From Lappland to Lindesnes, variations of this sordid horror of a cocktail has roamed the moors like some heathen beast through the ages. Beloved and enjoyed by many fiddlers, drunkards, farmhands, workers and fishermen as much as it is loathed and execrated by mothers, widdows, tender maidens and the priestly castes.
Karsk - an intepretation of a sound not meant for the simple organs and instruments of human speech. Perhaps more consistently understood as a guttural noise than a proper name. The drink of choice for any true man with hair on his chest, and the official cocktail of Northern middle-Norway where the tribe of the Trønders live.
Pictured above: Trøndic tribal warrior, soothsayer and witchdoctor Åge Aleksandersen.
To the simpleminded and dim-witted it is simply booze and coffee, perhaps with a little sugar to taste. But to the true connoisseur it should be coffee as black as the plague that almost eradicated our entire population, mixed with the finest and strongest moonshine preferably at 96% ABV. Of course, for wimps without connections vodka will do fine.
The ceremony of mixing of the two ingredients is done with the finesse of a japanese tea ritual: It is said you are to drop a coin to the bottom of a ceramic mug or any other manly piece of drinking ware, then pour your coffee 'till the coin disappears. Once this is done you must pour the holy spirits and not stop before the coin reappears. Just try it, you wimps!
Du blir itj' BARSK ut'n KARSK
