Two weeks ago, I boarded a plane for Chicago for the second time this year. I was traveling for fun, heading with my long-distance best friend to see Robyn absolutely tear down the United Center, and ready to let my hair down a bit. My first night in town, a Friday, I met up with Ashok and his family for dinner at Taan, a new Humboldt Park restaurant serving killer Thai dishes paired with eminently drinkable wines.
After eating literally everything on the menu, we headed out for a night of bar-hopping across the neighborhood, and I got to watch my best friend take his first shot of Malört. I’d had my own first shot a few months earlier, when team Ravenous visited Chicago for the James Beard Awards, and it is a legitimately fun rite of passage to watch someone’s face shrivel up as they get their first taste of this uniquely bitter liqueur. I noticed, though, that this time it went down much easier for me than it had before, a pleasant surprise. Was it possible that my dismissal of Malört had been wrong all along?
For the uninitiated, Malört is the definition of an acquired taste. It’s a bäsk liquor first made by Carl Jeppson in the 1930s that has earned a reputation as the country’s most notoriously disgusting spirit. I’ve seen it described as having notes of pencil shavings or tasting like stomach bile. This reputation makes that first shot more intimidating, the belief that it’s going to be so utterly revolting that you won’t be able to keep it down, but you survive. You get over the feeling of having battery acid in your mouth, and live to take another shot. And then another.
After that first round of shots, there were a ton of great beers — I do not remember which, because there were so many — and even more shots of Malört. As we hit great dives like Map Room and Estelle’s, even more shots proceeded. After scarfing a slice of pizza from Paulie Gee’s on the street, I somehow made my way back to my hotel room and woke up several hours later in those same clothes. Considering that I am nearly 40 years old and don’t really drink all that much anymore, I should have had a truly historic hangover, too ill to do the rest of the day’s sightseeing.
But even after slamming shots into the wee hours of the morning, I was surprisingly spry the next day, ready to be an absolute tourist menace. After coughing all the drunk cigs out of my lungs and a quick shower, I was able to spend the entire Saturday running all over Chicago, looking at the dinosaur bones at the Field Museum and making a trip to the West Side to take photos on the stoop of the house in Shameless. Then, after getting glammed up in my rhinestone tights, I headed to the United Center and danced my ass off with 20,000 other girls and gays as we scream-sang “Dancing On My Own” together. I don’t know if any of the actual therapy I’ve had has had as much of an impact on my mental health as this whirlwind 48-hour trip.
And on some level, I do credit the boost I got those two weekends ago to all that Malört. It should’ve taken me out, but instead it fueled two entire days of shenanigans across one of the country’s great cities, and I have to tip my cap to that. I may not be pining for my next shot all the way in Texas, but I know that the next time I’m preparing to board a flight to the Windy City, I’ll be struck by its bitter allure. My mouth will water as I think about downing that first drink with my friends, and I’ll shake my head again and laugh at how wrong I was about Chicago’s most notorious libation. I’m sorry for all those things I said, Malört — see you next time.
New on Ravenous This Week
Ashok Selvam
Jaya Saxena
Amy McCarthy
🐦⬛ Bird Droppings
- A Venezuelan man shot by an ICE agent in Austin was making a DoorDash delivery at the time. Fuck ICE, today and all days.
- Bonnie Slotnick, owner of the renowned Bonnie Slotnick’s Cookbooks in Manhattan, was arrested over the weekend after confronting security for a Harry Styles pop up, which had been sending a big dumb line to block her store for weeks. EV Grieve has an interview with her about what went down.
- The Columbusers, as ever, are Columbusing.
