A few words about me as I relate to the Caesar:
I began drinking Caesars on Sunday afternoons, bleary eyed and deeply hungover after wild Friday and Saturday nights that involved burning my taste buds off with gallons of cheap red wine or Alberta rye and packs of cigarettes.
The salty/sweet taste of this cocktail, mildly reminiscent of sweat, seemed soothing and nourishing throughout my twenties. The spicy, seafood & tomato combination signified the end of weekend revelry and the beginning of a sober work week.
Or the Sunday Caesar could also usher in a repertoire of adventure that included, among other things, beach walks and thrift shopping. White vinyl knee-high boots adorned with red vinyl maple leaves in an impossibly large size are the spoils of one such Caesar-fueled adventure.
It is perhaps a testament to my Sunday state of being that I never realized there was Clamato in a Caesar. I still can’t identify the “clam” taste.
It seems now, the Caesar is a drink I enjoy on days of leisure, when all I have to do is read a book or meet a friend, or maybe haul a guitar to a bar to play and sing later in the evening. Growing up on an island in the North Pacific with Scandinavian grandparents who fed me pickled everything probably nurtured this love of salty, seafood-y treats.
I don’t know why I love this drink so much. I only know that my spirits are inexplicably lifted if the bartender pulls off a perfect balance of flavour, topped with something unusual and pickled. Asparagus is a personal favourite of mine as far as garnishes go, but another memorable garnish came in the form of a gherkin flanked by pickled onions on either side – a wink from a horny bartender.
So I drink Caesars in my city and now instead of texting my friends to say "this place has the BEST Caesars!" I will write about my favourite cocktail on this blog.
I began drinking Caesars on Sunday afternoons, bleary eyed and deeply hungover after wild Friday and Saturday nights that involved burning my taste buds off with gallons of cheap red wine or Alberta rye and packs of cigarettes.
The salty/sweet taste of this cocktail, mildly reminiscent of sweat, seemed soothing and nourishing throughout my twenties. The spicy, seafood & tomato combination signified the end of weekend revelry and the beginning of a sober work week.
Or the Sunday Caesar could also usher in a repertoire of adventure that included, among other things, beach walks and thrift shopping. White vinyl knee-high boots adorned with red vinyl maple leaves in an impossibly large size are the spoils of one such Caesar-fueled adventure.
It is perhaps a testament to my Sunday state of being that I never realized there was Clamato in a Caesar. I still can’t identify the “clam” taste.
It seems now, the Caesar is a drink I enjoy on days of leisure, when all I have to do is read a book or meet a friend, or maybe haul a guitar to a bar to play and sing later in the evening. Growing up on an island in the North Pacific with Scandinavian grandparents who fed me pickled everything probably nurtured this love of salty, seafood-y treats.
I don’t know why I love this drink so much. I only know that my spirits are inexplicably lifted if the bartender pulls off a perfect balance of flavour, topped with something unusual and pickled. Asparagus is a personal favourite of mine as far as garnishes go, but another memorable garnish came in the form of a gherkin flanked by pickled onions on either side – a wink from a horny bartender.
So I drink Caesars in my city and now instead of texting my friends to say "this place has the BEST Caesars!" I will write about my favourite cocktail on this blog.