After work, strolling down Seventh Avenue in Ybor City looking for kicks, I spotted a sign outside Carmine's advertising "fresh mojitos." Having never had a fresh mojito — except for the disappointing raspberry version at Fly — I decided it was time to try one.
Now, thanks to this deceptively strong cocktail with its rich history of manliness (Ernest Hemingway drank 'em), the venerable Carmine's might just be my new preferred destination for cocktail hour.
A well-made cocktail is a staple of good living. Cold beer is great between at-bats during a game of slow-pitch softball or when devouring tacos or burritos or any other dishes from Mexico. And we all know the conventional wine wisdom: Red wine is what you drink with steak or a wheel of cheese, white wine complements seafood and doesn't make your teeth purple. I readily consume both beer and wine (especially white), but when it is time to decompress after an especially long, wacky day at the office that may or may not include a Wiffle Ball battle during recess, I prefer the hard stuff. After all, cocktails reportedly date back to the Babylonians, which is how that whole Tower of Babel thing started, I think.
A superb cocktail can put a worried mind at ease. It can make a cramped apartment with a loud AC wall unit feel like a palace, or a birthday party for a 2-year-old nephew tolerable. It also improves a person's physical and psychological well-being — at least temporarily.
My thirst was mighty when I walked into Carmine's. The lazy afternoon sun eased in through the front window as I sat at my stool waiting for my drink. A kid with short dark hair, goatee stubble and silver hoops in both ears took my order and then walked off into the shadows. I say shadows, because I wasn't wearing my glasses and couldn't see more than 10 feet in front of me.
"Where's my damn drink?" I wanted to shout. It was taking longer than I expected, making me a bit grouchy. The only other person at the bar was a heavy-set black man wearing a mesh ballcap that read "Jesus Saves." He had no drink in front of him and was waiting for a mammoth take-out order of pressed Cuban sandwiches. Shortly after his food came, my drink arrived.
The clear liquid was served over ice, garnished with fresh lime wedges and crushed mint leaves. It was delicious. I drank and thought about talking bullfighting with Papa Hemingway over mojitos in Key West, back before the old man moved to Idaho and had that little gun-cleaning mishap.
I finished my first drink way too fast and was probably already slightly buzzed. I got off my stool and walked to the other end of the bar where the dude with the goatee stood. His name was Frank Costelli.
"That's a helluva drink you just made me," I blabbered. "Excellent. How 'bout another?"
And this time I watched him grab fresh mint leaves and crush them with mortar and pestle. He loaded a glass with ice cubes, then clear Ronrico rum (I had no need or desire to upgrade — the first one tasted quite fine). Next came powdered sugar and then a squirt of soda water followed by an ample amount of mint and the lime wedges. "I crush a lot of mints here," Castelli said. "A little of everybody orders them — everyone from old men to college kids."
Carmine's "handmade Mojitos" are $5. Try one. Maybe two. I drank two before my buddy arrived, but he wasn't feeling the mojito so we relocated to a bar nearby. Because he's a fool.
Carmine's, 1802 E. Seventh Ave., Ybor City, 813-248-3834.
This article appears in Mar 28 – Apr 3, 2007.
