Written March 8th, 2015

My margaritas are now considered balance altering. I made them for our book club meeting the night before leaving for Mexico. Claudia, who had just returned from Mexico, and would, I thought, have built up a tolerance said she couldn’t feel her lips.

I noticed my Steve had the hiccups and was a little… tilted.

Margaritas are very basic. Lime juice, tequila and an orange liqueur like triple sec, Cointreau, or in Mexico Controy, which is sold in the states as Naranja, which means orange in Spanish. The story is that Controy was used in the original margarita, and has been distilled in Mexico since 1933. It’s only been available in the states for a few years, which is why many restaurants substitute one of the other orange liqueurs. Hell, in the US many restaurants that serve “premium” margaritas list Grand Marnier in the ingredients and charge an extra $5. The orange liqueur adds sweetness as well as orange flavor, but I don’t think it’s enough. Some recipes (including my own) add sugar, without which I think the drink can be way too harsh.

Spending time in Mexico I’ve been able to perfect my recipe. So I don’t know what everybody else is doing but I keep being told my margaritas are very strong. So I tried making them smaller. Last night I did not succeed.

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We were dining in; I was braising a pork blade steak in a pot with cabbage, onions, garlic, chipotles, chorizo, chili powder and crushed red pepper. It would take a couple of hours on top of the stove, so we decided to have a cocktail and head up to the roof to listen to the live music coming from Tito’s restaurant down the street. It was an overcast night with no moon and no wind, and it was pleasant watching the folks strolling by on a Saturday night in the village. We finished our first drink, and I asked Steve if he’d like another, as I was heading down to rearrange things in the braising pot. “In 10 minutes,” he replied. Always very specific, my engineer. Well, it would take me that long to squeeze all the little limes and get the concoction mixed up anyway, so after tending to the braising pot I started in on the next round of drinks. On my way back up to the roof with them we ran into Lisa and Dave, the guests in the Casita on the same property who asked if they could see the house as they were thinking about a future rental. Our drinks were abandoned for a bit as we chatted with them and showed them around. The point is we weren’t just hanging out slamming down tequila.

They moved on to Tito’s for the Saturday night buffet, and we went back up to the roof with our second drink until dinner was ready. Our conversation was normal, I was not inebriated, nor did I think Steve was. We made our way down to dinner, which was so full of good, spicy, meaty wonderfulness that I’ll be repeating that recipe at least once more while we’re here. We heard our neighbors, Lisa and Dave return with her brother Steve, a longtime Cabo Pulmo winter resident that we wanted to meet. We walked over to ask how their dinner was, met Baja Steve and had a brief chat, when I noticed my Steve had the hiccups and was a little… tilted.

Steve and I met in 2000, and in the 15 years I’ve known him I have never seen him drunk. I, on the other hand, have had some cringe-worthy really memorable moments during that same time. I once had several sets of Mardi Gras beads and no recollection of what I did to get them. The next day I was so hung over all I wanted was a Coke, which is the only time I’ve had one in the last 35 years. Far be it from me to cast aspersions, but I thought it probably best we make our way home.

The garden path at night is lined with solar lights, and Steve always has his trusty flashlight. I’d also left the outside light of our hacienda lit, and was a very short walk on a brick path to get there. I was in the lead when suddenly I heard a crash and a rustle of bushes behind me. And, “SHIT!” Steve was off the path, lying in the bushes. I ran to him to make sure he was all right and help him up. Our neighbors yelled over to see if we needed help, and I declined it, as Steve was muttering about screwing up his glasses and muttering obscenities at the same time. I was telling him to quiet down and get into the house, and threw in, “This is gonna be in the blog.”

Any of you who know Steve will understand how mortified he was. Mortified that it happened, that there were witnesses, that he bent his glasses, and that he broke a chunk off of an Aloe Spinosissima.

All I could think was, “Oh, Honey, you’re going to feel much worse tomorrow.”

I managed to get him to bed, while the entire time he asked questions about the event. I told him if he didn’t stop asking questions I was going to knock him out with his flashlight.

I woke and went out for my walk in the morning, and when I returned Steve was outside with Karl, the caretaker, fessing up to the accident and wanting to inspect the scene of the crime for any damage he might have caused. The plant, and everything around it were given a clean bill of health. I ran into Lisa and apologized for the previous evening’s drama. Her response was something like, “Far be it from us to cast stones…”

So, tea, Excedrin, and a nap are in store for Steve today. And I’m guessing he’ll be changing to cervezas for the rest of the trip…

Deborah