Some German guy - Meister Jäger, I assume - read 'George’s Marvellous Medicine' and thought, “Ya I can do zat,” and then all the other Germans were like, “I know it is only 1934, but this is ze best idea we have had in a while,” and so forth came Jägermeister. The most notable thing Germany did in the 20th century.
Like trying to create some kind of Germanic permanently-drunk Powerpuff girl, 56 herbs, spices and everything nices make up Jäger. Every avenue of mashing together the shit that you found outside has been exhausted. How is a guy supposed to build an enterprise when I'm not even the first to market orange peel mixed with that thing that grows under my doorstep?
Jägermeister tastes pretty good actually. I can't quite pinpoint which of the 56 botanicals does it for me, but the sludge that they form is enticing. It reminds me of when I was a kid and would mix whatever the fuck together and drink it, and my nine-year-old palate would rate it "pretty good". It's not often alcohol feels viable to give to babies, but I think Jäger can cross that bridge. It's the sort of liquor you'd prefer to be spoon fed by a buxom lass while you lay in a fetal position.
Everyone is gifted a bottle of Jäger on either their 18th or 21st Birthday. It's a coming of age way of saying, "Here, you're gonna need this." As an adult you're not allowed to enjoy anything that doesn't double as antiseptic.
A beer and a shot fills you with all the false bravado you need; Jäger helps you pick up on signals that were never there. "Hey, I couldn’t help but see you looking at me from across the room," you confidently say to a palm tree. I've had three red bulls in an hour and I don't know what's going to burst first: my heart or the erection that's been macerating itself against the teeth of my zipper for half an hour. Regardless, it's going to be bloody.
Tasting notes: Bong scum mixed with sugar.
Chugability: 8/10. Incredibly viscous.
Hangover depression level: 10/10. "I can't believe you talked me into invading Poland last night."
Overall: 9/10. A right of passage.