MARGARITA WALKS INTO A BAR...

I’ve written here a few times about one aspect or another of my favorite spirit, tequila: where it comes from, the different styles and grades of it, how it differs from its upstart cousin, mezcal, where to find the best margaritas in Zihuatanejo.

Speaking of, I like my margaritas—as I like my coffee and my women—strong. So blen- 
ded is a non-starter; if I wanted a lemon-lime slushie, that’s what I’d ask for.

Instead, what I say to our waiter—often to my wife’s eye-rolling dismay—is: Quisiera una margarita. Sin sal; rocas; como dos cubos de hielo, no más. That’s rocks, no salt, just a little ice, like two cubes.
          I like my margaritas—as I like my   
          coffee and my women—strong.

A GLASS HALF FULL

Most often, what arrives is a nice looking low-ball glass filled near the brim with what one hopes will be the real deal. Usually, though, it’s a glass packed with ice, the spaces between whose cubes are filled in with just enough liquid to make the glass appear full…of something. 

And here’s where the integrity part comes in. Not integrity of any bartender, waiter or proprietor. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going through at least one of their heads: If I don’t fill this guy’s glass, he’s going to think we’re stiffing him.

With drinks, they’re thinking, as with our food, we aim for a set portion, so I literally cannot give the dude what he asked for.

So, no, I get it. It’s not their integrity; it’s the integrity of the drink. My drink. All I want is to be able to taste all the ingredients in something approaching the proper proportions.

WATCH YOUR STEP
I suppose I could explain that I understand the portion thing, and that I don’t care if my order results in a glass that’s half full, as long as the drink has teeth. But, given that Sally thinks just my basic order sounds a bit fussy, this feels over the top.

Which leaves me with two options: I settle for a margarita that, especially in hot climates, the melting ice waters down in minutes. Or I look for the nearest planter where I stealthily flick all but one or two of the offending chunks. I prefer the latter…as do the plants.

                     

                The only thing worse than a bad 
                margarita: two-for-one.

EXTRA CREDIT
There are exceptions. Though, if they were common, I guess there’d be no basis for this post. Thus my celebration of them here. (And I make a point of celebrating them with at least the waiters, letting them know how much I appreciate un trago bien fuerte—a nice strong drink.)

Here are a few ways the happy scenario plays out:
  1) I get the “honest” margarita on the first try.

The Honest Margarita – at Zihuatanejo's lovely Terramare

   2) My first margarita’s a faux-full one, but someone notices me jettisoning my 
        ice, and my second one's perfect.
   3) (Rarest of all) The bartender’s having a good day and makes me a drink with 
        both poco hielo and a full glass. (This, of course, merits an extraordinary tip.)

¡SALUD!
So, to all you margarita—or any other drink—aficionados, here’s hoping your yen for a good, strong margarita doesn’t get watered down. May the tequila be decent, your ice cubes few and your cocktail at least as honest as your thirst.