I'm a broke, pretentious college student, so I really don't have the capital to whisk myself away to exotic locales. The best I can do is find a high resolution stock image of a beach and palm trees, purchase the rights to use said image, go to Staples, have them print out a weather resistant, 7 by 12 foot banner of that image for the low, low price of $200 and plaster it on my wall, throw out my entire wardrobe and replace it with madras shorts and summery clothes and oversized floppy sun hats by Eileen Fisher and pose in front of it like I'm having a great time. I might even hire one or two tanned models to pose with me, alone in my house, in front of a gigantic wall print tacked on my wall as I manically grin in clothing entirely inappropriate for a New England summer.
Alternatively, I could just purchase these "modern" margarita mixers by The Modern Cocktail. They'd give me the ball-breaking satisfaction of feeling like I paid $15 for a cocktail with all of the mediocre flavor and disappointingly low level of alcohol and the bright, tropical neon colors that would provide a potable Bat signal to natives of whatever island I'm inhabiting- "Scam me! I'm a giant tourist with money!" Now that I can do this in my home, I'm away from all those fears. At $7.99 a pack, you get your choice of five different cocktails. You, however, must provide the alcohol and ice. The pack also comes with the ever-hilarious "rimming crystals," which sounds like it might be a fetish involving cat litter as well as body parts that are able to be rimmed much like a margarita glass. The rimming crystals look like tasty powdered sugar but are in fact, salt, and are overwhelming within the composition of the beverage.
However depressing it is that I'm doing this by myself, I can only imagine the sheer level of despair should this product hit a couple whose marriage is on the rocks (HA HAAAAA). Each flavor will make you feel as though the maker of this beverage wants to personally hunt you down and kill your family, or at least try to sell them store-brand soda syrup. The process of making these is fun but also lulls you into a false sense of complacency. You're making drinks! You're wild and spontaneous! Your marriage will be okay and your teenage son will stop killing the neighbor's pets!
And then you take a sip of the classic margarita, the exotic blood orange or mango margarita, or the ever-friendly watermelon or strawberry margarita, and you realize that all of these flavors are terrible and your wife is cheating on you with the disturbingly homosexual-looking man next door named Rafaelo, who regales you with tales of Bermuda in his days of youth, picking fresh pineapples and using them to make margaritas, or whatever the hell actually goes in margaritas, as you frantically sweat and blink and nervously thrust these food coloring ridden bastardizations on him as though you are bringing a gift from civilization and technology. He delicately disposes of them at night and makes sweet, sweet love to your wife.
Rafaelo aside, these are not worth your $8, which in fact, may be better off allocated to that $15 cocktail. At least the bartenders know what they're doing. Unless you're poorer than I and even more pretentious and somehow equate faux mixology and the lingering taste of Tums and cough syrup in your mouth with wealth, polo, and the elite class, these will not satisfy the collegiate cocktail connoisseurs of the country. Cunt. Cabbage. Can't commence creating cocktails. Crap.
Labels: 3, beverage, drink