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Pagan Pegu Blog!
It figures. The instant I decide it’s time to test drive MXMO for myself…
Look. It isn’t that I’ve had my Tiki license revoked. I just never thought to get it. I was busy. There’s only one photo that I’m aware of, where I’m even rocking the Hawaiian shirt, and that was required for the wedding party. My daily dose of Tiki comes from my neighbors’ dog, who goes by the name of…Tiki.
Good for canine entertainment, useless for beverage ideas. Then…I have a cheating bastard moment, where I think I should track down Rumdood, for some counsel. All rum, all the time. He’d know some Tiki, for sure. But look, he was righteous enough to swing by, some time ago, and taste test the Mai Tai I was intending for a new menu. Nah…can’t do it. Gotta work this out myself.
So, next up, I decide to talk to Violet. She is my hero at the cleaners, who manages to gouge all manner of food and booze splatter out of my wardrobe, and the only person I know in my immediate life, who is a native Pacific islander. She has to be able to steer me away from, “put the lime in the coconut”. No chance. She had zero boozing experience, growing up on Tonga. She did however, when she moved to Tahiti.
Ready ? She drank beer. Superb. My slamdunk of authenticity turned into a brick. “Well…is there any traditional island beverage you know of ?”, I ask.
“Yes, there is” she says. “It’s called Kava.”
Yeeaahh. A traditional island drink, that I can screw with, and present to all of you.
So I jet back to the house, fire up the computer, and search “Kava”. As I read, a headache creeps in. Great. I have some Tiki spirit, sticking his thumb in my eye, for getting way off track. I might as well be trying to pass off “Boilo”, as a Tiki drink.
Let me reload for a second. Ok, got it!
Girls in grass skirts, plumeria in their hair, guys with Flintstone feet, wearing couch cover shirts, and drinks that remove you to a place, where anyone dressed like that looks great, no matter what. No particular rules. I can do this!
I need some personal rules though, just to keep outside the lines of convention.
- No ceramic Tiki ware. Not really a rule, just couldn’t find any in a pinch, not even at Goodwill.
- No colada variant.
- No pirate crap.
- No f’n Pussers.
- No rum + blue stuff + that + rum + a float of rum.
- No repercussions for pitching a disco era Mai Tai, if the whole idea tanks.
I really have to get moving on this…I need music… and a knife…and something to Ginsu, while I’m thinking.
Perfect… the knife did the thinking for me.
Oh yeah…I’ve got it. Just push play, while I destroy, en tiki, the memory I wish I didn’t have, of the most awful cocktail I’ve ever tried…The Banshee.
In a blender, goes;
- 1/2 banana
- 1.5 oz Oronoco
- 1 oz Cruzan Aged 151
- 1 barspoon SNAP liqueur
- ¾ oz Cartron Crème de Cacao
- 2 oz FRESH pineapple juice
Blend it smooth and transfer to a shaker. Add ½ oz egg white, and dry shake the hell out of it. Add ice and shake some more, like you’re getting paid to do it. Strain it into an ice filled pint glass and serve it up, like this.
Where’s the banana liqueur? Where it will be forever, on a shelf, far out of reach, covered in age. Why? Because it doesn’t taste like…a banana. It tastes like the worst candy to ever fall into an Easter basket. I’m not drinking that, ever.
What about the hand carved Tiki , you ask? No colada variants, means no coconut. So I bashed it with a hammer and we ate… like kings. Tiki kings. Now, where did I put my couch cover?