I learned how to drink alcohol between the ages of 21 and 25.
Learning how to drink is an exercise in irony. It’s like you have to learn how not to drink in order to learn how to properly drink.
The lessons learned are often far too numerous and embarrassing to acknowledge.
Stay away from that dark rum. You didn’t need to drink whatever was in the paper bag. Any booze made in a bathtub is really really really not a good idea. A shot on the way home from the bar is 100% foolish. Every drink in Vegas will somehow multiply itself by WAY TOO MANY! Tequila… ugh. Cheap gin is downright criminal. Dropping a shot into any other drink and consuming it quickly should be reserved for sushi karaoke bars, or better yet… NEVER. Don’t Jagermeister anything. You are not Tyra Banks in Coyote Ugly before she went to law school. Vodka is not spicy water.
The lessons really are too many to chronicle. I mean…
I found my drink by figuring out what wasn’t my drink, a feat I hope you all approach gingerly. My drink order: A Maker’s Mark Manhattan, up, with two cherries. Gah… just to think of 21-year-old me ordering that drink makes me roll my eyes. I was going for sophistication, poise, edge, knowledge, with a touch of sweetness. Also… gag me with a spoon. Right? I think mostly I was trying to seem cool enough not to get carded.
These days, anyone that cards me is an angel sent from heaven. Literally? My drink of choice currently: an Old Fashioned, no cherry, extra twist and what kind of Rye Whiskey do you like best, bartender? It’s simple and classic and admits defeat when it comes to proper rye whiskey knowledge. I think it might also betray my Mad Men fan girl tendencies but I’m ok with that.