Last night was special for me. A milestone moment in my slow descent into functional alcoholism. It was the first time I have ever had Goldschlager. Yeah, I know. I know. But, look, I hadn't even heard of Goldschlager until I saw Superbad, which you should go and see before you read the rest of this blog entry, if you haven't already. Maybe if I'd have gone to a drinking college instead of a dope-smoking university, I dunno.
I am told that Goldschlager is a college girlie-type liquor, frequently drunk out of test tubes by people in tube tops. I look forward to bucking that stereotype, as Goldschlager is soon going to become a post-college girlie-type liquor, frequently drunk out of a commemorative Dallas Stars cup by this girl, in her pajamas on week nights. It's important that I tell you this, because I discovered Goldschlager at a party during which I was supposed to be discovering Snow Queen Vodka at Kenichi in Victory Park.
As you know, Victory Park is a terrible, soulless conglomeration of over-hyped, overpriced tomfoolery. But I will go there for free booze. That's the kind of sacrifice I'm willing to make as a journalist. So I rounded up my man 'o the hour, and we put on our fancy clothes. Inside Kenichi, we made for the upstairs bar, where snazzily dressed ladies stood around flirting with what I suspect were several current and former members of the Dallas Cowboys defensive line. The bartender informed us that we could have any vodka drink we liked, not just the fancy cocktails suggested by Snow Queen. That's where the trouble began.
"We'll just get six shots and one of those cardboard carriers like they have at football games," my man o' the hour joked. Tempting, but I opted for the Snow Queen Spice-tini (vodka, Goldschlager, kitten tears). And my love for Goldschlager was born, as I realized so late in life that someone managed to make Big Red gum in liquor form.
I was halfway through my second Spice-tini when we were spotted by the Snow Queen publicist, a pretty brunette from Miami who probably had to bring a whole other bag in which to pack her cleavage. She sat down with a big stack of press kits and gushed, "Dallas is faaaabulous! Everything is so shiny and new!"
I told her we had some older, historic parts of town several blocks east. She crinkled up her nose, shook her head and scowled. If she had pointed her finger in her open mouth and said, "Gag me with a spoon!" I would not have been surprised. Soon, we were introduced to Roland, the man behind Snow Queen. Portly and jovial, Roland sweetly caressed us with his English accent, extolling the virtues of Snow Queen.
"It's organic," he said, and then launched into a story about how Princes Harry and William have been seen drinking Snow Queen. "We are the vodka to drink. If you are drinking Grey Goose, psh."
But I was hung up on the organic bit. What a thoughtful booze producer Roland was, caring about people and the environment and stuff! Or not. It's not so much that Snow Queen cares about making pesticide-free vodka, it's just that Snow Queen makes the wheat-based vodka in Kazakhstan, where the people are just too poor to be able to afford pesticides to put on the wheat.
"They don't have the money for all that," Roland explained. Bam -- organic vodka. Another Spice-tini later (all time after working hours -- and some time during working hours -- should be measured in drinks), a buffet appeared, and we scarfed down roasted veggies, tuna, and salmon while Roland flitted about the room
I know a good Texas girl is supposed to dance with the one what brung'er, but while Snow Queen was rather smooth, Goldschlager stole my heart. It really had a bizarre effect on me: By the time we poured ourselves out of the door, I was actually having a lovely time in Victory Park. I can't wait to see what the stuff does for my opinion of my living room. --Andrea Grimes
