You are what you drink

Last week's ladies' edition of "You are what you drink" prompted some interesting responses. The first came from a woman we'll call Ms. Appletini. She called me "a sterling example of tolerance."

I think she was being ironic.

Ms. Appletini wrote: "How about printing a picture of yourself in your next article? So the women who dared to order those drinks … can give you a bath in all of those Michelob Lights, Kendall Jacksons and appletini's."

I must admit it warms my heart to envision Ms. Appletini toting around my picture (Look to the right), waiting for me to show my face in whatever bar she and her girlfriends frequent at happy hour.

One woman found humor and common ground in what I described as "my highly subjective list." And I take pleasure in that, too. And no, she's not a personal friend or blood relative.

Creicher wrote: "I agree, many women can't handle beer, let alone a drink like the Irish car bomb. … I just think it's funny that women will order these frilly drinks that contain zero alcohol and start getting 'flirty.' Well, to me it's obvious that they are plain old sluts in the first place. Ha ha."

For the record, at no point in last week's column did I use the word "slut." Although I did write that if the woman orders an appletini you "might have a better chance of bedding her." And I did have an editor consider removing the line, which he deemed the work of a "macho shithead." Yeah, I'm getting it from all sides, folks.

Like I promised, here's the men's edition of "You are what you drink." It, too, is highly subjective. Actually, it's almost entirely about me. I'll start with the beverage that has caused the most ridicule from friends and enemies like Ms. Appletini. She closed her diatribe with this zinger: "Do us all a favor and stay home and drink your chardonnay — and [by] the way, does it come in a box? Ewww, how uncool!!!"

Chardonnay. I like it. Drink it nightly. But my chardonnay consumption has caused me to endure much ball-busting. I'll give an example. I'm at Mad Dogs & Englishmen in South Tampa not too long ago celebrating the birthday of a co-worker. He happens to be gay, as are several of my esteemed colleagues. Most of them, the gays I work with, are accompanied that evening by their respective "life partners." Mad Dogs doesn't serve liquor, and I don't feel like getting bloated on beer. So I order a glass of chardonnay. Three sips into it, a young woman who will go unnamed eyes my beverage, grins devilishly and inquires, "So, Wade, where's your life partner?" Yeah, that's the price you pay for drinking chardonnay in public.

Jameson and soda. As regular Bar Tab readers already know, this is my beloved drink of choice. Me and my buddy Bushmills and that troublemaker Tullamore Dew had some high times, too. But Jameson has since demanded a monogamous relationship and, well, I acquiesced. It's an adult beverage for serious imbibers only. Others need not apply. If you see me out and buy me one, we will be lifelong friends.

Margaritas. They make people lose their shit. That's why I love to drink 'em in mixed company. You know that country song about tequila making her clothes fall off? Whoever wrote that song knew what he was talking about. For this one, I'll give you an example from only a few days ago. It's last Friday night, and I'm with friends and co-workers at a Mexican-themed house party. We're guzzling margaritas like we're actual Mexicans on a three-day Cinco de Mayo bender. Within an hour, four women — one of whom I've just met — and I are having an in-depth conversation about the pros and cons of a certain sex act — deemed taboo by far too many — and the veracity of "the accident." Boob pictures followed. More debauchery likely ensued, but I had started drinking around noon Friday and tapped out before witnessing and/or participating in anything seriously wicked. (Lesson? Don't start drinking at noon on Friday.)

Beer. You can tell a lot about a man by the beer he drinks. For starters, a good man is capable of alternating between a fine Tampa Bay Brewing Company draft like the unstoppable Old Elephant Foot and a yard beer such as Miller High Life. Second, if you enter a man's house and he offers you a beer, you accept, even it's Schlitz. Third, and most importantly, Heineken drinkers have deficient palates and run an extremely high risk of being pretentious assholes. The Budweiser of Europe is a ghastly brew that only through the magic of marketing became the yuppie beer of choice decades ago. Through multimillion-dollar ad campaigns, Heineken has maintained its uppity status. I loathe Heineken. But if you offer to buy me one, I'll accept. Never trust a man who refuses a free beer.

This article appears in Jul 2-8, 2008.