I was reading at a charity gala when I was a young writer. They had an open bar, and as a relatively new drinker, I went to my staple—the vodka coke. My friend that I had brought, a much classier drinker, saw my drink—magenta straw and all—and asked if I’d left my dress at home.
Now, regardless of the sexist language, I became fixated with the idea of how classless I was. Keep in mind that I was only two years removed from living in a trailer park—I had even helped remove my neighbours drying machine for a six-pack of black label. So, I suppose, I had a bit of complex that someday someone might expose my social stature. Worst of all, I was pretty sure that someone would be me.
I set about finding my drink. A classy drink. My parameters were:
- The drink must precede or follow dinner (while I have had many adventures drinking before 9:00 am, I would never encourage them).
- The drink should discourage you from drinking quickly. One must always have a drink in their hand, but they should never appear drunk.
What follows is a listing of my findings.
The drink should never be sweet. This is problematic as I grew up hating the taste of alcohol. And, if you hate the taste of alcohol, you make every effort to disguise its taste. This prevented me from drinking any alcohol “straight up.” So, while I certainly recognized that it is classy to have a scotch, whisky, or bourbon, I really couldn’t enjoy them. However, I enjoyed tequila straight up, but this often lead to drunkenness, as well as buffoonery behaviour.
Like posing in the sepia moonlight.
The majority of the drink should be spirits. While this seems obvious, not many drinks made in a bar are mostly alcohol. Indeed, drinks have gone the way of the Canadian plate of nachos—they are loaded with the cheapest ingredient which overpowers the small amount of quality ingredients. Thus, a drink that is one parts Gray Goose and four parts cranberry cocktail, is never going to create transcendence. Also, it should look like it is composed mostly of spirits. That is, if it is electric blue, it is not classy.
After thorough research, I finally came upon a drink I could get behind.
I even got to try it out on another reading. This time, my friend, a much classier drinker, nodded his head and said, now that’s a man’s drink.
Some people never grow up.