Whitney Say--"Hell to the No!"

I'll admit that when I was in high school I thought that Absolut Vanilla hung the moon. But "those were different times." And since cutting my teeth on many a barstool, I've come to be a purist. In most arenas, purists make me nervous and unhappy--they disapprove of animal fat rendered meals or join cults. But with booze, it's best to set real limits. I only order from a self-determined, small range of drinks and at some establishments this narrow list narrows further. At our favorite pub I only drink Smithwick's (sometimes, maybe a bourbon and ginger). I don't drink tonic (I used to...but). I love margaritas and bloody mary's, but those are majorly site-specific. I love to have champagne when available. I drink a few bottled beers--Shiner, Yuengling, Bud (heavy, never light), Stella, Red Stripe. I dig a tallboy or a 40 (when the occasion calls for it). I love white russians (made at home or by beloved Barkeep R). I love a bourbon or rye en rocas, or in an expert Manhattan (also site-specific). I don't take free shots. I try not to take any shots; if I do, it's strictly Jameson. I love a historically sanctioned event-specific cocktail, like a mint julep in a silver cup at a Derby party (or box). I love wine of all colors and varying sweetness with meals, most digestifs after meals. And so on and so on.

As long as I've hung out in bars, I've been 'regusted' by what folks drink--Memphis' ever-popular Walk Me Down (which we call 'blue drank') or any godforsaken candy-colored thing presented in a martini glass or meant to taste like cake or Miller Light or business mixed with Red Bull. The ever-growing family of flavored vodkas (beyond my teenage love, vanilla) turns my stomach--peach, pear, apple, raspberry, VOMS. And now I hear that brown liquor is being threatened! Jim Beam intends to release a Black Cherry version of their seventh generation Kentucky brew, and I am appalled and deeply, deeply saddened. I imagine that we'll begin to see a sickening row of brightly colored bottles of whiskey-jacked-up-every-which-way beside the already long, yuckstons vodka outfit behind the bar. Weep.