I Just Tasted a High Crime, Not a Misdemeanor, Against Mimosas.

Bartenders! The Answer to “How to Make a Good Drink” Isn’t Always More Alcohol

An important ingredient in mixed drinks is alcohol. You aren’t going to get any argument from me. My strawberry Daiquiris have been declared some of the strongest ever. I asked if there was too much rum and was told I shouldn’t change a thing.

I haven’t made my Daiquiris in a long time. It is still over a hundred outside. Maybe a tropical drink would be just the thing this afternoon. Yum.

If the vodka makes the orange juice taste fade away completely, I’m drinking a flavored shot, not a mixed drink.

I order my Screwdrivers with two shots, not one. I want to taste the liquor. One caveat. My daughter, at some point, realized I don’t like dark alcohol.

She told a bartender to switch out the dark rum for light. My Mai Tai was supposed to have a shot of each. The drink made me very happy.

I do like alcohol, but I want to taste the mix-ins. If the strawberries are overpowered by the rum, it isn’t good. If the vodka makes the orange juice taste fade away completely, I’m drinking a flavored shot, not a mixed drink.

I don’t drink shots with my French toast. Do you? If so, you may want to look up alcoholism in the dictionary.

Okay, that was judgmental of me. I don’t care if you want a shot with your French toast. The point is that a mixed drink is not supposed to taste like a shot.

The place had the Celtic flavor right.

Yesterday my husband and I went to a cute Irish American saloon. Google suggested it for brunch. I have had drinks in another local Irish American restaurant so don’t blame the Irish part on it.

The place had the Celtic flavor right. Lots of wood and a rough stone finish on the back wall. There were photos of Irish Americans (and maybe proper Irish) people on the walls. It was a little after 11 AM and a band was playing loudly, but we could still hear each other speak.

My husband has pointed out the ancestral blood is so thin by now, I can hardly call myself Irish American.

In short, it was a perfect little place with a strong Celtic vibe. Three of my four grandparents’ ancestral lines trace back to Ireland. A long time ago. Prior to the Revolutionary War.

One of my ancestors came over as a prisoner of the King in the late 1600s. My husband has pointed out the ancestral blood is so thin by now, I can hardly call myself Irish American.

Or German American, for that matter. My maternal grandmother’s people came over from Germany in the early-1700s.

So what? We are all Irish in an American Irish saloon, right? I got a little off track there. Sorry.

I will set the scene: we were tucked into our chairs along the sidewall. Looking up, I could see a photo of President Kennedy. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring straight ahead, looking very presidential.

In retrospect, I should have asked what she thought of “The Very Best Mimosa Ever.”

We glanced at the menu. On one side there was a list of mixed drinks. The other had their brunch menu. A second menu listed an extensive offering of specialty beers.

The second drink down on the list announced itself as “The Very Best Mimosa Ever.” I told the waitress I could never resist a name like that. In retrospect, I should have asked what she thought of “The Very Best Mimosa Ever.”

My husband ordered an iced tea. Yes, we were in an Irish American bar and my husband ordered iced tea. Turned out to be a good call.

At first, I thought it was a glass of water with an orange slice.

She came back with our drinks and we ordered. The French toast on their menu sounded amazing. A drizzle of homemade cream flavored with Bailey’s drizzled on top of thick Challah French toast. I was in.

My husband ordered the Irish Omelet. We rarely order the same thing.

Once the ordering was done, I could look at my drink. It looked odd. See-through.

At first, I thought it was a glass of water with an orange slice. A very loud warning bell rang in my head.

A fancy Mimosa often has some other alcohol added.

A run-of-the-mill Mimosa is three parts Champagne to one-part orange juice. That is a good, solid drink to have at brunch with something like French Toast or waffles. A somewhat dry Champagne is best.

A fancy Mimosa often has some other alcohol added. Maybe even another juice. I had a wonderful Tropical Mimosa at a restaurant a few weeks ago, again with brunch. Pineapple juice replaced half the orange in that one. It was tasty.

After a sip of the suspicious-looking Mimosa, my eyes widened, and I placed it carefully back on the table. Snatching up the drink menu, I saw that this Mimosa had Chambord added.

The drink tasted like a little sparkling wine and a lot of Chambord. I wondered if the only juice involved was the orange slice on the rim.

I don’t like to complain about drinks to waitresses. I ordered it, I would drink it. Each sip discouraged this.

I don’t drink shots. I especially don’t drink shots in a sixteen-ounce glass with ice at 11 o’clock in the morning.

The French toast was amazing. I will recommend it to any French toast aficionado. The drink should only be recommended to someone who wants to get drunk fast. I sipped about an eighth of it and gave up.

Zero forks out of five for the abomination.

A reporter would have walked up to the bar and asked about the drink. What thinking went into calling that a Mimosa? “Shouldn’t,” the reporter would ask, “the drink be called something else? Something more accurate, so drinkers would be forewarned?”

A food critic would have written an article. The French toast would have gotten five out of five forks. Then they would have called out this crime against Mimosas. Zero forks out of five for the abomination.

I didn’t do any of these things. We paid the bill and left the unfinished drink behind. Today I ordered an iced tea with my omelet at brunch.

I imagine, if I were a beer drinker, I could have found a lovely IPA to go with French toast.

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