In search of the best Margarita

The Margarita was invented perhaps as early as the 1930’s in Mexico; rumor has it in Tijuana—or Tasca, Juarez, Acapulco, Puebla, or La Jolla. The word Margarita means ‘Daisy’ and the drink was variously named after Marguerite Hemery (wife of the restaurant owner who invented the drink); Margarita, the fiancée of Danny Negrete’s brother (who is?); Margarita Cansino who later became actress Rita Hayworth; a showgirl named Marjorie King; or Margaret Sames, a rich young Texas socialite.

If you live in Mexico, you have no excuse for not knowing how to make the best Margarita. It has taken me 15 years to fine tune what I considered to be the best Margarita, but it is living in Mexico for the last year that has given me the access to all the right ingredients. When I was in college we would buy a can of Bacardi frozen Margarita mix, dump it and the required amount of Jose Cuervo Tradicional (always adding just a little more than the recipe required) and ice cubes into a blender, and voilá. I don’t remember going to the effort to salt the rim. Blended Margaritas—sublime perfection! In fact I remember having a meeting in the sorority house in one of the girl’s rooms and her blender sat out in plain view in front of an alumnus who felt impelled to comment that she hoped weren’t using that for blending drinks (she had to know we were). No, no, we all said, never! My, my, how my tastes have changed since then. This perfect Margarita I am talking about is not something I invented, it is uses the original 1947 recipe with certain premium ingredients. It is never blended, but always served on the rocks, the rim of the glass is rubbed with a cut limon and twisted in a dish of salt. I have always been a purist, so it is tequila, key lime juice and orange liqueur—none of these nouveau watermelon or raspberry concoctions for me.

In 1996 we discovered the tequila for making the best Margaritas. We were flying Esperando’s Cessna 205 from the US to Panama where we were living at the time. Along the way we stopped in Puerto Vallarta and stayed at the El Presidente Hotel. At the bar the bartender gave us lots of premium shots or as we call them down here, caballos, of tequila. The bartender included Cazadores Reposado among his choices and he recommended it as the best for Margaritas. After comparing it with the others we agreed with him and so that has been our choice ever since.

When I was organizing for our big party the other night, I went to look up my recipe in my little red book (which also lists all the clothes I have ever taken on any trip going back to when we were first married—anal, huh?—but that way I just pull out my list and I don’t have to rethink what kind of clothes to take again somewhere.) I knew I had it scribbled in there, but darned if I could find it. So I went to the internet and looked up ‘original 1947 Margarita’ and was rescued. At the party I got many compliments from the Mexicans on my Margaritas, the gringos not so much. That is probably because most gringos like really sweet Margaritas like I used to make with lots of Persian lime (big green limes that you find in the US grocery stores) juice and sugar. A long time ago in the USA I thought I made a terrific margarita and it was one of those kinds. Then every occasionally we would go to Juarez and the restaurant at the PRONOF Center (sadly now defunct) served an incredible Margarita, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it. About then we came across a newspaper column with what claimed to be the original recipe from Tijuana circa 1947. It was not a sugary limey Margarita but the real thing, like we would get in Juarez. I tried making it but it still didn’t taste right. What I didn’t know was that I needed lots more orange liqueur and key limes, not Persian limes. Once you cross the border into Mexico the Persian lime does not exist.

#1 The “original’ 1947 recipe I found on the internet was this:
2 jiggers tequila,
1 jigger orange liqueur
1 jigger fresh key lime juice

#2 Then I found it in my little red book, and the ‘original’ recipe was this:
2 jiggers Cazadores Reposado tequila,
1 jigger Controy (the Mexican cousin of cointreau)
1/2 jigger key lime juice.

Hmm, we had to know the truth, which was best? Last night we prepared one of both kinds of the ‘original’ recipes. The first was tarter as you would expect with the greater amount of key lime juice, and the second was a bit too strong so we poured the two together and felt it was perfect. You can't really go wrong with either one, but they are quite strong so make sure you put in lots and lots of ice—and try not to drink more than one. Its dangerous.

Margarita #1 on the left is a little more yellow colored and tarter

Margarita #2 is stronger tasting, no so tart

Getting the smarts

Carmen seems to have found her way ‘home’ finally. The last three mornings when I have gone out to feed the outside cats she has been there wanting to be fed also. She hides under the trailer so I don’t know she is there. The other two cats rush down the steps to me when I open the front door, greeting me, almost tripping me, miaowing and racing along beside me, while Carmen bounces up high like a dancer from under the trailer and in three bounding leaps ends up in the bushes behind the house where they will be fed, hidden still; its almost like having a little whirlwind riffling along beside you. She wants the food but will not come forward to eat until I have gone back inside. I guess one of these days she won’t run when she sees me looking at her from the window. If she gave it any thought to it she would realize I would have to go out the front door before I could even approach her, but I don’t think little creatures with wild hearts go to all that effort to think. It gives me peace however to see that she has come back and is settling in here as a third outside cat in my collection.

New developments on the dog front. Sweet Pickle has learned how to speak Spanish. I just realized that after living here for a year he understands the maids now perfectly. I observed this about a week ago when Favorite Maid opened the door and called to him, “Ven Dash, ven!” He didn’t really want to come, but he did, that’s what convinced me that he understood her. It wasn’t as if he was waiting or even hoping to come in. The maids asked me what Sweet Pickle looked like as a puppy. At the time he was lying under the table by my feet as I was typing on my computer. I can show you pictures of him as a puppy, I said to them. So I pulled up the photos as a slide show. Favorite Maid said in Spanish, “Oh Dash, look right here and see how cute you were as a puppy.” He leapt to his feet and ran over to the table jumping up to put his paws on it to peer at the screen. I kid you not. My jaw just sort of hung open. I do realize it was food motivated, he sniffed around a bit, but nonetheless he understood exactly what she had said.

Did you read the recent news article on the Discovery Channel that says compares a dog’s ability to understand pointing at an object to be the same as a two-year human’s? The same article pointed out that monkeys, even chimpanzees, don’t get pointing (neither do wolves). In Sweet Pickle’s case, most of the time that I point something out to him it is a food morsel on the ground, so it behoves him to see where I am pointing. Since I read that article I have been observing his ability to ‘get the point’ with great interest and marveling at the silent communication possible between us and man’s best friend, for I don’t really have to say anything except to just point.

I tried pointing out egg yolk on my plate this morning to the cat Sour Pickle, who is highly civilized for a cat, but even though it was his favorite food he just didn’t get it.

"Just look how cute you were as a puppy."

Hoarding versus Collecting

With Esperando out of town I have been watching more TV at night than I do when he is here. I don’t usually watch the Oprah Winfrey Show (which by the way is shown in the evening here, not daytime as in the US). Last night I happened upon her show about hoarders, people who can’t stop buying and collecting stuff until it piles up all around them and they have no room to live in their homes because all their floors and furniture are covered with all these things they’ve bought. I had to go look on the internet and see what they said about this and I found a website, Metropolitan Organizing LLC, that nailed it on the head with these comments:

“Collectors value and categorize their belongings, often showcasing them in display cases or archives. Hoarders often lump things together without the benefit of system or sequence.

Collectors often carry great pride in their treasures, and delight in exhibiting them to any interested party. Hoarders are often embarrassed and hide their belongings (home, car, etc.) from co-workers, neighbors and even repairmen.

Collectors house their collectibles in specific environments, and often find joy or contentment in the company of their treasure. Hoarders harbor little rhyme or reason within the muddle of their mess. Exquisite jewels might be kept with worn socks, rare books in a dirty dog kennel, or cherished photographs among old and slowly decaying magazines.”

That makes me an inverterate collector then, and still with the inordinate desire to keep buying things regardless of need. My blood is tainted. Here in Santa Rosalia I have collected several baskets full of seashells; five cats (eeeegad-really?—well 3 of them I just feed outside—they say cats are the most likely animal to be collected by hoarders); way too many clothes to fit in my drawers for the tiny space we live in; lots of textiles purchased in Loreto and Guadalajara; and the pantry full of food so we will never be caught short. I have lots of little pots of plants just hanging out waiting to be planted somewhere including four olives and a lemon tree. We have pots and pots of cactus starts that all look quite happy—but where are we going to put them all? How did I get this way? When I finally say to myself, stop this you do not need more blank, I stop buying blank, but then I find some other new thing to take the place of blank, and there I go again. After watching the TV show, this hoarding concept now nags at me. Hermana once pointed out to my niece that my home was like a store or a museum and its true, we’ve been so many places and I can’t stop wanting and buying the artesania from everywhere we go.

Esperando got home last night from being in California for a week. We are returning to Loreto today so that he can go diving tomorrow—and I will just have to do a little shopping. Gosh darn! all this introspection, but its time to aprovechar (take advantage of the situation) as we say down here.