OK…
Hpnotiq is the shit in the bars all over the world right now. That’s all we needed; a pale blue catalyst to unite the shark grin yuppies and the ditzy blondes in their quest for instant sexual gratification. As if they don’t find each other anyway…
Having bartended for quite some time, in some of the most prestigious of cocktail bars, I am well equipped to deliver some kind of verdict on this liqueur with at least some scraps of credibility. I couldn’t just admit to actually drinking this faggy shit now, could I?
A first look at the bottle leaves the impression that the designers were going for that Club Ibiza look with the slender neck and the frosted glass, barely letting the pale blue beverage shine through, but instead they ended up with a bottle that looks like something that they sell cheap ass sour mixes out of at the local grocery store.
A closer look reveals that the alcohol volume is 17% (that is 34 proof to you redneck illiterates), which doesn’t even get my ten year old kid cross eyed (some sacrifices are needed in these field investigations - CPS can blow me). To add an air of “class” they actually replaced the screw-on cap with a cork, but don’t let that fool you... this is true blue piss in a bottle.
What does it taste like?
Well… If you are as expertedly good as I am at identifying subtle tones of flavors and complex underlying layers of liquid essences, you would probably say that this liqueur is like a watered down hotel version of the classic Polar Bear down at Grizzlie's Pub, with a hint of too much lemon juice, and too little Passoa. It’s like ordering a really high priced fucking cocktail in a really classy joint and realizing as you’re sipping the motherfucker that you paid $20 for the fucking umbrella. Hpnotiq has absolutely no oomph whatsoever. It is supposed to be a cognac-based liqueur but there are none of the fiery grape characteristics of cognac in there, just a bland prissy little sour pre-taste, followed by a pointless passionfruit wannabe aftertaste, surfing on a sticky Curacao sugar rush wave that leaves you looking around the bar for the chili peanuts to plug your impending dental cavities with, and to chase the syrupy coating off your tongue with.
If the above description just went over your head like a sonic boom over Helen Keller, I will spell it out for you in tard-braille:
Put your finger across this and lean in real fucking close:
This waste of liquid is a 13 year old girl’s wet dream to find in her mom’s booze cabinet as she’s raiding it for the sleep over at Betty-Sue’s tomorrow night. Not only can’t she taste the dreadful alcohol, but the drink also matches her eye shade and her new fucking shoes that she shoplifted at JC Penneys yesterday.
If you see a man drinking this in a bar, chances are that he’s Mr. Gay Sweden drinking away his manhood. Smack the fucking glasses off his face. Please.
All others… Stay the fuck away.
To end on a professional note, I will still share a drink recipe that would at least boost the Hpnotiq up to a Martha Stewart house warming party functionality:
Blue Piss Bliss
1 Part Hpnotiq
2 Part Stoli Vodka
1 Part Lemon Juice
A few drops Sugar Syrup
Shake with ice and strain in Martini glass, decorate with Orange peel spiral.
Pour in sink and crack open a Bud...
Chill…
Hpnotiq
A crappy liqueur
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~ The Red Collar Report ~
