The Middleman | ongoing

43 | lifting an eyebrow better than any certified plastic surgeon

43 | lifting an eyebrow better than any certified plastic surgeon

Song: Horns by Bryce Fox

Depicted Above: Deepika Padukone as Leia Kar

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"Are you absolutely sure I can't entice you to anything on the menu? I don't wanna brag or anything, but I have to admit... I make a pretty mean Michelada," Jeremy, the twenty-something bartender at Hotel Alastair working this Saturday night shift, toots his own horn as he leans in closer to me, committing to some elbow grease and scrubbing the surface of the marble bar counter top with his rag.

"A Michelada?" I ask, an eyebrow inching up, indicating my unfamiliarity with the drink. "Care to enlighten me with its ingredients?"

I'd picked up some drink terminology just from my seventeen years of being a competent and functioning member of society and the fact that Sabrina's dad, Mr. D, used to be a bartender back in the day who never failed to remind us of his skills at get-togethers, but I had no damned clue what exactly a Michelada entailed.

"I think of her as a raunchy Bloody Mary. She's a little too summery for autumn, but something as refreshing as a Michelada never goes out of style in my honest opinion," Jeremy  states, briefly placing his right hand over his chest and then shrugging his shoulders. "You know... some tajín, lime juice, Tapatío hot sauce, and a little Worcestershire in it does the trick. But the secret—and really my spin on it—lies in the cucumber, celery, and turbinado syrup. I hope that stays confidential, though." Jeremy winks, affirming the newly found companionship we had enjoyed in my short period of time being here.

I wrinkle my nose and shake my head at the mention of this horrible sounding concoction.

How could something good—and not to mention potable—come from such a mashup of oddball ingredients?

I doubted the whole essence of this so called Michelada was greater than the sum of its individual components.

The drink sounded nasty and nonsensical—like those unlikely couples in high school—no one had any earthly idea why the specific pairings had survived their relationship for as long as they did when they had practically nothing in common.

I suck my teeth. "You lost me at Worcestershire," I answer honestly, playing with the hem of my form-fitting skirt and slightly rotating my bar stool, situated at the far end of the counter. It's not even the sauce I find repugnant but the idea of marrying all those ingredients together.

"I think I lost you at the beginning, actually. You haven't been interested in a drink since you've been here, which is like, what, twenty minutes now?" Jeremy's tone is far from critical, and he offers up a warm, sunny smile, which makes me forget about the dim setting of the bar itself. "Maybe I should kick you out of here. No drink, no service, sound about right? You can't hog up all my time. I have high priority customers to tend to," he teases.

"Fine, fine. I guess no more backpacking Europe stories for me. Go tend to everyone else. I know I'm just your side customer," I concede, sighing and folding my arms, assessing the moderately filled bar.

The closing ceremony for the Big Little Business Expo is currently in session, and while I had dolled up for the event, I guess I wasn't as mentally prepared for it as I thought I was.