Goon: Official Review

One of the most exciting prospects of reaching Australia was the chance to sample the infamous 'goon'. Goon is basically a very bad and very cheap wine and it probably goes someway towards explaining the reputation Australians have for getting drunk. This stereotype was certainly enforced by an Aussie guy I met at the hostel in Hong Kong. On his first night in the city, he somehow managed to wake up in the elevator of a building that was not the hostel, without his phone, glasses and curiously, his shoes. On his second night, I also went out and thought that his night had gone smoother as we walked back to the hostel together. However, the next morning the Australian lad walked over to me in socks, inquiring "when I came in last night, was I wearing shoes?" Australians and travellers Down Under alike had told me tales of goon, stories of foul taste and dangerous consequences. On my first two nights in Sydney, I treated my liver to hearty servings of the stuff.

The most important aspect of goon is undoubtedly its price. Boy, it is cheap. We paid just $13 (about 7 pounds) for 4.5 litres of the stuff, making it cheaper than water in many places. Secondly, there is its container. Coming in a box with a squirting nozzle, one may originally find the dispensing of goon fairly innocuous. However, remove the cardboard shell and things really start getting interesting. A giant silver bag (the material and colour of which reminded me of those silver suits medics drape across overexerted marathon runners) flaps around in your hands like a bladder, seemingly moving of its own accord. Trying to drain this bag of the sweet nectar inside then becomes uncomfortably reminiscent of milking a cow. Comically, the outside box contained some drivel about the subtle tastes and heritage of the wine, when all that text could have been erased and simply replaced with "CHEAP".

So, how was the taste? Upon my initial gulp I was unphased - sure, it was clearly not a nice wine - but then here it came...3, 2, 1...AFTERTASTE! Although the aftertaste fell short of the foulness of the legendary Chicago drink Jeppson's Mallort, it was rather unpleasant and frustratingly the only way to get rid of it seemed to be to take another sip, creating a never ending cycle of sourness. Fortunately, goon grew on me over several glasses, and by 'grew on me' I mean I soon found the drink was merely being ingested without any enjoyment of the taste and not bothering me with its cheap aromas. Despite my increased tolerance for the beverage, I was getting no better at serving it, with every extraction from the nozzle ending up with considerable spillage and sticky fingers for all involved. I am sure I will be a master at this important skill over the next five months.

I had received dire warnings about the hangovers goon induced, but thankfully due to a combination of knowing when to stop, bread and water before bed, and lengthy sleeping, I woke up feeling chipper both mornings.

Official Verdict: Not that bad.

A box of goon.

The bag inside holds an almighty amount of fluid.