I'd like to take a moment and raise a glass to Jeremy and Jorge (my movers), Tracy and Pam (sister and mom) for making what could have been an excruciating transfer-of-homestead exceptionally bearable. See, I just moved, after almost 7 years, from a 660 square foot apartment by myself into a 2-bedroom house with the boy. He had a few boxes and a couple of pieces of furniture he'd already moved twice in as many years. By contrast, I had lots of furniture and--get a load of this--66 boxes. How had it ever fit in that apartment? One very large closet and magic.
But whatever. My point is moving sucks. Always. And by avoiding the act by staying in one place forever, I was out of practice, emotionally unprepared and totally not skilled in packing, lifting or change. After it was all done I needed a drink. As luck would have it, and because here at the Observer our lives pattern one another's like schoolgirls' monthly cycles, two other people were moving that same week. Not only did they also need an alcoholic break, but also my extra boxes.
Originally, we planned to "celebrate" Cinco de Mayo in the way people of Heinz 57 heritage celebrate other cultures' holidays. But we couldn't get schedules hammered down and I wanted Veggie Girl to come because she fancies herself a bit of a drinker according to one of her posts, so I had to see her in action.
A group of seven of us descended upon Bolsa, choosing one of the patio's larger tables. A quick browse of the drinks menu and we found the Oak Cliff hot spot puts as much thought and seasonal ingredients into their drinks as they do their menu.
Veggie Girl Alexa was misbehavin' or, rather, ordered a Miss Behavin'--a tingly cocktail of muddled raspberries and gin topped with champagne. It tickled the nose and the palate and went well with the bruschetta app we tore to bits. Megan chose a pomegranate sangria that came with a healthy dose of chopped fresh fruit and a clean, tart wash down the throat. Not ideal for a white outfit, but damn fine any other time. Both were fantastic, but it was declared I had the "winner" with the strawberry-rhubarb mojito.
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Abused strawberries, rhubarb and basil (a twist on the traditional mint that I favored quite a bit) floated in a pebble ice and rum concoction that was refreshing, inconspicuously alcoholic and even approved by the males in the party as "really good" and "meaty" (referring, I believe, to the healthy amount of fruit and bits).
Speaking of the men who tagged along, Pete went with the Recession, which is Bolsa's take on an Old Fashioned featuring drunken (instead of maraschino) cherries and orange in it as opposed to on the rim. As the waiter said "That'll be just a minute on that recession," the table laughed and Pete found it hard to restrain himself from a subsequent dad joke...which, for the record, is not unusual. "I think recession's already started! Hey-oh!" Ba-dum-bum. We let it go. He was a fellow victim of the move. Plus, his drink was stout with a taste he described as a cross between Makers and Sunkist...so there were other factors further affecting his humor meter even later on.
The peach sangria (which our sweet waiter brought out "for us to try" but possibly because our lovely Kim didn't order a drink), won for most summery and heat-lifting. And while my straw-rhu 'jito remained the clear champ it was not necessarily the most attractive. Jesse (who ordered Lone Star, but downed the last of my drink with serious finesse) pronounced it the "least pretty," but Pete defended it with, "Sure, it's pretty...if you like terrariums." Which is funny, because I do--just never thought I'd drink one and like it as much as I did.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've unpacked all 66 of my boxes and have most of the pictures on the wall and, well, I think I need another drink.