This Is What Happened When We Tried Our Own Hangover Cures

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This Is What Happened When We Tried Our Own Hangover Cures

We often report on hangover cures from around the world, but our go-to fixer-uppers tend to be greasy sandwiches. So in the name of journalism, we decided to try a few of the hangover cures we’ve written about on MUNCHIES.

Here at MUNCHIES, we like to have a few drinks from time to time, and from time to time those drinks turn into hangovers. We often report on hangover cures from around the world, but our go-to fixer-uppers tend to be greasy sandwiches. So in the name of journalism, we decided to try a few of the hangover cures we've written about, and rated them according to their effectiveness.

Photo by Becky Hughes

Hilary Pollack, Associate Editor I tried Fergus Henderson's hangover cure, a highly sus-sounding "cocktail" called the Dr. Henderson. Comprised simply of Fernet Branca, creme de menthe, and ice, it sounded like an easy way to induce nausea when you're already in a weakened and self-loathing state. But Henderson is a chef and a Brit, so I trusted that he knew his way around a hangover. Plus, I'm one of those annoying people who already drinks Fernet all the time, so I had a bottle on hand, plus a half-full bottle of year-old creme de menthe under my desk from that two-week period when I went through a big Grasshopper phase. In short: It tastes bad, but works shockingly well. Like, I had somewhere between six and 12 palomas the night before on a semi-empty stomach (VICE holiday party), and after drinking it I felt 100-percent functional. Do recommend. Hair of the dog is not fake news. Cheers.

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Javier Cabral, West Coast Staff Writer To be honest, I find hangovers to be something of a humbling experience. How else, as a Western Millennial, would I find a dish such as haejangguk—blood-thickened Korean beef soup chock full of vegetables—to be a revelatory experience? I've always been a firm believer in the restorative powers of the many bone broths of the world, and this one is no exception. At 8 AM on a Saturday morning, with a pounding headache and rum-tinged dragon breath, I drove straight to my local 24-hour haejangguk specialist in Koreatown and asked very nicely for a bowl. I was expecting the broth to taste like hot water boiled with a piece of rusty metal, but what I actually got was a very subtle-tasting beef soup. When combined with mouthfuls of kimchi and other spicy fermented things provided with banchan, this meal proved to be an extremely nutritious and satisfying breakfast. After waking from the food coma-induced nap afterward, I felt good as new and ready to get lit all over again.

Photo via Flickr user Bernadette Simpson

Matthew Zuras, Senior Editor I've never been a believer in hangover "cures," per se, assuming that whatever damage I've done to my organs the night before can only be soothed, not reversed. After all, I'm the only one to blame for getting myself into a sloppy state, and it's fitting punishment to feel like utter throbbing hell the next day. (This only seems to get worse as I get older.) Nevertheless, I felt compelled to load myself full of shitty grain spirits and not enough water in the name of trying a remedy that I myself have flogged on this very site: kishkiyya, a 1,000-year-old Iraqi hangover cure described by a chef and physician of the caliph's court during the middle of the Abbasid period. It's basically a stew of meat, herbs, and vegetables, along with two rare ingredients: kishk, a dried puck of pulverized grains and yogurt that's found easily enough in well-stocked Middle Eastern grocers; and spikenard, an herb in the valerian family that grows in the mountains of Asia. Through my bleary-eyed, dry-mouthed hangover, I was able to pull together all the ingredients except for that last one, and I have to say that it managed to do the trick—not exactly "curing" me of my ills, but comforting as a warm blanket. Who knows? Maybe the spikenard would have sealed the deal.

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Sydney Mondry, Social Editor I made the mistake of volunteering myself to try the most involved hangover cure: the "Seafood Beer n' Clamato." What sounds like a three-ingredient brunch cocktail actually contains 12 ingredients including shrimp powder, fish sauce, and something called Maggi Juice which is basically straight sodium. The recipe requires a bit of planning as you actually have to let part of the drink sit overnight, but—surprisingly—it's well worth the work. This thing is a flavor bomb and, in my opinion, an improvement on the Bloody Mary. Super umami, super salty, and would pair wonderfully with chilaquiles. I drank it with an everything bagel and that worked, too.