Hungary's "National Drink" has a pretty good kick

Rick and I had a little at-home Unicum tasting yesterday. Unicum is the “national drink of Hungary,” a potent herbal liqueur that doubles as a hilarious prank to pull on unsuspecting tourists and paint remover for DIYers who are freshening up their living room. Turns out Unicum comes in four flavors. Who knew? So we decided our time was best spent ranking the flavors.

We only own three of the flavors, so the final one necessarily takes the lowest spot in our ranking. The remaining three flavors are, and I quote, “stink,” “stank,” “stunk.” Apologies to Dr. Seuss.

First off was the original Unicum. The liquid, darker than my attitude in the morning before I’ve had my coffee, presented a nose redolent with the smell of tar and licorice. As if a crew of road construction workers were taking a break and eating vast amounts of Red Vines black licorice.* That, combined with a hint of the kind of lilac-scented detergent that Martha Stewart would promote. As for the taste, we got strong overtones of roots and cloves, bitterness and surprise. Not everyone's cup of tea, but we liked it.

Then came Unicum Szilva, or plum-flavored Unicum.** And if you’ve ever wondered if black could get any blacker, the answer is a resounding “yes.” This type of Unicum offers all the same tastes as the original, but softened and smoothed over, as if they’d sent the first one to court-ordered anger management class. Less bitter and soapy, with more citrus and sugar. The dried plums were like diplomats skillfully negotiating a détente between ferocious herbs and unwary taste buds.

Finally, we came to the newest Unicum flavor, Unicum Riserva. This one comes in a fancy bottle that screams “I’m not your usual Unicum—I’m fancy!” (My simile machine is breaking down here.) This Unicum is much paler than the others, like a mid-summer dusk. Citrus led the chorus in this one, reminding us of orange groves and Christmas fruitcake. The good kind, not that nasty kind Aunt Barbara used to make. Riserva was like Unicum's cousin who spent a semester abroad and came back a self-professed sophisticate, “Well, when I lived in the south of France….” It took the spirit of Unicum and filed down its rougher edges, like a wood carver using a chainsaw to turn a tree stump into a fluffy bunny.

Turns out we liked all three! We’d also been told that you can drink Unicum at room temperature or at about 40°F. Actually, it turns out Hungarians have strong-but-differing opinions on this topic. So we ran through the testing again using chilled glasses.

These Unicum versions range from 60 to 80 proof, so six shots in a half hour may have slightly impaired our judgment. But here’s where we netted out, I’m pretty sure:

• Unicum

• Unicum Riserva

• Unicum Szilva

• Unicum Barista***

And that's how our night with Unicum went. It was a wild ride, full of laughter and thoughtful judginess. Maybe we’ll do it again, but with pálinka. With smaller pours.

* Red Vines black licorice is a confectionery conundrum that continues to confuse me. I think adopting a business strategy in which red means black and up means down is simply too complicated to work profitably. And yet it does.

** Well, it’s really prune-flavored Unicum, but it turns out that marketing prunes is a non-starter pretty much the world over. So they’ve been elevated to “dried plums.”

*** Barista is the newest of the Unicum flavors, made by combining Unicum with the finest Arabica coffee, just like General Foods International Coffees. We didn’t have any in the house, so we didn’t include it in this taste test. Besides, we needed something that would automatically take last place so we didn’t hurt the others’ feelings.

posted May 30, 2023