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My very first alcoholic drink was tepid beer on an atypical Midwestern July afternoon; that is, the day was sunny and clear rather than the usual steam bath with a cloudless yet colorless sky. I was sixteen and standing on the bank of the Maumee River near Kingsbury Park with Rimer, Livingston, and Fitzenrider. Livingston "lifted" a warm six-pack of Diehl Five-Star from the DuDrop Inn, pulling off the heist by removing his jean jacket and depositing it over the beer. When we left, he artfully hid the six-pack under the jacket. We dunked the beer into the river hoping to chill it, but just how frosty can a beverage get immersed in 70-degree water for thirty minutes? We thought we were really cool. (Hey, man, we’re drinkin’ beer!) The brew was oily and skunky—tasted like I imagined piss would, and I hoped the others didn’t see the faces I was making. It wasn’t nearly as tasty as anticipated, but we had to drink it down or risk ridicule for chickening out. When I thought no one was paying attention, I furtively poured some on the ground—just a bit here and there until I could take the last swig and declare myself finished, and “boy, was that good”. I took care not to be the first or second to drain my brewsky for fear I’d be offered one of the two remaining bottles. Over the next several years I had the same problem with beer—just couldn’t understand the attraction. It was filling and tasted vile. Then, end of spring term my sophomore year in college, I plopped down on a barstool at The Rendezvous with a group of students and we ordered several pitchers. Like a switch was thrown, the suds tasted great. We sat there all afternoon sucking down pitcher after pitcher. What happened? I don’t know, but beer has tasted palatable ever since. Perhaps my sense of taste takes a while to assimilate; I mean, after all these years I still can’t stand the taste of coffee. My first hard drink was taken at Adolph’s, which has since gone by way of Brigadoon (taps playing in the background). The concoction was Seagram’s Seven Crown bourbon and Seven-up; the famous seven-seven. Putting Coca-Cola with bourbon was considered gauche until the Beatles did it; and you know, of course, that prevailing pop culture dictates that rich and/or famous people who participate in heretofore gauche antics are “geniuses”. In other words, if you’re a just a normal schlep it’s tacky. BUT if you’re a pop icon gauche becomes hip (mainly because the sycophants around you and the media don’t want to tell you you’re an idiot and be banished from the inner circle). It’s the old “emperor has no clothes” schtick. More on that subject: Please do not either add mixer to or slam down shots of good, expensive liquor! Smooth booze is to be savored. Every time I hear some kid order Crown (Crown Royal Canadian whiskey) and Coke I want to throttle him. If you’re going to mix use rotgut because the harsher taste actually improves the cocktail and you’re not “wasting” the good stuff. I know another female who insists on ordering Peron in her Margarita. Madness! In fact some bars feature Margaritas with Peron so they can charge double. Use cheap tequila, folks! Same song different verse with these clowns (young male and female bozos) who decide it’s a big deal to “do shots”. If you’re going to "slam it" use rotgut. The good stuff should be taken (preferably) neat or over ice, sipped, and enjoyed. I’ve found most of the slammers don’t really enjoy liquor; they just want a quick buzz. And by the way, what kind of idiot gets drunk on purpose? When did getting drunk become synonymous with the word “party” or seen as an accomplishment of which to be proud? Same thing with dopers. You see either type of abuser the next morning and hear, “Oh, man, you should have seen me last night I (pick one) 1) smoked a ton of dope or 2) got hammered.” These mental giants seem to think getting screwed-up is equivalent to participating in something difficult like the Ironman Triathlon. Incidentally, as for ME; I do not get drunk. I think of such occurrences as being over-served, which happened occasionally through the years—but never intentionally. The consequences are horrific. Sleepless nights, spinning rooms, night sweats, diarrhea, hurling, and hangovers are awful; and I cannot comprehend one who gets inebriated on purpose although I used to work with some who admitted that’s exactly why they drank. Go figure. My second cocktail was a whiskey sour, which I liked very much. I also liked the way it was presented, which was straight-up in a rounded, bell-shaped flute, but smaller than those used for champagne. More on presentation later. From there I discovered a local drink called gin lemon (gin and Seven-up), and other mainstream cocktails such as Tom Collins, gin or vodka tonic, scotch and soda, and of course, martini and Manhattan; the latter two being favorites of my Dad. It wasn’t until I was several years removed from college, and on the west coast, that I was introduced to libations called Bloody Mary, Margarita, Rob Roy, mai-tai, gin or vodka rickey, gimlet, and old-fashioned. Then there were silver, gold, and Ramos fizzes all great for starting off a mid-morning round of golf at Palos Verdes. Wines came last; reds before whites. I’m not sure why, it just evolved that way. This does not include so-called pop wines like Ripple, Zapple, and Strawberry Hill. We used to guzzle those antifreeze-like beverages while playing volleyball on the beach then wonder why we had headaches. Big duh. As I became older I developed a taste for cocktails associated either with a specific season, weather pattern or occasion. Here’s where the presentation part comes in. Many taverns have multiple-use glasses, which I resent. If a bar doesn’t present a cocktail according to my specifications, I don’t go there—pure and simple. I am not going to get into cocktail formulation for the sake of brevity. Personally I like the classics as published in Bartender’s Guide. MANHATTAN and VODKA MARTINI: use a chilled standard martini glass, the kind that looks like an inverted cone on a stem, although the old-time smaller bell-shaped martini glass is also acceptable. Shake violently over ice and strain into the glass. When done properly the surface of the cocktail will contain fine ice crystals. Same for gimlets. Floating ice crystals are absent from a regular martini (gin and dry vermouth) because that mixture must be stirred. MARGARITA: I completely dislike the way practically all bars in the world serve this drink, which I imagine they’ve bastardized because of popularity, variability of lime juice, and the hassle of squeezing the fruit. Bars use slush machines with sweet and sour mix. An alternative to “frozen” is on-the-rocks in either a tall or double old-fashioned glass. For this reason (and being a purist) I usually mix my own. When done properly one combines three parts lime juice, two parts tequila, and one part Triple Sec. It should be shaken like a vodka martini and served straight-up in a salt-rimmed martini glass. NOTE: There is a standard straight-up Margarita glass. It is slightly larger than the old-time champagne glass; the one that looks like a bird bath. OLD-FASHIONED and WHISKEY on-the-rocks (Scotch, bourbon or Canadian): I like a heavy, crystal, standard old-fashioned glass and large, clear, cubical ice. Blackberry brandy is also good served this way. If the Scotch is single malt, neat is best. TONIC, COLLINS, and MOJITO: use a tall slender glass and either crushed ice or small, clear cubes. I have other adult beverage peculiarities, but those above represent the majority. To summarize: 1) follow the Bartender’s Guide, 2) use a proper glass, and 3) include the “proper” type of ice. Never, ever use half-moon, cloudy ice. It ruins the whole experience. The darker drinks seem to fit best in cold weather and the lighter cocktails when the climate is fair. Also, I’ve gotten to the stage in my life where one cocktail tastes great, and the second one not nearly as good. I suppose that’s nature’s way of regulating us—one of us anyway. Finally, my particular quirk is to only have a cocktail if I’m feeling upbeat or celebratory. If I’m down or depressed, the urge to have a drink disappears. To bring this rambling diatribe full circle, one last thought about beer. Mainstream American beers (Bud, Miller, Coors, etc.) are great when consumed ice-cold after mowing the lawn. Otherwise crafted ambers, porters, reds, IPAs, Hefenweisens, etc. served, say, in the 45 to 55 degree range are clearly superior in all attributes including taste. The best I’ve had is Randy Beer from New Castle, IN. Here’s looking at you. Copyright 2012 by Gene Myers AFTER HOURS: ADVENTURES OF AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESSMAN and SONGS FROM LATTYS GROVE are now available from Amazon Kindle. Prices: $9.99 and $12.95 respectively. What a deal!
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