Worst. Hangover. Ever? 

There’s something ennobling about an outsized hangover — it’s like a giant trophy symbolizing a hard-fought victory over the forces of booze. And even though it doesn’t feel like you’ve won anything when your head is pounding and you’re near to vomiting half the time, you have: a good anecdote.

Where he presides:     Cedar Tavern, West Village
Favorite drink:           Any Irish whiskey
Whooo... Ok. It must have been a couple of months ago. I mean, I work in a bar, so I live with hangovers, but this was the worst. We started working one night, all of us here having fun. We got drunk here, and then, obviously, since we work in a restaurant, we have to go get drunk somewhere else. So we go to a place down the street to drink some more. We drink there, then leave there and go to Swiss and we stay there until around seven in the morning — after-hours. The sad part was that we all had to work the next day — two of us had to be back in the morning and the rest us of at five. So, we figure we’ll just battle it out. So we go to the deli and convince the guy to sell us beer. And we go out to the pier and drink there. So, then, let’s just say that... a couple of coworkers hooked up. And you know when you’re that drunk you don’t even know where you are — in some hotel somewhere, naked. And the worst part is not only that then you’re hungover, but you’re hungover with the person you were with. That night at work was insane — you know how hard it is working with a bad hangover? And I was bartending. I was walking around waiting tables.
Where he presides:     Village Tavern
Favorite drink:            MacCallan 18 year
I projectile vomited Grey Goose out the window of a Jeep on the way to an airport in the British Virgin Islands. Then I got on a single engine, six-seat plane for a flight — a horrible flight... God, that’s the worst I’ve ever felt. Did I drink vodka again after that? Of course! I have an iron constitution.

Where she presides:     Waverly at IFC Center
Favorite drink:             Black Label and soda
Well, there’s the one where you wake up and you see a bunch of lettuce and bacon everywhere, and you think, ‘My God, what have I eaten?’ But... what really stands out? I guess I try not to remember hangovers. Alright, I’ll tell you about my 21st birthday: As you might imagine, I got pretty drunk pounding shots at midnight. So, I come home, pass out, wake up the next day with a horrible hangover... and... a broken zipper in my jeans. How in the world did I break my zipper? My roommate told me she didn’t know. Six months later, she finally got up the courage to tell me: Evidently, I came home, walked upstairs, tried to rip off my pants (and broke the zipper) and started going to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. No recollection. At all. That was a six-month hangover of shame.

Where he resides:     Peter McManus, Chelsea
Favorite drink:         Jameson
My worst hangover? I don’t know. I haven’t drunk in so long that I can’t remember. I can’t really think of any. I don’t drink all that much so I don’t really get hungover.
Where he resides:     Tavern on Jane
Favorite drink:          Beer
Well, I’ve got a lot of competition with myself for worst hangover of all time. Alright, I’ll go with my first. I was 18. The drink was gin. Lots and lots of gin. By the end of the night we were drinking gin and birch beer. [Eddie, a regular, chimes in: “Take that Snoop, with your girly juice mixer.”]
I, uh, passed out in a snow bank. My friends somehow got me out of there. I can’t remember if it was a school day, but I didn’t go to school that day. [Eddie, again]: “Hey, mine was waking up in the hallway with my feet in the litter box and my head on the rug, dry-heaving between two cats.”


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