SPIRITS

Ridin’ a wicked tequila storm

spirits Arkansas Democrat-Gazette/PHILIP MARTIN
spirits Arkansas Democrat-Gazette/PHILIP MARTIN

I don’t remember anyone teaching me how to drink.

I remember a stolen sip of beer from a can of Carling Black Label when I was 6 or 7 years old - the sting of disappointment and pellucid pain. Next thing I remember is walking subdivision streets after dark with my basketball buddies, talking about what cars we were going to buy when we acquired licenses (and the means to buy cars), each of us holding a Schlitz Tall Boy wrapped in a paper bag. I took small swigs, mine went warm and - when my hoodiest friend Bruce Brinson demonstrated how to kick the trunk of a metal street lamp just right to turn off the light for a few moments - I surreptitiously tipped most of it down the gutter in the dark.

Later, we had cars, fake IDs and the confidence to cruise the shadowless aisles of Mister Thrifty liquor store late at night. We bought what was cheap and colorful - remember Primo beer from Hawaii? Black Tower riesling? For most things we’d chip in, but on special occasions - a high school dance, a party by the lake, an overnight camping trip - each of us would buy a different bottle for reasons specific and random. Maybe it was something we’d seen in our parents’ cabinets, maybe something we’d seen college kids drink at a party or maybe something we heard about in a movie. (When John Travolta’s character ordered a 7 and 7 in Saturday Night Fever, Seagram’s Seven gained favor with some of us. Others in my crowd, the more extravagant ones, liked Crown Royal for the velvet purple bags they would hang from their rear-view mirrors, sometimes with less orthodox social lubricants than whiskey stashed inside.)

As with a lot of autodidacts, there are holes in my education.

It was in that Mister Thrifty that I bought my first bottle of mixto (not 100 percent blue agave) tequila. It was Pepe Lopez and I bought it for the little straw sombrero that sat on top of its cap. Or I may have taken one of the Pepe Lopez sombreros and put it on a bottle of tequila that was even cheaper than Pepe Lopez - believe it or not there were such things, at least in those days. Anyway, I regretted the purchase, but the bottle didn’t go to waste - we had salt, lime, young constitutions, a bonfire and REO Speedwagon’s “Ridin’ the Storm Out.” We were invincible in those days.

Over the years I mostly migrated away from white liquor and especially from tequila. Part of that is from sophistication - I prefer the taste of barrel-aged brown liquor to the invisible stuff. But it’s mainly out of fear. I have engaged silver tequila on a few occasions and most of the time we parted on cordial terms. But twice or thrice it did not go so well.My last hangover was more than 20 years ago, but it was debilitating. I took a beating at the hands of Senor T., who dragged me through the spandex-blighted rock clubs of Tempe, Ariz., before depositing me on the sofa of a music critic for an alternative weekly (just imagine the squalor). The morning sun leaked through his busted miniblinds like lava into Pompeii, and it felt like Lester Bangs and Jerry Garcia had held an overnight Pall Mall smoking contest in my mouth. My brain throbbed like Dr. Dre’s subwoofer. I honestly prayed for death.

That night, we’d been drinking the good tequila - Don Julio and Patron.

So you see why I’m shy. I’m comfortable with some volatile stuff; I will have a Remy Martin or a shot and a half of Booker’s neat. But tequila I treat with a respect that borders on obsequiousness. I will try your margarita recipe, yes ma’am, and in the line of duty I will sample whatever is on offer. But I will contain my enthusiasm. We used to have some friends who were genuine connoisseurs of tequila who brought back thousands of dollars’ worth of the stuff from their travels (under Arkansas law, this made them bootleggers, which may have pleased them). Fortunately, they moved away before I began writing this column, so I never had to take the tour of their collection.

So, while I can tell you some things about tequila (and more about vodka, a lumbering, head-breaking thug who at least gives you plenty of warning), I am not a particular fan. I know, for instance, about the grades - blanco, reposado and anejo. Blanco is not aged or treated with additives; reposado is “rested” in oak from two months to a year before bottling; and anejo has spent at least one year in oak barrels. (Few tequilas are aged longer than three or four years.) One hundred percent blue agave stuff is usually superior to (and more expensive than) mixto, and anejo is generally considered superior to (and more expensive than) reposado. But serious tequila drinkers - some do survive to full maturity - are fond of saying that, as with wine, one should not be intimidated by price lists or the opinions of others.Some tequila drinkers like the cleaner, silver blancos best. My favorite tequila writer Ian Chadwick (ianchadwick.com/tequila) says there’s no real correlation between the price of a tequila and its quality. He says one should try lots of tequilas (though not all at once).

I say drink what you want. And just because I’ve gone over to the dark side, there’s no reason for you to follow.

Tasting notes: After more than 10 years, I’ve decided to freshen this column by offering a short product review at the end of some of them.Since I promised you a review of Rock N Roll tequila last month, that’s where we’ll start:

While the most notable feature of Rock N Roll tequila (about $33 locally) may be its electric-guitar-shaped bottle, its promotional tie-in with the Elvis Presley estate or the fact it comes in mango and coffee-flavored editions as well as a standard blanco, it compares well with other premiums. It is a bit crisper and spicier than Patron or Jose Cuervo’s silver editions. Surprisingly, the flavors work well, especially the mango, which is subtle and balanced and would seem to provide the experiment-minded barman with another bullet for the bandolier.

While I imagine few will trade in their favorite brands for this one, it’s not a gimmick.

Email: [email protected]

Style, Pages 45 on 02/09/2014

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