City hangover cures

Exercise | Russian bath | Hair of the dog | tripe soup | chocolate milk | Berocca

Dustin Goot, Web editor, on the hair of the dog…

My usual routine
The treatment details vary, but self-flagellation is a constant. Amid sharp throbbing behind my eyeballs, I'll have a conversation with myself that goes something like this: "You're an idiot. You're an idiot. You're an idiot. Why do you drink? Why would you ever drink again?" Let's just say that consuming more alcohol is not on the agenda.

The alternate remedy
On the heels of an all-day boozer at the Belmont Stakes, my rather acute hangover is exacerbated by saunalike conditions in my top-floor apartment, in which I've neglected to install an air-conditioning unit ahead of summer's hottest morning to date. What I want to drink is liquid nitrogen; instead I have to content myself with the third-full bottle of tequila on top of my fridge.

I set out four shot glasses and fill them. (If I'm gonna endure this pain, I want it to be quick.) The first shot tastes warm, smoky and dotted with undertones of wrong. The second shot induces a definite gag reflex. While steadying myself for the third dose, something changes. My head clears. My dizziness subsides. My brain whirs into action.

By the time I finish the fourth shot, I feel downright energetic. After turbo-cleaning a sink full of dirty dishes, I look at the tequila bottle and, seeing it so close to empty, pour myself two more shots. Now I'm a total dynamo. In my living room there's a box of old magazines that's been sitting there for months waiting for me to bind them for recycling. I tie them into six neat stacks in ten minutes. I sort my mail; I pay bills; I unpack my travel bag from the day before. Then, just as quickly as I'd buzzed into action, I hit a wall. I wake up about an hour later on my couch—fully seated, still holding the pen I was using to take notes about…I have no idea. Turns out this approach has its drawbacks.