The Worm and I

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am craving tequila lately. More specifically, I’m craving margaritas.

I was in San Diego last week, at this thumping roof-top bar, and I swear I could have put down 10 or more without a problem.

It’s an on-the-rocks situation, with loads of salt on the rim. It’s the bite of the salt swimming with the sour and sweet that gets me. The tequila, if it is the right tequila, adds just a hint of smokiness that binds it all together. And if there’s a basket of chips and some freshly smashed guacamole nearby? Forget about it.

But my life is too chaotic, and I’m not a lush, so I have to manage my maragarita consumption. When? Tonight I’m off to the Restaurant Week kick-off and then TWINS! so it’s a beer story I’m telling tonight. I’ve got Easter prep and meetings all week, going out for a girls’ brunch early Saturday and hosting in a fancy dinner party late Saturday, followed by bunny merriment and mixed relatives for brunch at my house Sunday.

Maybe that’s why I’m craving margaritas.

None-the-less, I think I’ve found a few hours on Thursday night that I can sneak out to Bar Abilene with a buddy and drive through a part of their very seductive list. They’re nicely made, never over or under boozy, always perfectly balanced. And then there’s the guac …