This Classic Margarita Is My Ride or Death Cocktail
Today, nine years ago, my partner and I went on a first date. Of course, at that time I did not know that it was a date, and neither did he – we knew each other through music and played concerts together, so when he was driving across the bay (where I lived then) on tour, he asked me if I would like I’ll meet him in San Francisco and chat over coffee, maybe lunch. What was supposed to be a two-hour visit turned into a full-day escapade, and I did not return home until after midnight.
Even then, San Francisco was an increasingly impregnable technical fiefdom that barely contained its initial spark, and, as it has done so far, because of my frustration, I hardly enjoyed it. But that day as we zigzagged without a destination, I swear it was as if the city had pulled out its best old suit and put it on just for us. We ate pho in the Japanese city, browsed secondhand bookstores in Russian Hill, walked, talked and smoked constantly as far as Lower Haight, and – together – laid down an obscene dozen oysters in the Castro area. (As my partner likes to say, at some point between pho and the bookstore he decided for himself that I was his girlfriend.) idea: “Would you like a margarita?” I asked him. He smiled and said, “Sounds great.” I met the guy of my dreams.
In less than 12 hours, we figured out which themes would continue in our relationship. Travel, adventure, passion for all Asian cuisine, opening hours in second-hand bookstores, long indirect conversations, music, oysters and kava, south-nostalgia and margarita. Lots, lots, lots of margaritas. In the months that followed, margaritas in all their countless forms stood out strongly in the background, adorning those serene days of burgeoning love.
I don’t think there was a margarita that we didn’t try. We drank them with passionfruit and habanero. We drank them mixed with cucumber and black sesame seeds. We drank them frozen and mixed them. Cantina style, Cadillac style, head-sized Margaritas style. Today, at home, I make them in a classic style, the only accidental deviation is adding mint strawberries or replacing tequila with mezcal.
As much as I respect the esteemed Negroni, as much as I enjoy a live Daiquiri, as tempting as an icy Martini can be, at the end of the day Margarita is my main cocktail. You’ll have a hard time finding me finishing shitty Manhattan, but I’ll gladly suck any unshakable margarita off the bottom shelf, Sweet’n’Sour concoction and all that, to hell with the whole world. It is appropriate that this will be a talisman for my relationship – like true + true love, Margarita is good even when she is bad. This is my trip or my death.
Happy anniversary, Danny.
My classic, ride or die, Margarita
- 30 g fresh lime juice
- ⅕ ounce Cointreau
- Ounces of simple syrup
- 2 ounces blanco tequila
- Garnish salt (optional)
Place all ingredients except salt in a shaker and cover with ice. Shake vigorously for 8 seconds and strain into a glass with ice. If you are opting for a salty rim, before adding ice to your shaker, place a tablespoon of salt in a small bowl, take a wedge of lime (or the remaining half of the lime juice) and rub it over the top rim of your plate. glass (or, if you prefer, on one marked side) and dip it in salt until it is coated to your liking.