One of my (many) weaknesses is a well crafted cocktail. I would summarise my taste in cocktails as “anything that looks like you should be it drinking half-naked in the sunshine”. Yes, I love my Mojitos, my Singapore slings, and my Gin and Tonics. I’m a sucker (although these paper straws have somewhat ruined that experience) for any cocktail which is tall, sweet, and/or refreshing. Nothing beats late afternoon in the summer, watching Wimbledon (or at least pretending to,) whilst quaffing ice-cold Pimms by the pint. But having consumed many cocktails of this sort – for market research purposes of course – I have found one of their primary ingredients to unfortunately be their primary downfall.
Of course, I’m talking about all that ice.
These are the supermodels of the drinks list, the gorgeous but empty beings of the cocktail world. They promise so much, after five sips, they’re all but finished (or three sips, if like me you’re a particularly enthusiastic sipper). It’s enraging! The ultimate pyramid scheme of cocktails, but by the time you realise, the bartender is asking you if you’d like another, and foolishly, you oblige. Four cocktails in (but really it’s ONE cocktail because everyone knows if there was no ice in the glass that cup would be less than a quarter full, the buyers remorse sets in (or perhaps you’re just pissed). A pint of beer, you hypothesise, is a pint of beer. A bottle of wine, you think to yourself, is a bottle of wine. A glass of Mojito, you lament, is about 50ml of mojito plus a bag of ice. It hardly seems fair.
I’m strongly reminded of the times when ordering Chinese takeaway as a child, my mother used to ask for “no vegetables” with her sweet and sour chicken – an idea of simple genius and shameless greed that would force the hand of the restaurant into filling the entire takeaway container with meat. As I become more and more intoxicated (I’ve moved on to Sangrias, or shall I say “scamgrias”, for you can neither eat the ice, nor reach the fruit at the bottom), I try to pluck up the courage to add a simple “no ice please” to my next drinks order. I am of course, too embarrassed to do so, so I’m writing this instead.
Ice is not an ingredient. It is an agent. You’d think that by 2020 they would have invented some way of making a drink ice cold, without compromising 70% of the space in the glass, but of course this will never happen, as implementing any such device would mean the bar would have to fill my glass properly. I order another sangria, and this one (I’m not kidding) I manage to somehow drink all in one large gulp. I catch the eye of the waiter just as I’m doing it and he surveys with abject disgust. He probably thinks this is the work of alcoholism (it isn’t, no one could become an alcoholic on these measly drinks, it would take too long.)
SG.