Another elixir beloved by a royal has only recently become widely available in the U.S.: Unicum – the name given it by Emperor Joseph II for its singular flavor. Developed as a digestif by his physician, Dr. Zwack, this third, 18th century creation was commercially available by the 1850s; unlike Drambuie and Benedictine, it wasn’t until the 20th century that politics made life difficult for Unicum.
In fact, the Zwack family did quite well making and selling Unicum and other liqueurs until World War II, when Allied bombs destroyed their factory in Budapest. Just as they began to rebuild, the new Communist government confiscated both the family home and the factory; brothers Janos and Bela eventually emigrated to the U.S., sneaking their secret recipe out with them in a breast-pocket.
When the Hungarian Communist government tried to continue making Unicum – without the recipe or know-how – Janos saw the Zwack family name being destroyed. He eventually won an international lawsuit against the Hungarian government for their trademark, but it wasn’t until the next generation that the Zwack family would return to making Unicum.
Peter Zwack cut his teeth in the American liquor industry until political changes in Hungary opened the door for his return. In 1989 he was the first Hungarian to buy back the family business and reintroduced Hungary to its national drink. Since then it has slowly trickled into other countries, doing especially well in countries like Germany and Italy where they already have a tradition of bitter digestifs.
That’s because Unicum is, particularly for Americans, an acquired taste. Its bittersweet character is too complex to be a frat-boy shot drink like its German cousin Jaegermeister. With such a rich flavor it also isn’t ideal for today’s fruity, vodka-based cocktails. But a combination of maceration, distillation, and oak-aging gives it a rounded herbal-licorice edge with just enough sweetness to wrap up a meal. It’s traditionally served in balloon-shaped glasses (which match well with the bottle, shaped as it is like an old-school anarchist bomb); it also goes well on the rocks for an aperitif. Hungarians today still swear by its recuperative powers: I once visited Budapest in a bleak December and promptly caught a cold, but locals plied me with enough Unicum to get me up on my feet for some vigorous Hungarian folk-dancing, and I awoke the next morning with a clear head and not a sniffle in sight.
Note the cross on the bottle!This stuff sounds DANGEROUS!
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Originally Posted by catland
I'll take a Zwack-free Drunk Space Monkey for the ride home,
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