Tequila Ghost

Tequila is growing on me. Because of some unfortunate events early in my college career, I've never been a big fan of the stuff; even now, the smell of cheap tequila makes my stomach roil.

Still, I've since discovered that the world of tequila extends far beyond Jose Cuervo and his buddy Cuervo Especiale. Sauza Reposado Hornitos Tequila isn't the best stuff I've ever drunk, but it is pretty tasty, and I'm generally pleased with it.

On the other hand, I love absinthe, and Lucid is a pretty solid brand. Consequently, when I began my quest for cocktail knowledge, I was pleased to discover that there are a lot of absinthe recipes out there. In fact, I'd argue that the lore surrounding the stuff may pale in comparison to the drinks that it has inspired.

I'm sure that there are many, many delicious absinthe cocktails; unfortunately, the tequila ghost isn't one of them. In the course of the next few months, I'm undoubtedly going to try something more revolting than the this drink, but that knowledge didn't make the ghost any more palatable.

Honestly, it's hard to imagine how anything could be more horrible than this foul, unspeakable concoction. Composed of lemon juice, tequila, and absinthe, the ghost brings out the worst of each of its constituent ingredients. The lemon hits hard and sour, followed by the overwhelming anise flavor of the absinthe. As a capper, the funky aftertaste of tequila adds a certain nauseating tone to the proceedings. Basically, this is a practical joke -- truly repulsive at every step of the way.

For the first time, I poured most of my drink down the drain.

Tequila Ghost
(from The Ultimate A-to-Z Bar Guide)

2 ounces tequila
1 ounce Pernod or other anise-flavored liqueur
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice

Shake ingredients with ice; strain into chilled old-fashioned glass over ice cubes. Drink one swig. Grimace. Try again, just in case. Grimace again. Try one more time, because booze isn't cheap and there are probably teetotaling college kids in Ethiopia who really, really could use the stuff. Grimace one last time and throw the crap down the drain. Brush your teeth twice.

Rosita

In the May/June 2009 issue of Imbibe magazine, Hannah C. Feldman and Tracy Howard sketched the outlines of a three-stage master course in mixology. I was immediately intrigued.

For years, I've had some pretty decent basic bar knowledge. When I was about ten years old, my babysitter, Edie, taught me how to make a gin and tonic and ensured that I knew how to hold it steady while she drove. In the ensuing years, I've picked up a few more basic recipes. In college, I drank a lot of cocktails, and learned how to make a credible martini and a decent bloody mary. My white Russian is decent, my B-52 isn't an embarrassment, and I know my way around a "nuts and berries." Beyond that, if you hum a few bars, I can generally fake it.

Still, in the years since grad school, I've fallen into the trap of always drinking the same standards: scotch, absinthe, wine or beer. My skills have gotten a little rusty, and my knowledge is sorely lacking. Faced with Feldman and Howard's impressive list of "basic" cocktails, I could no longer hide from my equally impressive ignorance: it was clear that action was called for. Although I already had a drink guide -- the encyclopedic Ultimate A-To-Z Bar Guide by Sharon Tyler Herbst and Ron Herbst -- I decided to begin with the Rosita, the basic "101" cocktail that Imbibe suggested.

My first step was buying the ingredients: reposado tequila, sweet vermouth, dry vermouth, Campari, and Angostura bitters. I had never had reposado, and Sauza seemed like a good, reasonably-priced choice. For the vermouths, I went with Martini and Rossi, the most expensive choices that my local liquor store had to offer (they cost a buck more than the off-brand). As far as the rest, Campari is Campari is Campari and Angostura bitters, while a little hard to find in the Bronx, showed up in a Whole Foods in Manhattan.

All in all, the ingredients for my first drink ran about 80 bucks. Even by New York standards, this is a little high, but there's a lot to be said for giving my liquor collection a shot in the arm.

The Rosita was a mixed success, at best. Although complex, it had a bitter undertone that left me wary about drinking more. The lemon twist floating in the reddish-chestnut drink was, admittedly, gorgeous, the overall flavor was kind of unpleasant and stale-tasting. My wife, Virginia, completely hated it.

On the bright side, my liquor cabinet was now well-stocked with tequila, Campari, and two types of vermouth. Prepared for more adventures, I recorded my thoughts on the Rosita and looked forward to the next day's drink.

Rosita
(from Imbibe)

1 1/2 ounce reposado tequila
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth
1/2 ounce dry vermouth
1/2 ounce Campari
1 dash Angostura bitters
Cracked and cubed ice
Tools: barspoon, three-piece shaker
Glass: Old Fashioned
Garnish: Lemon Twist

Stir ingredients in a shaker with ice cubes, strain into a glass filled with cracked ice cubes and garnish.