And I’ll have a Coronarita

When things are cool pre­cisely be­cause they are so un­cool.

Esquire (Singapore) - - Man At His Best -


and fash­ion go hand in hand. The world’s style cap­i­tals are also home to some of the world’s best bars. Fine cham­pagne al­ways flows, Roberto Cavalli has his own vodka, and Chivas Re­gal has teamed up with the likes of Vivi­enne West­wood, Chris­tian Lacroix and the Sav­ile Row Be­spoke As­so­ci­a­tion to pro­duce wal­let-emp­ty­ing lim­ited-edi­tion bot­tles. Part of be­ing fash­ion­able is know­ing where—and what— to drink. As some­one who has only ever been fash­ion­able by ac­ci­dent, I’m al­ways more in­ter­ested in things that be­come trendy in spite of them­selves.

Hip­sters, while gen­er­ally as­so­ci­ated with craft beer, were re­spon­si­ble for the re­birth of an un­cool bev­er­age: Pabst Blue Rib­bon. What it lacked in flavour and over­all qual­ity, it made up for with au­then­tic­ity and hon­esty. The PBR wave is slowly sub­sid­ing now, but it has left a de­sire to seek out un­apolo­get­i­cally trashy drinks that come with­out airs. In the Tex-Mex and all-Amer­i­can ca­sual restau­rants of the world, I be­lieve I’ve found its spir­i­tual suc­ces­sor. Ladies and gen­tle­men, I give you the Coronarita.

Per­haps rep­re­sen­ta­tive of the vi­ral na­ture of so many things to­day, it’s hard to pin­point the ori­gin of the Coronarita. It seems to have emerged in the south­ern United States within the last decade and be­came pop­u­lar at restau­rant chains like Bubba Gump Shrimp Com­pany, Chili’s Grill & Bar and Dave & Buster’s. How it was first made is any­one’s guess, but I’d say it has its roots in the love of boil­er­mak­ers and bomb shots. That, or some­one re­alised a sim­ple le­mon wedge wasn’t enough to make a Corona drink­able and pro­ceeded to add an en­tire mar­garita to it. The com­bi­na­tion works, though—a bland mac­ro­brew and a frozen ver­sion of ar­guably the world’s most main­stream cock­tail come to­gether in a sim­ple, tasty drink that’s greater than the sum of its parts. It is one of the few drinks that makes an al-fresco ses­sion in 35°C heat seem rea­son­able.

It’s hard work stay­ing in tune with what­ever’s in vogue, and just as any high-fash­ion icon se­cretly en­joys loung­ing around half-naked while eat­ing ice cream straight from the tub, we owe it to our­selves to be sloppy once in a while. The Coronarita tells you it’s al­right. You can watch that un­for­giv­ably bad movie for the 43rd time. You can eat a burger that should come with a Min­istry of Health ad­vi­sory. You can spend too much of your time fol­low­ing the ups and downs of the lat­est celebrity Twit­ter feud. You’ll be cool an­other day. But to­day, you’re get­ting sloshed on some­thing that only ex­ists for the sake of un­in­hib­ited fun.

When it comes to our gen­er­a­tion’s con­tri­bu­tions to the pan­theon of great cocktails, a bot­tle of beer up­turned in a tequila-spiked slushie is poet­i­cally ap­pro­pri­ate. It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine the mixol­o­gists of the dis­tant fu­ture serv­ing up Coronar­i­tas with the rev­er­ence cur­rently re­served for old fash­ioneds and ne­gro­nis. “Guilty plea­sures,” they’ll say, “they never go out of style.”

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