I found out about a year ago that I had a sensitivity to gluten and dairy products. And I should really watch the sugars. It’s not like I need to carry around an EpiPen but if I can curb their intake, my body’d be grateful. I asked about the booze, surely beer is out.
“Go with vodka”
“What if I don’t care for vodka?”
“Go with gin”
“What if I don’t care for gin?”
“Go with tequila”
“Tequila, yeah?”
“A good tequila”
“A good tequila?”
“Yes. Don’t ever order bad tequila”
To some of us, they are all bad tequilas (or maybe they are all just bad tequila stories). I order it on the rocks with a lime and take my time with it.
It’s been a bit since I’ve been on the road. For the past year I believe I’ve subconsciously tried to provoke myself out of hibernation because I noticed that most of the books I read or films I watched are road trip oriented: ‘Travels With Charley’, ’Blues Brothers’, ‘Thelma & Louise’, a few photography books by William Eggleston and Robert Frank. Then there’s ‘Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas’. I frequently check in on openculture.com and its curators occasionally write about Hunter S. Someone posted a short film that included a brief look into his propensity for grapefruits. With all the damage that man has done to his body, something must’ve counteracted it. I read about him, watched the documentaries, deduced ‘Must’ve been the Grapefruit!’.
I order it once along with my tequila. I held a stint as a bartender at a country club for a summer and thought any clear liquor mixed with grapefruit juice is called a Greyhound, at least that’s what the old ladies told me. Twenty years later I found out I was wrong.
‘I’d like a Greyhound please’
‘With vodka or gin?’
‘Tequila’
‘That’s no Greyhound’
‘What is it?’
‘Tequila and grapefruit? Hmmm. I don’t know. You want salt around the edge?’
‘…okay…?’
No Jay. No. No. No.
‘So, does this have a name?’
‘Well, if it had vodka or gin in it, it would be called The Salty Dog’
‘Yeah, but what about this?’
‘Hmmm. The Salty Chihuahua I guess. Heh heh’
Yeah, go ahead. Chuckle away. I deserve it. I’ll be damned if I’ll order anything with a dumb name like Salty Chihuahua and until I am within five miles of a large body of water, I won’t be needing that salt, buster. Just the tequila and grapefruit. Man. I’m calling it The Grey Lobo, a four count of grapefruit juice and a one count of tequila, mixed and served over ice, then garnished with a lime. Have a great spring everybody.
