The effect of drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is something akin to having one's brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick.
Likely dropped to avoid seizure by authorities, or because of seizure due to drinking it. Garbolg only brewed from 8:74 to 8:92 Blessed, killed when the vapors in his beard spontaneously combusted.
Maître Folace: Problem is, the ordinary fare got hijacked by the kids. What do we do? Do we take risks with the bizarre?... This won't make anyone younger. (he pulls out a bottle)
Raoul Volfoni: Good, we're saved.
Maître Folace: Saved... we'll see!
Jean: What, did you pull out the vitriol?
Paul Volfoni: Why are you saying that?
Maître Folace: Hey!
Paul Volfoni: Yet, it has an honest look.
Monsieur Fernand: Without being frankly dishonest, at first glance, like this, it... looks a bit weird.
Maître Folace: It's from the Mexican's time, during the golden age... however, we had to stop the fabrication; some clients were getting blind. Ah, this was causing no end of troubles!
(they prudently drink)
Raoul Volfoni: Gotta say... it's brutal!
Paul Volfoni:(tears in his eyes) You were right, it's a weird one, hu?
Monsieur Fernand: I've known a Polish woman who drank this for breakfast. (drinks, winces) Still, you gotta admit: it's rather a men's drink... (he coughs)
Raoul Volfoni: Do you know what it's reminding me of? That's kind of funny thing we were drinking in a low dive of Bien Hoa, not very far from Saigon. "The Red Shutters"... and the boss woman, a blonde bombshell... What was her name already, Goddamn?
Monsieur Fernand: Lulu la Nantaise.
Raoul Volfoni: You knew her?
(Monsieur Fernand rolls his eyes)
Paul Volfoni: I find it taste like apples.
Maître Folace: There's some.
(later, they're drunk)
Maître Folace: And... And... And... 50 kg of potatoes, a bag of sawdust, he could get you 25 liters of 3-stars from the alembic; a real wizard, Jo. And that's why I'm allowing myself to command at some memory smear-spreaders that they should better shut up their stinky mouth!
(...)
Paul Volfoni: You can say whatever you want, there's not just apples... there's something else... it wouldn't be, by any chance... beetroot? Hu?
Bartender: Okay -- for you, something special. This is krogan liquor -- ryncol. You'll set off radiological alarms after you drink it. Should I pour you a quad?