May
05
2011

An Enthusiast’s guide to cocktails: the Margarita

—Christian

While there is much debate about the exact history of the drink, the lore that surrounds the Margarita is rich and interesting. Initially tequila was not used in cocktails. Rather, it was served straight in a shot glass with a side of lime and salt (sound familiar?). Starting in the mid ‘30s, examples of mixed drinks that include distilled agave began to pop up. In fact, the 1937 Café Royal Cocktail Book includes not one, but 15 different tequila concoctions. One of which is called the Picador, which calls for 2pts tequila, 1pt citrus, 1pt Cointreau (note the absence of salt). Also, around the same time there was a well-known cocktail called the Tequila Daisy that combined tequila, citrus and grenadine. Incidentally, the Spanish word for “daisy” is margarita. Coincidence? I think not.

So clearly this combination was not completely original in the late ‘30s—early ‘40s when it was purportedly “invented” in the Americas.
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Jul
20
2010

drinkwel field testing: Josey

—Josey

The never-ending party is the most effective way to ensure no hangover. But once in a while it’s Sunday night and you realize you’re supposed to stagger through the doors of your workplace in mere morning hours, and that you should probably start sobering up. With visions of pounding temples and queasy bellies in our fuzzy brains we futilely chug glass after glass of water, swig Gatorade, and shakily nuke frozen pepperoni pies, praying for salvation in the form of grease, carbs, and electrolytes. Short of a pre-work Bloody Mary that could result in (depending on your job) certain termination should supervisors get wise, what’s a desperate drunk to do?

Mama’s greasy medicine.

Enthusiast HQ learned of drinkwel, a new and supposedly-hangover relieving multivitamin supplement from an UrbanDaddy email. We wrote the company in search of swag, and luckily, our plea resulted in free samples. Was I skeptical? Of course. The placebo effect is powerful. I needed a field test—and, another fantastic excuse to get insanely wasted for 48 hours.
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Jul
01
2010

My First Time

—Josey


For some of us, our first time tanked did come at what some bloggers refer to as “a disturbingly young age.” Maybe it was the disturbingness of that awkward stage that lead this Enthusiast to her first bottle, or maybe it was the feverish anticipation of fourteen years and freshman year and the thrill of the unknown. It was July and one of my best friends at the time had returned recently from France, arriving triumphantly at SFO, her suitcase brimming with legally-bought bottles. Five of us girls schemed a sleepover at the victor’s home, waiting for parents to doze off before breaking fifths of tequila and rum from under piles of tucked-away clothes in a bedroom closet.

Less experienced than my companions, I was especially eager to pull the small round limes from my backpack and salt my thumb’s webbing. “It burns,” they explained. “Drink it fast.” Salt taste, then sharp, wet scent as I raised her parents’ shotglass. Acrid effervescence met at mouth with sour. “Oh shit,” I thought to myself. “This is great.”

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May
23
2010

Drunkbook

Do I have a horrifying personal story to share about drunk Facebooking? That’s for me to know, and regrettably blurt out in hour six of next week’s Little Friday festivities. I’m sure if we drink hard enough we’ll be able to squeeze my wasted Facebook confessionals in between my shameful vomiting story (junior year of college edition, version Tuesday, part bushes on the edge of the quad); and your semi-coherent ramblings about your obsession with your co-workers’ significant other (“… and, like, I don’t understand why everyone needs to be so fucking possessive, and fucking … do you think they’d be into, like, a threesome or something? I’m gonnacall right now. I don’t think that’s weird—doyouthinkthat’sweird??”)

But what would an Enthusiast blog be without a comment on the ancient art of drunk Facebooking? Made all the worse by the proliferation of every Enthusiasts’s favorite frenemy—the smart phone—Drunkbook is an integral part of a morning, afternoon, or evening out, as well as the following day’s hungover shamefest.

Unlike the drunk dials of yesteryear, whatever you don’t remember revealing as you stumbled home, barefoot, has been preserved in all it’s cringing detail—and not just in your exes memory or on his or her message machine. And unlike the still-persistent drext (also recorded for your future horrification), it’s not just the two or eight fortunates you made direct contact with that you need to hide from and/or apologize to later—a list of hundreds of former and current friends and lovers, co-workers, classmates, and even family members will wipe the sleep from their eyes on Sunday morning, log on to their respective accounts, and bear witness to your 5:24-6:54 a.m. rampage across their walls, photo albums, and your eighteen status updates, all mis-spelled atrociously, all caps all the way. And exclamation marks—oh, so very many exclamation marks.

It could be worse. At least you didn’t create a fan page devoted to your douchey blog about functional alcoholism as a lifestyle choice and all the perils and pleasures that accompany this—and then ask everyone on your list to join.

Back in the dark ages of Drunkbook, before they made Newsfeed, your mistakes may have been public, but they weren’t shoved so forcefully in everyone’s face(book). Now with Newsfeed + mobile updating capabilities, Facebook seems scarily designed to keep us Enthusiasts in a constant social networking shame spiral.

Also important to remember, fellow Enthusiasts: even if you delete “U LOOOOK SOUPER FUUKING HOTTTT IN THIS PIC!!!!!!!1!!!!!! COME OVER AND LET”S FUCK XXX SSOMETIME HAHAHA!!1!!@!!!!!! LIKE TOONITE????????!!” from the comments of your male and/or female acquaintance from middle school’s “Halloween ’07” album by Bloody Mary time the following day, not only has everyone compulsively checking Facebook on their iPhones at the party and/or bar last night already had seven hours to see your shame in their ‘Feed, but all four utter strangers who soberly and normally commented on said-photo two-and-a-half years prior (“Looking sexy! Epic times at that party. =)”) have notifications of your slurred rant in their email inboxes.

(Side note: worse, perhaps, than the obviously-intoxicated comments are the heavily-cloaked-in-seeming-sobriety ones. The silent storm, the quiet rampage of comments that are well-spelled and punctuated, yet subtly off. Should you really be commenting on the cute-messy-baby picture your friend’s friend posted, obviously for the enjoyment of close friends and family?” [And at 3:32 a.m., no less?] You come across as something of a creep. Not to mention committing the Facebook version of every Enthusiast’s favorite hobby—making set-in-stone social plans while blacked-out.)

Stand proud, fellow Enthusiast. Deleting now is an admission of defeat. Not everyone who saw your: “WAAAAY-STEEEEED!!!!!! CUM TO THE BAR WITH ME I LOVE TAQUILLAAAA!!!1!!!!1 AND I WANT TO MAKE OUR WIYTH YOUUUUUU” and/or “aLL you hot bitches wantto $uck my huge dick” (dramatization; actual drunk statii will vary greatly), will think that was a fucking stupid-ass update. Some of them won’t have slept yet. And, leering at bright screens in their window-blinded apartments, while clutching shakily at, and swigging from, near-empty bottles of Jack—they’ll laugh. These Enthusiasts understand you were only half-serious—and besides, they love tequila and/or making out with everyone and/or your penis and/or their own penis, too.

And then when they awaken with splitting headaches and dry mouths later that night, and, from the comfort of their beds, decide to check Facebook, a shudder of shame will ripple through their aching and hungover bodies, when they see that little thumbs-up with their name, affirmative, beside your stupid-ass status drupdate.

 
—Josey