Tabasco not pictured.
This will probably hit anyone above, say, 34 degrees latitude pretty hard, but for me it's time for summer drinks.
I've relocated to Los Angeles - in November, actually - and while the locals still treat the "winter" here as if it requires scarves and hats, the fact remains today was fully sunny and 69 degrees F. Meaning: I want a warm-weather drink.
Now, this is Embury. We've shown you how to muddle cherries into honey with chamomile tea and fresh-squeezed lemon juice; we've shown you how to blend cilantro, mint, jalapeno, and pineapple juice for a shot to follow good anejo tequila - I get that we're all about the effort that goes into a superlative drink.
But sometimes, it's much, much simpler.
As in the case with a Chelada.
Simply put, a Chelada is a Mexican beer with some local spices and citrus. I'm all for exploring the provenance of this drink, except that I want to make one now, and I want it to taste good - regardless of authenticity.
So, going on the above definition, a Chelada is like a Mexican Bloody Mary that isn't a Bloody Maria. No tequila. I've researched many an article that says a chelada should consist of a regional beer mixed with local peppers, tomatoes, salt, and, weirdly, Worcetershire sauce.
Here's my take: Do you have light beer left over from your party last weekend, as I do? Is some of it Corona, or Pacifico? Can you squeeze the juice of two limes into a large glass, add a shot or two of Tabasco, add ice, then beer, and stir it all together?
If the answer to all of these questions was "yes," you're drinking a very basic form of Chelada. A basic, tasty form that transforms cheap or flavorless beer into something divine - in short, you're drinking a beer cocktail.
Enjoy. J.C.
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