Proper Margarita
Never order a Proper Margarita from an Irish barkeep.Case in point.
I was in St. Petersburg. Not Florida, Russia you fool. I was with Elena the Russian Princess. We were staying in an empty apartment that her Aunt and Uncle owned. We were having a grand time. It was the first week of June so the days were very long. In fact the twilight lasted till about 2:30 am and the sunrise began about 4:30 am. Elena was insistent that while I was in Russia I just had to see a ballet performance. I was reluctant but at the time my will in the face of the Russian Princess was weak, very weak. We went to see Swan Lake at the National Ballet House there in downtown St Petersburg. I prefer the symphony or even the opera as far as cultural experiences go. The main thing I remember about the ballet was that we were in the nosebleed seats. The stage was way too far away to catch any nuances of the dance. C’est la vie.
After the performance we, along with hundreds of other theatergoers, went just across the street to an Irish Pub. Not only did St Petersburg have its share of Irish pubs, it also had a pretty decent Mexican Food restaurant “La Cucaracha” go figure. So there we were I was drinking Guiness and she was sipping Martini. Not a Martini, just Martini, like Martini and Rossi sweet vermouth. The ladies love that shit in Russia they mix it with anything. After a few rounds we started chatting with the barkeep. He was Irish and good looking and cocky and I think he was flirting with the Princess. I was being my usual genuinely nice and naive self. He was bragging about this and that so I asked him, and here’s where I went wrong, “Can you make a Proper Margarita?” Now being from Texas, I know exactly what a Proper Margarita tastes like. I know how to make it and I know how to drink it. Well, this jackass assured me that he knew how to make said drink and he would be happy to make one for me. This would be a good time to mention that the Irish are the kings of sarcasm. I think maybe the word Irish is related to the word irony. He said that he needed to make the drink in another part of the bar where I couldn’t see it being made. I would normally have protested profusely at this aberration but being in the company of the Princess one must be on their best behavior. She assured me it would be alright and just let the nice Irish boy do his job.
So the drink finally comes after no short amount of time waiting for it. Its frozen style, which I dislike in the first place, but I try it with an open mind, especially since I had made such a big deal about it. I take a sip. Tart, bitter, bad are descriptions came to mind, understated descriptions. But with the Princess right there and with the guy acting like he is being so helpful I just grinned and said, “Oh yeah, that’s good, a Proper Margarita alright.” Now it could be that the Irish Jackass barkeep had just made a simple rookie mistake, no Triple Sec or other orange liquor which is essential in any margarita proper or otherwise in order to cut the tart of the lime juice. I like a splash of OJ in concert with the Triple Sec but that’s some advanced shit that I wouldn’t expect any Irish barkeep to know. But what’s more, I couldn’t taste a drop of alcohol, of any kind. This made me mad. Or maybe it was the ballet that had made me mad. Or maybe it was the weakening of my will in the presence of the Russian Princess that made me mad. Whatever it was, as I sat there and sipped my glass of frozen lime juice I got madder and madder. The barkeep seemed to smirk at his little joke. Smirk at me then smile at her and my anger grew and grew. The Princess was unhappy with my behavior and we began to argue. I remember settling up quickly and spilling out into the twilight of the white night all the while still arguing with the Princess about the principle of having been served a virgin cocktail by some smarmy Mick. We argued into the cab and all the way home and once again my temper had gotten the best of me all over a stupid cocktail. I learned a valuable lesson that night.
You gotta let shit slide or you will be the one sleeping on the floor of a Soviet era apartment.
Of course I haven’t able to put that lesson into practice yet but I think I’m getting better. I hope this has been enlightening.
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