The lengths to which I’ll go for a story: I drank cicada-infused Malört so you didn’t have to

It appears that there is nothing I won’t do in the name of journalism, and that includes drinking cicada-infused Malört topped with the dried insect husk.

All for you, dear readers.

About a month ago I was forwarded a social media post about a promotion at Noon Whistle Brewing in Lombard. In honor of the cicada-mania gripping the suburbs, they were offering the “once-in-a-lifetime experience” of $5 shots of cicada-infused Malört, the much maligned, Chicago-originated bitter liqueur.

“Believe it or not, the 17-year old virgin cicadas bring a flavor reminiscent of succulent lobster to this insanely delicious concoction. It's a taste you won't find anywhere else, and it's only available once every 17 years!” the post read.

My editor asked me to make a call and write a story. I told him he was out of his mind and immediately got in the car and headed to Lombard. I’m not one to miss a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

It had been quite a morning at the brewery. The phone had been ringing off the hook with people asking if it was real and media requests were flooding in.

One television station reporting team was leaving as I arrived. I asked if they tried it and they said they did not.

Cowards.

So I headed in to do some journalism, and the bartenders showed me the bottle they were pouring. In it were seven locally collected cicadas that had been first frozen, then cleaned, sanitized in vodka and boiled before being dropped in the Malört.

The color of Malört is already pretty unappetizing. Adding a bunch of inch-long bugs doesn’t help.

I interviewed the bartenders and then chronicled the experience of a young woman trying it. After getting my quotes and photos, there was nothing left to it but to do it.

For those of you who haven’t tried Malört, let’s just say it’s not for everyone’s palate. The current label description reads “Jeppson's Malört has the aroma and full-bodied flavor of an unusual botanical. Its bitter taste is savored by two-fisted drinkers.”

I’ve put away more than my fair share over the years (which, for the record, should be none), usually with out-of-towners who don’t know any better. They cringe and struggle for descriptors, which often include pesticide, grapefruit pith, pencil shavings, bile and despair.

It’s a fun game, I’m not gonna lie.

I left the cicada husk on top of the shot glass because I was going all in. I also set up my phone (at the least flattering angle possible) to shoot video of the experience, a decision I regretted after watching it back.

I let the infused liqueur linger in my mouth as I tried to disseminate the flavor. Nope, didn’t pick up any of that succulent lobster I was promised. An “insanely delicious concoction” this was not.

This Malört just tasted Malörty, but maybe not as Malörty as usual. If anything, the cicadas had muted the rough edges a bit and made the shot a little smoother. Of course, that smoothness was undone by the tiny pieces of cicada shell I was left to chew on.

Little bits of that exoskeleton found every nook and cranny of my mouth, which made for a fun next hour or so as my tongue poked around in there trying to find all the insect fragments. Should have packed a toothbrush.

I hung around for a bit and talked to another couple who decided to give it a try. When it was time to go, I paid my tab (since accepting such a lavish gift would be unethical). After tax and throwing a buck on for a tip, I ended up with the rather ominous and telling total of $6.66.

A perfect ending.