Real Hungarian Delicacies

Just before I left Budapest for Florence, I asked Eva, my Hungarian friend there, if she wanted anything from home. She did not hesitate and asked for one Turo Rudi.

I brought two Turo Rudis when I arrived in Florence. Eva couldn’t help herself. She ate one right away with the same feeding-frenzy-ferociousness that Canadians in my office have displayed over maple syrup. 

She hoped aloud she could save the second for later but with four Hungarian roommates, that lone Turo Rudi would not likely make it through the night.

The Turo Rudi is a distinctively Hungarian treat. It's a small bar of cottage cheese covered in chocolate. I can already sense some of my fellow North Americans wincing or making a gross face. But these things are freakin’ delicious. It's the heavenly mixture of sweetness and tartness and probably angel sweat.

On the other end of the taste spectrum is Unicum. How do I describe Unicum? It’s a bitter liquor, like Yagermeister, but tastes worse. It's like if Yagermeister got drunk and took advantage of itself and had an incestuous troll baby in a grease bog -- that would be close to how Unicum tasted to me.

When I learned of Unicum, I knew it wasn't my thing. I successfully stayed away from it until my friend Sarah visited Budapest. She insisted we try all the Hungarian drinks, so after the beers and the palinka, we bought a small bottle and took a shot in my kitchen.

But of course, that's my ignorant, unrefined North American palette speaking. Most Hungarian friends, including the two strongest supporters above, have professed their love for this troll poison. On the other hand, I have never met a foreigner who has admitted to liking it. Like so many things here, it's a strangely cool, yet uniquely Hungarian thing.

The Perils of the Palinka

The Palinka Effect

Joe, a work friend, gets invited into the apartment of a neighbour in his building. He does not speak Hungarian, the neighbour does not speak English, but the language barrier does not get in the way of hospitality: the neighbour offers him a drink. Joe accepts and the neighbour surprises Joe with a wine glass full of palinka. 

For the uninitiated, palinka is a brandy made from fermented fruit, like apricots, apples or whatever. You can make palinka with anything, like honey. There are big distillers, but it’s also a sort of cottage industry among Hungarians, like whiskey in the South. There are small-batch craft palinkas, and there is also a lot of homemade stuff out there, which is stronger and more dangerous. 

Joe was in the Danger Zone; he had the homemade palinka. He swayed back and forth, tie loosened and eyes all cross-eyed. He left the party early that night. Everyone has their own palinka story of woe. I have awoken up in the morning feeling like I have scorpions wrestling in my skull on several mornings because of the delicious, dangerous drink. 

A Czech art director likes to sip on palinka with a glass of water – much to the disgust of his North American colleagues. But he has the right idea. Palinka is delicious, but dangerous. It must be handled with care. It’s too volatile to mix with beer in copious amounts. It must be respected, you too will have scorpions wrestling in your skull.