Classic Margarita
Two years of living in Latin America, one Peruvian guidebook job, and two Mexican friends have had a serious affect on my drinking. Beer is hardly in my repertoire. Whiskey, I approach with trepidation. Instead, my liquor cabinet contains a surprising amount of pisco (Peru and Chile’s national liquor) and tequila (the sweet spicy, agave spirit from Jalisco). Tequila, because it is easy to find (Colorado is one of the country’s top tequila-consuming states), is the one I turn to most often.
Invite me to your tennis party, and I’ll show up with an icy, semi-sweet pitcher of hibiscus iced tea, laced with tequila blanco (a.k.a. silver tequila). Bring me up to the Vail ski condo, and I’ll serve Mexican 75s (a light, refreshing blend of tequila, lime juice, simple syrup, and Champagne).
Unfortunately, though, tequila doesn’t flow quite as freely in the lives of most of my friends. Simply mention the word and their heads drop forward, remembering the groggy hangovers and throbbing headaches of college. Memories of pub crawls fueled with shots of Jose Cuervo still weight them down. When I offer tequila, these friends ask, where’s the beer?
There’s one cocktail, though, that woos even my most tequila adverse friends—my margarita. It isn’t an easy drink, but it reminds those pub-crawlers that tequila—with hardly any effort—can make a refreshing, grown-up cocktail, too. These margaritas require only five basic ingredients and the simple flick of a spoon. No blender. No sour mix. Just lime juice, tequila blanco, Cointreau, and salt.
The limes, I juice, with a hand-held press. (A conventional juicer introduces too much bitter pith into the cocktail.) That sweet-tart juice I immediately pour, into a salted glass, over ice. Then, I pick up bottle of super smooth tequila blanco (something like the Denver-based brand Proximus or Don Julio) and measure out just enough earthy, spicy liquor to wake up that citrusy juice. Finally, I add the Cointreau. A touch of sweet orange. Stir and pass.
With the chilled beverage in hand, my friends tilt their heads in curiosity. This is no tequila-infused slushy. Then, they sip the stiff pour and sit up straighter. It’s only on the second sip, when they forget their troubled tequila past, and relax into the straightforward blend of light, summery flavors that they realize: This is a drink for long conversations and lingering. And that’s when I smile. I won’t be drinking my liquor cabinet alone.
