Happy Friday, everyone! As you know, this newsletter has a strong anti-prank stance, so we are not pranking you for April Fools'. However, we brought in Content Creator Tony to talk to you about the drink that feels like a prank: Malört.

Last week, we ran a question about the “Carl Cup,” which is awarded annually to what is deemed to be Chicago’s “Best Malört Bar.” Some of you are making reflexive, involuntary movements of disgust with your face right now. The rest of you are asking “What’s Malört?”

Malört is a Chicago liquor originally made by Carl Jeppson, a Swedish immigrant, in the 1930s. The word Malört translates literally to “Moth herb,” which is what the Swedish call wormwood. Maybe you don’t know what wormwood is–I didn’t until I Wikipedia’d it seconds ago. Wormwood is a very bitter herb which contains thujone in its oil, which poisons the nervous system.

Wormwood is also used in vermouth and absinthe, so it’s presumably safe enough, but there’s no doubt that Malört will also mess up your central nervous system in some ways. But yes, it’s wormwood. In fact, as “Thrillist” notes, wormwood is the only flavoring agent in Malört.

In my own estimation, the only alcoholic beverages I’ve had that arguably tasted worse were scotchka (exactly what it sounds like, scotch and vodka mixed in equal measure; a story for another FKIA) or maybe the one time I had a PBR that I almost certainly didn’t clean enough water from the cooler off the lid (it’s deceptively easy to drink, before walloping you in the face with an overwhelmingly bitter aftertaste that lingers for minutes).

So what does Malört taste like? Nobody knows. Or, at least, no one can agree. Have 10 of your friends sample a shot of Malört, and you’ll get 10 different answers. I’ve always thought it tasted like pine needles and diesel fuel. My trivia teammate Peter said, “it reminds me of when IPAs were trying to push IBUs and had names like ‘Palate Wrecker,’ but even more bitter.’”

The disagreements don’t stop there. In its native Chicago, the citizens can’t agree on what it tastes like. Both the “Chicago Sun-Times” and “Chicago Magazine” hit the streets to find out what the consensus is, and there is none. Here’s how the people who best know and, if not love, then at least consume, Malört approximate the flavor of this dispiriting spirit:

Comedian John Hodgman: “It tastes like pencil shavings and heartbreak.”
Chicagoan Thomas M.: “When I was a kid in the ’60s, we would chase the bug sprayer truck and inhaled the DDT. It tastes like that mixed with licorice.”
Chicagoan Lindsey M.B.: “It’s like French-kissing a desk from Ikea.”
Chicagoan Walter B.: “It’s like being forced to down Elmer’s glue by grade-school bullies with an aftertaste of candle wax.”
Chicagoan Becca C.: “Licking the bottom of a well-worn Doc Marten after eating the rind of a grapefruit.”
New York sommelier Jack Mason: “I’d say I now have a comprehensive understanding of Ralph Wiggum’s descriptive phrase ‘tastes like burning.’”

So why would anyone drink this stuff? If you read the description on older bottles of Malört, it kind of sounds like even Carl Jeppson himself didn’t know:

“Most first-time drinkers of Jeppson Malört reject our liquor. Its strong, sharp taste is not for everyone. Our liquor is rugged and unrelenting (even brutal) to the palate. During almost 60 years of American distribution, we found only 1 of 49 men will drink Jeppson Malört.”

Wow! I’ve never, ever seen a product marketed like that. “Statistically, you only have a 2.04% chance of enjoying our product. In fact, most people have hated this for over half a century.” Gotta give them credit for leaning into it.

Sadly, they turned over their advertising department to someone who appears to have attended (at least) one day of a marketing class, so now the bottles read as such: “Its bitter taste is savored by two-fisted drinkers.”

Marketing ruins everything, folks.

But seriously, why drink this stuff?

“Thrillist” offers some theories based on anecdotal evidence. Jeppson was rumored to be such a heavy cigar smoker that Malört was one of the only flavors that cut through to his desensitized taste buds. It also had a history of being a folk remedy for menstrual cramps, with stories of workers at the Mar-Salle Distillery taking bottles right off the production line for that purpose.

Speaking of remedies, “Thrillist” notes its labeling as a “medicinal alcohol” allowed Jeppson to sell it openly during Prohibition, to walk up to anyone’s home and exchange money for Malört. Obviously, this is a cartoonish loophole, but I feel like if I were the president of the Temperance Union, even I’d have to let that slide. After all, if you’re buying Malört, there’s a 48 and 49 chance that will be punishment enough.

But mostly, Malört is imbibed for one of two reasons. The first is a fun (for everyone not drinking it) challenge. Another old advertisement throws down the gauntlet to “the braggart who says ‘I can drink anything’” with this:

“Brusk and harsh the liquor Jeppson takes raw courage to down the first round–then dares you to order a second shot.”

The second reason is as a traditional Chicago greeting. I got to witness this first hand last summer, while attending a live episode taping of “Buffering the Vampire Slayer” in Chicago. Host Kristin Russo was offered a shot of Malört. This was the result. “There are no vampires in Chicago because they tried [feeding off Chicagoans] and said, ‘It’s all Malört!’”

So if you’re out and about playing trivia and you see a bottle of Malört behind the bar, maybe roll those one-in-49 dice. Take the advice of the old, long-since fired Malört Bottle Copywriter: “The first shot is hard to swallow! Persevere! Make it past two ‘shock-glasses’ and with the third you could be ours… forever.”