In my experience, most twenty-somethings go through one of two relationship arcs with alcohol—either you’ve been repressed through your early years and begin a steadily climbing rollercoaster of beers, highballs, shots, and ‘sips’ right from the bottle; or you dive head-first into a boozy oblivion that leaves behind a trail of questionable decisions, season-long blanks in your memory, and horrifying bathroom disasters. Like many of you, I picked the second route. Crawling into my thirties with a fair share of regrets and promises to trade debauchery for civility, I’ve spent many a late morning pondering two questions: “What happened last night?” and “How do I make this feeling stop?”
It turns out that hangover cures are about as diverse as drinking habits. While there are certainly a few 'greatest hits' to choose from, the more intriguing remedies lie off the beaten path. The late, great Anthony Bourdain swore by “aspirin, cold Coca-Cola, smoking a joint, and eating spicy Sichuan food.” Honestly, that sounds pretty good to me. I always keep a handy supply of near-freezing Diet Coke in my fridge, and apparently, so do the majority of the fifteen-odd drinking buddies and acquaintances I caught up with to discuss post-party self-care. One friend, who was hungover during our Monday phone call no less, coped with five cans by 4 pm. Another takes the Coke route even further, pairing it with a classic hangover cure—a full order of spicy fried chicken. Something about the combination of bold spices, crispy fried goodness, and the lack of cutlery makes it a quick, practical, and undeniably satisfying choice.
And then there’s the weirder stuff. My personal unusual hangover cure (or craving—don’t judge) is a jar of crisp, fresh dill pickles. There’s something about the saltiness and zing of these vinegary delights that feels like the perfect antidote to a pounding headache and cottonmouth. Interestingly, there’s a scientific basis for this craving. Hangovers are notorious for leaving your body dehydrated and low on essential electrolytes, thanks to the diuretic effect of alcohol. Salty and sweet foods can help replenish these lost nutrients, which is why so many of us instinctively reach for a bottle of soda, a greasy breakfast, or, in my case, a jar of pickles.
This phenomenon isn’t just personal—cravings like mine are reflected in hangover cures across the globe. In Poland, sour pickle juice is a celebrated remedy, while Japan’s umeboshi plums, with their intense salt and sour kick, have a similar appeal. Even the Mongolian Mary—a mix of tomato juice and pickled sheep’s eyes—leans into the restorative powers of brine. There's something about these flavours that feels universally comforting, even if the delivery methods vary wildly. Maybe it’s the sharp tang cutting through the haze or the satisfying crunch jolting me back to life, but I swear by my jar of pickles every time. They've certainly drawn a share of raised eyebrows from fellow party survivors, but they’ve saved me more mornings than I can count.
There’s also a scientific superstar at the heart of many hangover remedies: cysteine. This amino acid helps break down acetaldehyde, a toxic byproduct of alcohol metabolism that contributes to the dreaded “morning after” feeling. A 2020 study published in the Oxford Academic Alcohol and Alcoholism Journal found that cysteine supplementation significantly reduced hangover symptoms in a controlled group of participants. Across cultures, cysteine’s role is surprisingly consistent, showing up in wildly different dishes. The ancient Romans swore by a meal of raw eel and bitter almonds, both rich in cysteine, while modern-day South Koreans turn to haejangguk, a soup made with ox blood and cabbage. Even the classic bacon and eggs breakfast contains a decent dose of this amino acid, making it as scientific as it is comforting.
While my approach might border on the quirky, it’s far from the most outlandish option. Across cultures, there are cures that make my pickle habit seem tame. In Mongolia, the aforementioned Mongolian Mary isn’t just about the eyes; it’s about the symbolism of consuming something hearty and strong to cleanse the soul as much as the body. Over in Haiti, they take a mystical approach. A traditional remedy involves sticking 13 black-headed pins into the cork of the offending bottle, a voodoo ritual that punishes the cause of your misery. In Puerto Rico, some swear by rubbing a slice of lemon or lime under the armpit of their drinking arm before heading out. They believe it prevents dehydration—an idea as strange as it is intriguing.
Some remedies border on culinary ingenuity. Germany’s Katerfrühstück (‘tomcat’s breakfast’) offers pickled herring wrapped around onion and gherkins, known as Rollmops. The combination of sharp flavours and nutrients is said to rehydrate and settle the stomach. Meanwhile, South Korea’s haejangguk (‘hangover soup’) is a warming bowl of beef broth, cabbage, and ox blood—a rich, restorative concoction designed to bring you back to life. Closer to home, India’s chaas is a go-to for rehydration and cooling down the body’s internal systems; another routine recommendation from a lucky lactose-tolerant friend.
In the end, the best hangover cure might just be prevention. Staying hydrated, pacing your drinks, using preventive anti-hangover remedies and eating well before drinking are time-tested strategies. But let’s face it—that’s easier said than done when you’re three cocktails deep at a friend’s wedding. So, until science catches up with the age-old struggle of the morning after, I’ll keep my pickles on hand… and maybe give haejangguk a shot the next time I’m feeling adventurous.
Whatever your go-to cure might be, one thing’s for sure: hangovers are as much a part of drinking culture as the drinks themselves. Whether it’s a jar of pickles, a mysterious soup, or a slice of lime under your arm, the rituals we turn to in our post-party haze speak volumes about our relationship with indulgence and recovery. So, here’s to the morning after—may it always come with something salty, sour, and ready to stir up a conversation.
