Part of the joy of moving from the Midwest to California is learning culturally about consumables that I never would have known in my former environment. I have experienced all kinds of food epiphanies since moving to California, from cultural dishes to certain kinds of foods all by themselves, like avocado and lamb. Lately, however, the epiphanies have been in the form of libations, and specifically, liquors.
I hesitate to write of this exploration for several reasons, not the least of which is that people will worry. My default mood is not generally known to be set to "happy," and in the past on particularly difficult workdays I have been known to lie on the floor of my bedroom and drain a fifth of Jack. One of the great gifts I possess is that I can down any amount of alcohol in any level proof and not get a hangover, and the only alcohol that makes me nauseous is beer, and usually in the first three swigs. I will never sample ales and will never be a connoisseur of them.
After a couple of off-the-cuff discussions with a peer and my brother, however, I have become picky in other forms of alcohol. I have always liked sweet white wines over reds of any kind, so there's the first process of elimination. I've learned that any gin tastes like baby oil--so martinis are out. I love vodka, but the affection is still pretty generalized--I don't know the difference between my vodkas yet. I've burnt myself out on whiskey thanks to that practice on the bedroom floor, just on sheer volume, and I've only had rum in mojitos. But I'm learning the finer points, and my lessons have began with tequila.
The extent of my tequila input in the past has been in margaritas, and weakly-concocted ones at that. Imagine my surprise when I recently discovered that there are different forms of tequila--I thought all of it was clear and had a worm in the bottom. (I was to find out even later that true tequila doesn't have a worm...and the sheepishness continues.) I discovered that the darker it is the better it is, and the darker it is the less likely you are to find it in a margarita.
The first time I was poured anejo tequila the bartender brought it to me in a low-ball glass, neat. The ribbons of sugar cried down the sides of the glass, and just to be fascinated I swirled the glass again like a brandy snifter and watched as the liquor clung like motor oil. I brought the glass to my nose and felt the fumes before I smelled them, a sensation not unlike that of applying astringent without a cotton pad. I pulled the glass back, smiled in pseudo-boldness, and brought it in for a sip. The warmth, the light...why would anyone drown this taste in a margarita? Delightedly, no one does, unless it's at home in a moment of insanity.
On the other hand, I recently received a gift of the blanco tequila due to an awareness of my schooling in finer liquors. I was told by others who know their liquor to brace myself and find the margarita fixins...blanco is pure, clear shit. My brother tried to take some of the sting out by sharing with me that it sometimes improves the taste of lesser alcohol to chill it, but the only thing that could improve the taste of the blanco would be, after giving it a chilled try, to deep-freeze it with fruit juice and triple sec.
For a girl who used to tip back cocktails as anesthesia, it's fascinating to me that I have discovered another reason for alcohol--the difference in a taste addressed straight up. I have cocktails that I have long adored--cosmos, cheesecakes, mojitos, margaritas, and mimosas--but to taste the difference in the straight shot, without even a crutch of ice to lean on, has moved my alcohol consumption from anesthesia to aesthetics. Would I have learned this art back in the states? Maybe, within enough time spent in a bar...but here it was absorbed, in the people and their experiences, like a wine infused with the fragrance of local herbs simply growing in proximity to the vine.
The best part of finally tasting my alcohol? I require so much less of it.
Salut.
