tequila 101.

Tequila shots are complicated so I tend to follow conventions. I drink in shot glasses, with slices of citrus prepared and salt ready. I learned not to put ice, so I don’t. The instruction is simple: lick-sip-suck. Lick the salt, sip the tequila, and suck the citrus (may it be a slice of lemon or calamansi for cheap drinkers). It is believed that the salt lessens the "burn" of the tequila and the sour fruit balances and enhances the flavor. So I lick-sip-suck whenever tequila is served.

He, on the other hand, belongs to the unorthodox school of drinking. He defies conventions whenever he can. He puts on ice. He drinks in regular glasses. He drinks it straight – the Mexican treatment of tequila – without the salt and the fruit. As far as I know he’s of the same nationality – Filipino – so he should follow how Filipinos drink this alcohol. Bothered, I tried to share the dogma of the convention. Lick-sip-suck, I told him.

Lick. Step point five to one was a success. He dabbed salt on the back of his hand. But instead of licking, he picked the salt off the back of his hand and wiped the salt to his tongue, and then he drank. He didn’t get it. Failed, we tried to repeat it again. But I guess he was really turned off by the idea of the gesture. The second time he picked off the salt again. I knew it was a failure.

Sip. It came easy. It seemed that he liked the drink although he complained every time. Lick-sip-suck, I told him again. But it’s either he sipped first before the salt or picked the salt then drank. It was a failure.

Suck. At least he got this one right. He knew that in the sequence of the conventional ritual, suck comes last. And so with every failure with the first two steps he served himself the citrus. Until he got tired. He squeezed the fruit right to the tequila. My insides were screaming what the fuck. I asked him what he was doing. I was answered with an assurance. He reminded me that he knew how to sip.

He was having a hard time learning the dogma. I should know. Aside from scrambling with the sequence, he resorted to some experimental way of doing things. He filled the shot glass that I forced him to use, sprinkled a pinch of salt to the fluid, and squeezed the fruit right into it. He gave the new concoction the final touch of his brilliance – he stirred it – and then took it down straight. Once again I was reminded he knew how to sip, he knew how to drink.

I told him out loud that tequila shots are complicated and he should follow the lick-sip-suck dogma. I told him he was doing it wrong. He told me he is my father.