When you click on links to various merchants on this site and make a purchase, this can result in this site earning a commission. Affiliate programs and affiliations include, but are not limited to, the eBay Partner Network.
Additionally, I can tell you precisely how many cases of “Master of Mixes” brand pre-made Margarita mix (1.75l) will fit into a ’92 Miata. The answer is seven cases: one on the pax floor, three in the pax seat, one in the recessed part of the trunk, and two more around it, through you have to open them up and distribute the bottles by hand. Also, the spare tire has to be out of the car, and two bottles usually wind up having to be wedged around the case in the pax floor. When BevMo has a “buy one, get one free” special on them, you learn these things.
I will also admit to having looked with lustful eyes upon this gadget: randystacye.com
That said, there is a time and a place for everything.
For the past four years, I’ve lived in a sort of upscale apartment complex in an upscale neighborhood in southern California. San Diego county, a beach town, the home of more tanned young eye-candy per square kilometer than any other spot on earth.
At this apartment is a pool. And at that pool there is a bar. Well, most weekends there is, anyway.
A couple of friends and I decided, under circumstances that none of us can clearly recall, that we needed to jazz things up a bit. It started simple, just a pitcher of rum punch and a mess of plastic cups, set up in a “Free, take one” sort of style. This evolved rather rapidly in a full-fledged bar on wheels, a trolley about six feet wide, equipped with two blender stations, an in-built ice chest, a stereo system, and more. The nurses took care of decorating it for us- bamboo, plastic grass, tiki torches, even a few stray undergarments. And every weekend, out goes the bar to the pool, where the umbrella drinks flow freely to the vapid accompaniment of Bob Marley, the Beach Boys, and yes, even ole’ Jimmy. People get it. They bring booze, we pour booze. The tip cup fills up, bikini tops are removed, and from time to time, things take place behind the bar that remind us why we park it in the corner. The management turns a blind eye, as this is apparently good for their business as well.
On these occasions, quantity wins out over quality. I pour $15 plastic-bottle tequila in my blended, frozen margaritas.
But when it comes to our own personal consumption, the rules are different.
For starters, there’s the “Colonel’s Margarita.” You really have to meet Col. Wright (USMC) in person to fully appreciate him, but here’s a picture: http://img221.imageshack.us/img221/7...ordplayhw7.jpg He’s the one holding the empty Jager bottle upside-down against his head, second from the left.
Yes, the one with the Doc Brown hairdo. For what it’s worth, the one with the sword is a Major, and the one next to him a 1st Lt.
The Colonel’s Margarita is top-shelf tequila blanco (whichever one we have on hand), Grand Marnier, Cointreau, a dash of fresh orange juice (not from concentrate), and a Key lime. You have to massage the lime first, by the way. Let it rest in hot water for a bit, and then roll it between your palm and the bar before slicing. Mix in a martini shaker, pour over ice, and shout the word “Fυck” loudly enough for the neighbors to hear. Salt is optional.
But while I have no prejudice against a good margarita (and in fact rather enjoy them), there’s a much larger world of tequila to be explored.
MiaMiata is definitely headed in the right direction. Don Julio Añejo is one of my favorite mainstream tequilas, and reasonably priced at typically $45-$50 for 750ml.
By way of a brief tequila education, the term reposado (meaning rested) indicates that the tequila has been barreled, but only briefly. The golden color of reposada tequilas is often enhanced with the use of food coloring, as a pure reposado will often resemble a blanco.
Añejo (meaning aged) tequila, by comparison, is subjected to a much longer maturing process. During its time on oak, much of the harshness of the agave is drawn out, giving the tequila a much smoother and more mellow body than its younger counterparts. Think of the difference, for instance, between your average bottle of Jack Daniels and a nice, 12 year old Glenmorangie. Some distillers will use barrels which have previously hosted sherry, bourbon, or other spirits, imparting a unique twist to the flavor of the finished product.
Be ye warned as well that the tendency of some tequila makers to print “100% puro de agave” on their labels is not simply marketing fluff. Although rare above a certain level, it is perfectly legal for producers of Tequila Mixto to use other fermantables in the mash, such as cane sugar, at concentrations as high as 49%. This is one reason why cheaper Tequilas are so effective at the production of hangovers.
Many excellent añejo tequilas in the ~$50 and under category are to be had from Patrón, Dos Lunas, Corralejo, Milagro, Tres Mujeres, Corazon, Don Jesus, and no doubt many others whose names do not at present spring to the fore of my mind. Each is unique, yet all proper añejo tequilas will share a similarly mild and reserved character that distinguishes them from the less mature rotgut These are tequilas to be appreciated slowly, by themselves at room temperature, absent any of the usual American trappings such as limes and salt. One needn’t raise the pinky finger while imbibing, though a proper scotch tumbler or cognac glass should be employed.
A re-post today, from a real-life friend of mine on FB, whose daughter has a peanut allergy:
This is one of those rare times when I refrain from speaking my mind out of courtesy. At least, in a context where she can see it.
So, the girl was 15 years old.
When I was 16, I was working at a radio station, all alone in the building as the engineer-in-charge on evenings and weekends. I was responsible for ensuring the station's FCC compliance, for the operation of the Emergency Broadcast System (the Cold War was still a thing then), and for just, you know, generally acting like a responsible adult. I was servicing (under the supervision of the chief engineer) the main transmitter, which operated at hilariously lethal voltage levels and could easily kill you even when it was turned off due to residual charge on the high-voltage capacitors. I was trusted to build and maintain things (including one of the station's two remote trucks, which I built from a bone-stock Toyota minivan in my parents' driveway) upon which hinged not only the radio station's business but, in some cases, peoples lives.
And I was trusted to do all of this, because I wasn't a ******* dumbass.
I'd like to think that, if I'd happened to have had a potentially lethal allergy to peanuts at that age (like the equally-lethal allergy I had to cow's milk and dairy products in my childhood), I'd have been responsible enough to look at the labeling on a package of cookies and notice the word "PEANUT" printed on it in bold type, right below a depiction of a candy whose whole identity is based upon containing peanut butter, before deciding to ingest one of the massively-processed treats therein.
These food-allergy folks are really starting to **** me off. I mean, I'm allergic as hell to a bunch of ****. Like "you will probably die" kind of allergic. Here's a photo of me with an epinephrine auto-injector, in case you think I'm bullshitting:
And you know what? I've never had to use it.
Because I'm not a ******* dumbass.
It's not society's responsibility to safeguard you against exposure to a material with is both harmless and tasty to 96% of humanity. Do you see me going on a crusade to eliminate all dogs? Of course not, because I'm not a dick. Hell, even when I see "therapy dogs" (aka: allergen-spewing plants) in a hospital, do I freak out? No. Dogs are normal, and my allergy to them is an aberration. Thus, the onus is on me to not forget not to stick my face up against the belly of a poodle and give it a raspberry (unless I've remembered to pre-medicate with both Benadryl and Claritin) because of the whole "I know that I will asphyxiate and die if I do that" thing.
God damn, these people **** me off.
What really bugs me is how people my own age, who are the parents of snowflakes, act like snowflakes themselves in this one specific regard. PSA: If your child, who is one year away from being entrusted to operate a motor vehicle without supervision and three years away from being entrusted to vote and wield military weapons in combat against a sovereign nation, is too ******* stupid to think "Oh, if I put this thing in my mouth, I will die," then maybe you're looking at Darwinism, not a failure of society to protect your snowflake from their own stupidity.
Having done allergen desensitization therapy for the last few years I find it to be highly irresponsible that the parents did not seek proper desensitization for their child to prevent her from experiencing this fate. It's simple and it works. And it's not expensive.
It's a sad situation but it was completely preventable in a few different ways.
Having done allergen desensitization therapy for the last few years I find it to be highly irresponsible that the parents did not seek proper desensitization for their child to prevent her from experiencing this fate. It's simple and it works. And it's not expensive.
It's a sad situation but it was completely preventable in a few different ways.
When I was a child, I was allergic to a whole bunch of totally ordinary stuff. Cow's milk (this includes nearly all forms of chocolate- ever try telling a 6 year old that they can't have chocolate), eggs (ditto previous), buckwheat, you name it... And yet I somehow managed to survive childhood mostly by not being an idiot and pretending that the world had to cater to my special needs.
(Yes, the "pancakes" rant was inspired by memories of this period in my life. The first time I got to enjoy Buckwheat pancakes, I was totally hooked.)
My parents, being reasonably responsible non-idiots, took me to an allergist who put me on a regiment of injections which, after a few years, resulted in my not being allergic to that **** anymore.
Of late, I have recently employed the services of an allergist in the area, and am being treated for my adverse reaction to cats, dogs, and some other random ****. At the point when I hit what they call the "maintenance dosage," I fully intend to go to the nearest animal shelter and, without having pre-medicated, snuggle literally every fluffy thing they have.
And I'll be sure to have the epi-injector and a full bottle of Benadryl in my pocket.
Because, you know, that's what responsible people who aren't complete morons do.
Originally Posted by sixshooter
Right there with you.
BTW, today you can get sublingual drops rather than injections.
Yeah, the doc I'm seeing now was on WGN morning news a while back promoting that. They're more convenient, but injections have a higher rate of effective cure, provide a more rapid effect, and remain the gold standard for treatment.
08-07-2017, 03:33 PM
1
