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This hangover is pissing me off, mainly because I really don’t think I deserved it. I only had two-and-a-half cocktails last night, which I’d made myself, at home, from high-end vodka — my usual. As a professional drinker (semi-retired), I know that a mere two-and-a-half Belvies isn’t particularly buzz-worthy for my body size, much less a recipe for a raging yellow hangover. Why, just last week I’d put away six or seven margaritas — made with mystery tequila by person or persons unknown — and had sprung spryly out of bed the next morning with nary a twinge of a headache.
Huh. Go figure.
And this hangover is a mean, ugly brute — a hellish headsplitter that’s sunk its teeth into my temples and has held on like grim death all day. I tried the usual remedies: aspirin, lots of water, a good, greasy breakfast (chicken fried steak and eggs, for God’s sake!), a tall glass of tomato juice, more aspirin and a long shower. I’d have preferred a swim, but I was in no mood to bob around the neighborhood pool with a horde of shrieking children. I even lay down for a nap this afternoon, only to get up twenty minutes later frustrated and still bulgey-eyed.
My only consolation, as I wait this thing out, is the knowledge that there are probably millions of other post-partaking people across the world who are just as miserable as I am today.
In France, for instance, there’s no doubt some poor sap suffering from guele de bois (literally translated as “muzzle of wood”.) He’s probably longing right now for the traditional french hangover cure: a strong, black, salted coffee called cafe et du sel.
In Denmark, there’s most assuredly a victim or two of Tommermaend (timber-mouth) sweating it out in a sauna. And in Mexico, somebody is moaning ”Ai Dios mio! Tengo la cruda! (Oh my God! I have the raw!) and is slurping on a big bowl of tripe-filled menudo to get some relief. The alcohol-afflicted in Turkey are also eating tripe to cure kalinta (“carcass” or “ruins”), although their innards soup has a strong garlic and vinegar component. Delightful, I’m sure.
And someone somewhere in Germany is feeling the ill effects of katzenjammer (literally, the yowling of cats), and is munching hopefully on a rollmop: a vinegary pickled herring filet wrapped around an onion, pickled gherkin or olive with pimento.
Come to think of it, I think I’d rather have the hangover.
What’s your international hangover cure? Leave your comment below and the next time I tie one on, I’ll give your cure a try. It’s gotta make me feel better than I do right now.