's significant about every video of a group tasting Malört is that first they show everyone downing it up to the point that it enters their mouth -- up to ten or twenty people, mostly the younger crowd, throwing it back -- and then they show all their faces, one by one, grimacing and gagging. Then folks wax eloquent. It inspires them. In a negative way.
It is, apparently, worse than Fireball. Much worse.

You're welcome to it, Chicago.
Like that pizza.

Carl Jeppson, the man who originally sold it, was a cigar chainsmoker, which probably explains why he drank it recreationally. One of my friends, deceased, smoked up to a dozen cigars a day and in consequence couldn't taste diddly. The one time I huffed eight pipe bowls filled with fine cigar tobacco (and four pipes of normal stuff) left me with a mouth that felt strangely alive, unable to taste chilipaste, and a nic hangover the next day the size of Texas. Regular cigar smoking leads to dementia, the foreign legion, and church attendance.
That typical odeur that elderly men have. Pee and vinyl.
And, indubitably, Malört.

It gets cold in Chicago. They ate all the polar bears.
And their football team sucks.

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