When describing the taste of Jeppson’s Malört, Chicago’s infamous wormwood-based liqueur, people tend to get creative. A cursory glance of various Reddit subs like r/bartenders and r/Chicago reveal some solid attempts: Notes of Fresca, paint thinner, and sadness; Week-old grapefruit rinds soaked in floodwater and shame; Gasoline filtered through a week-old garbage bag; Imagine if your parents’ divorce had a flavor. The spirit is famously gnarly, and has been “enjoyed” almost exclusively in the domain of the Chicago bar scene, where it’s existed as a rite of passage for dive bar denizens and as a reliable and irreverent bartender’s handshake. But in recent years, Malört has slowly crept out of the Chicagoland area, emerging on back bars nationwide as an “IYKYK” novelty item and even appearing in bona fide cocktails.
As a result, more people than ever are engaging in the misfortune of knocking back shots of Malört and getting in on the joke. This growth is fun to see — after all, misery loves company. At the same time, it is fair to wonder if the increased presence of Malört has robbed the digestif some of its hyper-regional charm. Even fairer: How did a liqueur so local and so infamous for how rough it tastes go so mainstream?
The Quiet Malörtification of America
Like many other drinks trends, Malört’s ascension into the bar scene’s collective consciousness can be partially pinned on social media. Hop on Instagram and you’ll find several accounts devoted to posting “Malört face,” the pained expression that people almost inevitably pull after taking their initial sip or shot of the stuff. Then, there’s the occasional, Malört-centric incident that goes viral and makes it out of Chicagoland: When two cicada broods emerged from the ground this past spring, brewpub Noon Whistle Brewing offered cicada husk-infused Malört shots.
These ‘gram posts may initiate brand awareness outside of Chi-town, but CH Distilling, the Chicago-based distillery now producing the infamous beverage, has also grown the liqueur’s national presence. In 2018, it acquired the rights to make Malört from a Florida contract distiller that had been making the liqueur for around 40 years after the digestif’s previous distillery, Chicago’s Mar-Salle Distillery, shuttered in 1986. Since the procurement, they’ve fully embraced the liqueur’s notoriety through cheeky ad campaigns with memorable taglines like “Tonight’s the Night You Fight Your Dad” and “The Official Drink of ‘I’m Not Getting My Security Deposit Back.’” They’ve also concentrated on expanding distribution into key markets and online retail space. Currently, Malört can be found in 30 states and bought directly from their website in states that allow for online liquor purchases. Longtime Malört drinkers also cite a somewhat surprising side effect of CH adding the spirit to their portfolio.
“Malört is a lot more consistent than what it used to be when it was contract-distilled,” explains Charles Joly, a Chicago native and bar partner at Manhattan’s Riff Raff Club who’s been drinking the juice for over two decades, by his estimation. “CH has done a great job of keeping it true to what it’s supposed to taste like,” he adds.
Joly also notes that the general public’s palate is likely now better prepared to accept Malört’s bracing bite than they used to be, something that conceivably sparks greater subversive interest in the beverage.
“Fifteen years ago, people’s palates were not attuned to bitterness,” he says. “It’s not the same today. People’s palates evolve. It’s like clockwork — people start out enjoying sweet, but they eventually evolve towards more bitter flavors. It’s one of the reasons why Campari is globally mainstream now. Campari’s bitterness is nothing bad to the public now.”
Malört’s Makeover
Malört’s main purpose at a bar is to be shot and ridiculed shortly thereafter. But these days, it’s nudging its way into cocktail applications. At Riff Raff Club, Joly created the Bukowski Cocktail, a shaken drink consisting of Malört, Drambuie, basil, honey, lemon, and “a dash of angst.” The Malört’s inclusion is strategic, and brings out a punchy, bitter grapefruit note that balances the cocktail. The drink provides Joly enough justification to put a bottle of Malort in Riff Raff’s well.
“It has the same kind of qualities like gentian liqueurs have. It dries out the palate, which rounds out a drink’s sweetness and gives it more depth.”
CH Distilling itself encourages such playfulness. At annual bar-industry gathering Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans, the brand sponsors Malörtigras, an event where bartenders build drinks featuring Malört as a key ingredient. This year’s winner, Carly Lacoste, won the event with a build that utilized a whopping 1 ½ ounces of the liqueur. (Her prize? A small gold trophy shaped like a toilet, natch.)
“It was definitely a challenge, but it was a fun challenge,” says Lacoste, who tends bar at Beachbum Barry’s Latitude 29 in New Orleans. While she admits that 1 ½ ounces of the liqueur isn’t necessarily for the faint of heart, she does note that Malört can work well in a cocktail when used in smaller quantities.
“It has the same kind of qualities like gentian liqueurs have,” Lacoste explains. “It dries out the palate, which rounds out a drink’s sweetness and gives it more depth.”
An Opening Act, Not a Headliner
Malört is not the second coming of Aperol, and it’s nowhere near close to becoming a default option in a highball. It’s still not a typical back bar selection, but some feel this may eventually change.
“Right now, Malört cocktails are few and far between, but I think they will become more of a thing within five years,” says Katie McCourt, bar manager for The Hoxton in Chicago. “That’s how Malört can possibly go [more] mainstream down the road, because cocktails are a great way to get Malört into a bar.”
And yet, it’s not as rare a find outside Chicago as it used to be — which, given its reputation, is rather bonkers.
“Objectively, I think it’s bad. I don’t want to gaslight anyone into insisting that it’s great. But I think I enjoy it because I like bitter flavors.”
“Malört’s growth is like [that of] a small indie band that suddenly grows from playing in front of 75 people to playing in a 1,200 seat venue,” Joly says. “They’re still not playing arenas.”
This suits the bartending community just fine. While bartenders in the know find happiness in pouring Malört shots to new, curious consumers and watching the Malört faces manifest, they also understand that it will always be an industry darling, first and foremost. This is primarily due to its taste — or, perhaps more accurately, because they know what to expect when they drink it, and they’re cool with those expectations.
“Objectively, I think it’s bad,” Lacoste admits. “I don’t want to gaslight anyone into insisting that it’s great. But I think I enjoy it because I like bitter flavors.”
“I think it’s trash by itself, but I like to drink it when I feel like a trash panda,” adds McCourt. “I drink it because I’m a degenerate bartender.”
