Bite Me: Beverage of the Future

Boredom. Strange as it may seem, many cruisers are often beset by boredom. This can happen anywhere, whether on a long crossing, at a dull anchorage, or even trapped in a Custom Office line. Fortunately, a great number of cruisers have found alcohol a brilliant remedy for boredom. Yes, alcohol can give any situation an interesting air of unpredictability. Depending on quantities consumed, alcohol has the capability to make mundane activities like standing, walking and speaking formidable challenges, requiring every functioning synapse available to successfully accomplish. There are many levels of alcohol consumption that everyone should be aware. It is all too easy, in the course of, say, a cruiser’s party, to go from “pleasantly buzzed” to “I have exceedingly flammable urine – luckily most of it is in my pants” in an extremely short time. Moderation, or at least a relatively slow progress from one stage to the next, is essential. Liver transplants are expensive everywhere. A good litmus test to see how much you have imbibed is to let yourself be bitten by a mosquito. This is not a difficult thing to do in most cruising countries; mosquitoes having something like 10 times the population of the People’s Republic of China in a single cubic meter of airspace. Observe the mosquito after it has bitten you. Be wary of breathing on the mosquito, as it’s difficult to perform a rigorous experiment with wilting or stone dead test subjects. Keen observers can see just how much blood alcohol the victim contains by the mosquito’s behavior, i.e. •Mosquito flies away unscathed – you’re doing fine, have another round. •Mosquito explodes – you probably had a muscle flexed after entry; try again. •Mosquito flies into ground, and/or becomes unconscious – time to taper. •Mosquito bursts into flame – go home before you meet a similar fate.

Unfortunately, such rigorous drinking, with little regard for beverage menu variation, can also lead to boredom. Therefore resourceful cruisers must be ever vigilant in the quest for new and interesting drink combinations. Circumdecision, cruising the West Coast of Mexico, became a stalwart envelope-pusher in the quest for interesting drinks. The cruiser’s Mexico has two main indigenous and ubiquitous types of alcohol: beer and tequila. Naturally, we aboard Circumdecision often neglected beer (preferring it for breakfast only) in favor of tequila. Margaritas are wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but are far too elaborate to make once the sun is substantially over the yardarm. But we sought something more, something that could be made with simple ingredients and little to no hand-eye coordination. During her trip northward, Circumdecision visited Tenacatita, and was there long enough to attend the compulsory Friday Night Raft Up in the lagoon. A Raft Up is like a mixer for yacht people, except it’s held in the general anchorage area where all of the yachts are, there’s no dress code, and instead of walking around chatting, everyone is tied together in small inflatable rafts. Come to think of it, it’s really nothing like a mixer at all, more like a potluck where you have to nudge about 16 tons of inflated rubber out of the way if you wanted to talk to someone outside of your immediate vicinity. There is also the problem of being stranded with whatever food items you or your adjacent neighbors have scrounged up, so you could conceivably eat a dinner consisting solely of popcorn and guacamole. Yes, I don’t think I could have picked a more inappropriate comparison. Choosing where to raft up can also be a challenge. Everyone seems to be constantly waving you over. This is not because they are interested in your company. This is a direct correlation to the amount of mosquitoes occupying the air above the Raft Uppers. Flailing limbs belie invitations, when in fact the waver is just attempting to staunch the loss of blood by swatting at airborne vampires. Exposed skin becomes slapped with such increasing intensity that the entire anchorage becomes filled with a continuous state of ambient applause.

Bereft of any real food ingredients to bring to this potluck-type gathering, we settled instead on bringing a gigantor bottle of tequila. We had yet to set out, however, when we noticed we were lacking the basic ingredients that make low-grade tequila remotely palatable: namely the infamous salt and lime. Captain Brett rummaged around the storage bins and came up with a can of chipotle adobados – a container of smoked, marinated chiles. Primary functions of chipotles include soup recipes, marinades, and the defilement of hapless gringos. Experimentation commenced, and we arrived at the Raft Up inebriated to the “I can’t feel my legs” but before the “Able to stun an ox at 10 paces” stage. Roaring up to the forty-odd dinghies from the numerous yachts in the anchorage (I might have been seeing double at this point), we managed to avoid serious injury, at least until the drinking commenced in earnest. The organizers of the Raft Up feel that tying one’s dinghy up to a bunch of others and bobbing around the lagoon is a great way to meet other cruisers and make new friends. They hadn’t figured us into the equation. We came blasting up with an enormous bright red 14 foot dingy, christened the “Stiff Red Wahoo,” replete with wheel console, 30 hp outboard motor, and Dudley the agitated bulldog of Circumdecision barking from the bow. The initial recipient of the drink combination looked at us with wild, rolling eyes. “Can I just drink the tequila alone?” He said nervously, hoping for support from his fellow raft-uppers. “NO!” We cried in unison. The lucky individual, with shaking hands, tilted back the tequila shot glass and raised the dripping chipotle to his quivering lips. He consumed it in one great inhalation. A hush fell over the crowd. “He’s still alive!” Cried an onlooker. The tester resigned himself to a pensive look: he had just performed a cruiser’s right of passage. “What’s this called?” Another asked, after trying the combination. “BITE ME.” We shouted. Overcoming initial shock at a would-be insult, it dawned on the questioner that this was the name aptly bestowed upon a previously unexplored combination. Festivities continued until we were all out of both tequila and chipotles. The air was filled with the smell of flaming mosquitoes, and many of their kind lay stunned in the bottoms of dinghies, legs clawing feebly at the air. Now, despite the notoriety of the beverage in Mexico, until it gains in popularity, I implore you not to ask for it by name in a bar, as this leads to uncomfortable situations: Bartender: “What can I get you?” You: “Bite me.” Bouncer (hands secured around your throat): “You’re outta here, buddy.” Instead, tell the bartender how the drink is constructed, then broach the subject of its title. Above all, have fun with exotic drink combinations, and when experimenting, make sure not to pee around sparks or open flame.

Originally Published in Latitudes & Attitudes Magazine, March 2005