There’s a new buzz in the world of honey, and it’s not just about the bees. A bold, smoky, and surprisingly complex honey—crafted from the sweet secretions of an invasive pest—has captured the attention of scientists, beekeepers, and adventurous consumers across the United States. Known as lanternfly honey, this dark and mysterious product is rewriting the rules of apiculture, one jar at a time.
The story begins with the spotted lanternfly, a bug that has become infamous since its first detection in Pennsylvania back in 2014. Over the past decade, these insects have spread rapidly, now inhabiting at least 17 states, according to reporting by The Washington Post and WVTF. Their impact isn’t subtle. Each year, from August to October, they coat trees in a sticky substance called honeydew—a sugary liquid excreted after feeding on sap. While most would see this as another sign of ecological trouble, bees see opportunity, especially when late-summer flowers are scarce.
Sean Kennedy, a self-taught beekeeper in Northwest Washington, D.C., was among the first to notice something different. As he sampled honey straight from his hives in the autumn of 2025, he encountered a flavor that was, as he put it, anything but ordinary. “It just doesn’t have this gentle sweet taste. It’s like your grandparents’ cough drops,” Kennedy told The Washington Post, echoing the reactions of many who’ve tried the honey for the first time. The taste is bold, smoky, sometimes fruity or citrusy, and—according to one Ohio beekeeper—can even remind you of smoked ham or bacon.
The origins of this unusual honey trace directly to the lanternflies’ honeydew. Beekeepers first confronted the phenomenon in 2019, when Pennsylvanian hives began producing honey with an unfamiliar smell and flavor. Robyn Underwood, an entomologist at Penn State, recalls the confusion: “The beekeepers were like, ‘What is this weird honey?’” she recounted in an interview with The Washington Post. The answer, it turned out, lay in the sticky residue blanketing local trees—a feast for bees at a time when other nectar sources had run dry.
Lanternfly honey isn’t just an oddity; it’s become a sensation. At Virginia farmer’s markets, customers have described it as “nothing they have ever tasted before,” with “a little tang,” and “very fruity, almost citrus.” Its color is often dark, sometimes with a reddish tint, setting it apart from the golden hues of traditional honey. Some sellers in Washington, D.C. have leaned into the honey’s unique backstory, bottling special editions and describing the aroma as “everything from smoky barbecuey to earthy, leaf-littery to wet socks.” That last one might not make it onto a marketing label, but it certainly piques curiosity.
For many, the novelty is part of the appeal. International honey-tasting events have begun sampling lanternfly honey, and jars are flying off shelves as much for their story as their flavor. But what about safety? Experts, including researchers at Penn State, have assured the public that lanternfly honey is safe to eat, with pesticide levels described as “exceedingly small.” It’s a relief to both beekeepers and customers, especially as demand continues to grow.
Yet, the lanternfly honey phenomenon is more than just a culinary curiosity. Scientists are now investigating its potential medicinal properties, and the early findings are nothing short of intriguing. Teams at Penn State and the University of Texas at San Antonio have discovered that lanternfly honey may possess stronger antibacterial properties than even manuka honey, which is widely regarded as the gold standard in medicinal honey. Robyn Underwood explained the research on the podcast Interviews with Experts: “If you can picture a petri dish, and you cover it with bacteria, and then you put a drop of honey in the center, it doesn’t allow the bacteria to grow.” She emphasized, “Manuka is the gold standard!”—yet lanternfly honey appears to hold its own, if not surpass it, in these early tests.
The rise of lanternfly honey is, in many ways, a testament to the resilience and adaptability of both bees and beekeepers. Faced with the ecological disruption caused by the spread of spotted lanternflies, the beekeeping community has found a way to turn a pest problem into a unique opportunity. The lanternfly infestation was particularly noticeable in the Washington region during the summer of 2025, as reported by The Washington Post. With fewer flowers in bloom, bees turned to the abundant honeydew, transforming what might have been a wasted resource into something valuable and, unexpectedly, delicious.
The journey of lanternfly honey from oddity to sought-after delicacy has not been without its skeptics. Some customers hesitate when they learn about its origins—after all, the idea of eating honey made from bug secretions isn’t instantly appetizing. But curiosity often wins out, and many walk away with a jar, eager to share the story (and the taste) with friends and family. “Very fruity, almost citrus,” one customer at a Virginia market remarked, while another simply marveled that it was “nothing they have ever tasted before.”
For beekeepers, the arrival of lanternfly honey has meant both challenges and new possibilities. Some have embraced the trend, bottling limited runs and experimenting with branding that highlights the honey’s smoky, earthy notes. Others are working closely with scientists to understand the full implications for bee health and hive management. The honey’s unusual characteristics have also opened doors for education, with beekeepers using it as a way to engage the public on issues of invasive species, pollinator health, and the interconnectedness of ecosystems.
As lanternfly honey continues to gain traction, it’s also raising questions about the future of beekeeping in a changing environment. Will other invasive species lead to new and unexpected products? Can the lessons learned from lanternfly honey help beekeepers adapt to shifting floral landscapes and climate pressures? While those answers remain to be seen, one thing is clear: the world of honey is more dynamic—and more surprising—than most of us ever imagined.
From Pennsylvania’s first whiff of something strange in 2019 to the bustling markets of Washington, D.C. and beyond, lanternfly honey has become a symbol of adaptation and innovation. It’s a reminder that even in the face of ecological challenges, nature—and a little human ingenuity—can find ways to delight, surprise, and heal. And for those willing to take a chance on something new, there’s a jar of smoky, fruity, unforgettable honey waiting to be discovered.