I serve up an explosive, visual 190-proof margarita (Everclear,
not tequila) that is excessive and ambitious. It is a hedonistic long
pour that might splash everywhere. (You’re in trouble if you have a
paper cut.) The goal is a reaction with every sip from the fishbowlsized
glass.

When the blender stops, there will be bits and pieces strewn all
over the place. It is a battle of epic proportions with a multipronged
attack and a slight tickle.

This cocktail is extremely potent, because many of its constituents
contrast. They are so wrong together that they start to seem right,
combining to create a hostile and humorous expression. It is like
laughing while taking a cold shower. There are no baby sips. You
gulp it down and brace yourself for the brain-freeze.

I came to this concoction scuffling through the liquor cabinets of
intuition and art history. You must know how to pick both of these
locks. Otherwise, it’s a trip to the lame-ass kitchen. A real walk
of shame.

Featured on the NAP/Blog:
April 15, 2014