But there's one thing I don't want to put in my mouth again.
Now, before I drank this infernal liquid in China, I had a theory that any alcohol, if you drank it in its country of origin from a reputed source, could be delicious. I used to dislike tequila, but then I had Patron and it was awesome.
Then I went to China and had baijiu.
Baijiu is a distilled liquor made from rice. Sounds pretty inoffensive, right? Hah!
It's not that the taste of baijiu is so terrible. It's... weird, vaguely astringent, but otherwise tolerable.
It's not the after-taste that's awful. It kinda sneaks up on you and makes you shiver, but it ain't that bad.
There's the after-after-taste, and it's a bit nasty. Just as the after-taste fades, you think baijiu just isn't as bad as you remember, then BAM. A wave of awfulness washes over you as your body comprehends the satanic horror you have ingested.
And then the after-after-after-taste kicks in.
How can I describe it? It's Lovecraftian. It's like waking up from a dream and realizing the woman you've loved your whole life was just a dead, wet dog. It's the spiritual equivalent of a dry heave. For one second, the sheer awfulness of the drink permeates your soul and gives you a glimpse of eternal damnation.
I had to drink a lot of it once in a social situation... I was hungover for two days. Two days.
My friendly nickname for it is "Monk Toe Juice."
On Christmas of 2005, I visited Vietnam and ended up sharing cobra curry and snake blood with a bunch of dudes. They had a bunch of black cobras out back, which they killed for the curry and then collected the blood. They then mixed it with homemade rice alcohol to prevent clotting, and shared it around in a plastic bottle.
Being a good guest, I accepted the glasses I was offered. The taste wasn't as bad as I thought, but spitting blood clots on the cement floor was a weird experience.
Now, following an incomprehensible sadistic impulse, I had brought a bottle of mau tai, a high-end (and yet supremely awful) baijiu. I offered some to my new friends.
The guys took a swig, made a face, shivered, then looked like they had just heard their mothers had died in the middle of an orgy involving a well-endowed horse.
And the men who drank snake blood for pleasure said:
"Cough It's not that strong."
Nobody bought that statement. They went right back to snake blood after that.
Gather 'round, children, I've got a tale to tell.
Goldschläger? Whiskey? Tequila? Sambucca? I like all of those, and sure don't mind them. Korean soju? Bring it. Mezcal? Love it. I drank "mezcal de pechuga auténtico," which involves suspending a turkey breast in the still. I drank viper alcohol (with a dead viper inside the bottle), and North Korean penis wine. (I'm not kidding.) I even had snake blood mixed with rice alcohol... More on that in a moment.
But there's one thing I don't want to put in my mouth again.
Now, before I drank this infernal liquid in China, I had a theory that any alcohol, if you drank it in its country of origin from a reputed source, could be delicious. I used to dislike tequila, but then I had Patron and it was awesome.
Then I went to China and had baijiu.
Baijiu is a distilled liquor made from rice. Sounds pretty inoffensive, right? Hah!
It's not that the taste of baijiu is so terrible. It's... weird, vaguely astringent, but otherwise tolerable.
It's not the after-taste that's awful. It kinda sneaks up on you and makes you shiver, but it ain't that bad.
There's the after-after-taste, and it's a bit nasty. Just as the after-taste fades, you think baijiu just isn't as bad as you remember, then BAM. A wave of awfulness washes over you as your body comprehends the satanic horror you have ingested.
And then the after-after-after-taste kicks in.
How can I describe it? It's Lovecraftian. It's like waking up from a dream and realizing the woman you've loved your whole life was just a dead, wet dog. It's the spiritual equivalent of a dry heave. For one second, the sheer awfulness of the drink permeates your soul and gives you a glimpse of eternal damnation.
I had to drink a lot of it once in a social situation... I was hungover for two days. Two days.
My friendly nickname for it is "Monk Toe Juice."
On Christmas of 2005, I visited Vietnam and ended up sharing cobra curry and snake blood with a bunch of dudes. They had a bunch of black cobras out back, which they killed for the curry and then collected the blood. They then mixed it with homemade rice alcohol to prevent clotting, and shared it around in a plastic bottle.
Being a good guest, I accepted the glasses I was offered. The taste wasn't as bad as I thought, but spitting blood clots on the cement floor was a weird experience.
Now, following an incomprehensible sadistic impulse, I had brought a bottle of mau tai, a high-end (and yet supremely awful) baijiu. I offered some to my new friends.
The guys took a swig, made a face, shivered, then looked like they had just heard their mothers had died in the middle of an orgy involving a well-endowed horse.
And the men who drank snake blood for pleasure said:
"Cough It's not that strong."
Nobody bought that statement. They went right back to snake blood after that.
It's that bad.
I never saw anyone use Lovecraftian to describe something!