PG2B (Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster)
The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is one of my favorite book series. So much so that I often think that I've implanted ideas into my own brain to steer my future/past self, a la Zaphod Beeblebrox. Douglas Adams created an absolutely genius story that helped shape my humor from a young age.
And, perhaps, my taste in drinks. Enter, the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, or PG2B for short.
In 2021 I was faced with a tough choice: throw away 16+ pounds of "perfectly reasonable" Gatorade powder that had turned into something resembling concrete, or try to ferment it into my most interesting concoction yet. I chose the latter and set off on an epic journey that would take prison hooch to its limit.
First off, did you know yeast hates super concentrated Gatorade mix? Even using high-powered yeast like EC-1118, it took a liter of starter to get things to start bubbling. Mind you, 16 pounds of Gatorade powder is enough to make 80 gallons of Gatorade. I made just five. The color at this stage was a revolting shade of brown, the result of mixing five different flavors together and the addition of four liters of Fallian marsh gas.
Eventually the yeast did its job, taking the slurry all the way up to 19% ABV. At that point it could go no further and killed itself in an attempt to save us all. I pressed on regardless.
After a year of aging, the color had clarified to a "wonderful" golden yellow. The heady odors are reminiscent of dark Qualactin Zones, subtle, sweet and mystic. I quickly bottled it to capture the fires of the Algolian Suns before they were lost.
The result is nothing short of stupefying, and I feel is an accurate representation of Zaphod's classic drink. The first sip is startlingly aromatic. Fruits from around the galaxy dance on the tongue, flavors no man has ever tasted or witnessed prior. Behind this lay in wait a gang of four cheerful Vogon guards, each armed with clubs to bash your brains in. The first hit arrives with the leftover sweetness that annihilates your tastebuds, quickly reminding you that this is no ordinary drink. A bitter sour note rips what is left of your tongue to shreds while puckering your face in preparation for the third Vogon to arrive. With hardly a moment's pause, the extreme salts from the seas of Santraginous V knock you straight off your feet like a crashing tidal wave. Oh, that Santraginean seawater! Finally, Vogon #4, the one with the biggest club of all, drops the 19% alcohol on your poor, shattered self, leaving you with nothing left but the bar tab.
Hangovers and bodily failure are assured.
Although five gallons of this astounding drink were made, few hitchhikers can afford its pleasures. If you ever find yourself in the Keweenaw arm of the galaxy, perhaps you, too, can experience the ride. Until then, keep your towel close.