Paloma
My friend Carlos imports tequila.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: I’ve befriended a lifetime supply of margaritas. But the reality is that having a friend in the tequila business—or, at least, having a friend like Carlos in the tequila business—is a double-edged sword.
Yes, I have a constant Mexican bartender, whose witty, winding sentences probably seduce more women than his wife would like to acknowledge. And that Mexican bartender has a cocktail repertoire that pushes tequila to limits I never knew it could reach. Just think: Tequila can be a brunch beverage. Combine it with orange, lime, and grapefruit juices, and a touch of Squirt, and you’ve got a morning cocktail, called a cazuela, with more verve than a mimosa.
But hanging out with a Mexican bartender, if you’re not a heavy drinker, also has its disadvantages. In my experience, liquor professionals like to imbibe, and that can sometimes end in conversations like the one Carlos and I had at our last fiesta.
The night was blowing hot air, and just when I thought I couldn’t take it any more, a server came around with tray of ice water. I grabbed one, ignoring how little water there was in comparison to ice, and lifted the glass to my mouth. I stopped. My water smelled like distilled, peppery agave. I set the glass down in surprise. “Oh, it’s tequila. That’s not what I wanted.” To which Carlos replied, “Oh, just drink it. For once in your life. Just drink it.” I cringed, wished I still had the tequila in hand to douse my friend and announced that I was ready to go home.
Fortunately, between the cazuelas and tequila-dousing moments, Carlos and I have found a happy medium. Her name is Paloma, and she’s the most refreshing, icy mix of grapefruit soda, tequila, lime juice, and salt. I’m certain it was Carlos who first introduced me to paloma, but honestly, I cannot remember when. The bubbly, easy-to-drink concoction flows so freely at Carlos’ dinner parties, it’s part of every memory I have of him. With each appetizer of cojita and pickled jalapeños, or each plate of tacos, Carlos serves a paloma. Every time he dishes up second servings, he pours another. His reason is two-fold. Like a good host, he wants to ensure that you never run out of his favorite drink. Plus, he wants to remind you that, no matter how much you may love a limey margarita, this citrusy cocktail is actually the drink Mexico prefers. Mexican families serve palomas with Sunday dinner. Mexican teenagers first get drunk off them. Even Mexican liquor stores sell canned versions of the cocktail.
The paloma message is a powerful one—and I’ve absorbed it. When my sister and her boyfriend come for enchiladas, they receive sweet, fruity palomas. When a friend brings over chips and guacamole, she receives this icy, Mexican answer to a hot day. The paloma, with its unexpected combination of familiar flavors, is versatile, approachable, and exotically delicious—and I like the reactions, I get when I pour it: “Wow, how did you make this?” “I’m half through, but can I have another?”
I confess: These days, unless I’m in catering to a group whose tastes are more traditional, I’m serving palomas more than margaritas. I’ve embraced the sip as the real Mexican cocktail.
And I have Carlos to thank for that. Which is why, when my friend evokes my tequila-dousing anger, I choose not to actually act on my frustrations. Instead, I accept that, with his friendship, comes both marvelous recipe exchange and sometimes honest misunderstanding—and that a salty-sweet cocktail can be a bridge in even the most trying moments. Especially on a summer night.
4 Comments to “Paloma”
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Kazia , this will be settle in a Paloma wrestling match!
This makes me miss the states so much!! I miss California summer pool parties with flowing summer cocktails like this and delicious appetizers. …here, it’s pouring. Been raining all week. Only wanting to eat winter food with this weather!
Love your blog cutie…
Carlos, I take you in the Paloma wrestling match. It sounds much better than jello.
Yvette, how awful about the rain. But you do have lovely pintxos and sidra there that I long for when I’m here.
Querida Kazia, no pudiste describir mejor los encantos no muy encantadores de mi marido… y que las palomas nos lleven al vuelo para festejar con los amigos.