On the day I turned 21, I went out to dinner with the family. I ordered my first (legal) glass of wine with dinner. It was a glass of Black Opal Cab/Merlot blend. Prior to this, the only wine I had available was Boone’s Farm (if you only have two bucks, you only need two bucks).
Oh, my goodness, it was red. Gorgeous color, heady nose… how was I to know that it was swill that was only appealing by comparison to two buck chuck? It tasted like… I don’t even know. It tasted like a six dollar glass of wine (rather than a six dollar bottle of it) and went *PERFECTLY* with a medium rare steak. Perfectly.
It has since become a bottlecap (!) wine and I’ve only bought maybe a dozen bottles since due to resentment of that fact. For a while, though, Black Opal was the wine that I thought that grownups drank. I’d suggest you get a bottle for an evening when you’re with people who enjoy your company and it ain’t gonna be the first bottle you drink. It’ll make for a fine second bottle.
Your first legal drink story?
My first legal drink was Johnny Walker Black Label. Ft. Sill, where I went for Basic Training, is in Oklahoma, a dry state. On my first leave, I climbed into a cab at the gate and said “I have 100 dollars in my pocket and no intention of spending the evening in Lawton and those wretched bars where the soldiers go. Take me out somewhere the locals go, where I might actually be able to meet a girl and have a good time.”
The cab driver laughed and said “That’s a first. I know just the place. Takes about 20 minutes to get there, but it’s worth the trip.” He took me south, almost into Texas, to a big country music roadhouse. Along the way, he explained the rules of Oklahoma: you have to buy your bottle first, then bring it into the bar, where they’ll issue you a tag, and thereafter you can pour your own liquor into a glass. We stopped at a liquor store, where I bought the only liquor I could think of that might be any good.
It was around 6 PM when I walked into the nearly-empty establishment. I tipped the bartender a fin on the spot and said “I’ve come a long way from Ft. Sill to find civilized people. I don’t want any trouble, and I might need some guidance.” The bartender roared with laughter and said “Lookit what we got here!”
I’d learned to square dance in gym class, which served me reasonably well for most of that night. I learned to square dance and saw clogging for the first time, essentially jigs and reels from Scotland and Ireland. I sipped a good deal of whiskey that night and when the cab came to pick me up at midnight, I got several nice kisses from women I’d danced with.
The next morning, the guys in my platoon got up with horrible hangovers, complaining of Lawton and its shitty bars. I said “I had a great time last night, danced with a dozen girls and got kissed by two of them.” They demanded to know where I’d gone, but I wasn’t about to tell them.
Somewhere, deep in the heart of Oklahoma, is most of a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label with my tag on it. Often think of it, though these days I seldom touch spirits, being a beer man myself. To me, good whiskey is almost like drinking good perfume. Wonderful stuff.
Here’s to you, Mr. Jaybird, a hoist of my red plastic glass of Red Cedar Red Ale. C has made up a plate of delicious treats and I’m settling in for an evening of photo editing and essay writin’.
And to you! I’ve got a glass of red something or other (maybe I’ll post about it in a fortnight) but/and since I took Maribou to the airport at o-dark-thirty this morning, It wouldn’t surprise me to find myself asleep at 8ish.
I used to be able to skip a night’s sleep. Maybe I should have a “damn, I can’t do that no more” thread someday.
Blaise, wow! The perfect first legal drink story, I think.
Mine is either a complete non-event and I don’t remember it, or NC-17. Not sure which. (Ah, frosh week in Montreal.)
I don’t believe my first legal drink was noteworthy. It was probably Heineken because that’s what my parents bought since they’re slope browed trogdolytes.
My first illicit drink was more interesting. I was two years old, the plumber was over fixing something and he gave me a beer because I kept getting up in his business.
My first illicit drink was… Jack Daniels Coolers. They were new on the market. Mmmm.
Illicit first drink: I have no idea. I tended bar at my uncle’s 50th birthday and nobody batted an eye over it (I was 12).
Not that we drank socially at a young age, in my house. I remember at some point between my 12th and 15th birthday I asked Dad if I could have a beer at a family event and he said, “Sure. If you’re old enough to ask, you’re old enough to try it.”
Now, the first time I got *drunk* is a whole ‘nuther story.
I turned 21 in law school. My first legal drink of alcohol was a sickly-sweet Jose Cuervo pre-mixed margarita served up to me in a plastic cup during Criminal Law class while my professor good-natuuredly humiliated me for my youth in front of my classmates. That night, my best friend took me to a bar built out of a defunct Chinese restaraunt which has since relocated to a trendier location where we saw a really, really awesome blues band and you can still without too much difficulty find a recording of what was essentially the set we heard while pounding multiple can of Foster’s beer.
Oh, and don’t be afraid of the bottle cap wines. The technology is good and the wine is well-preserved. It’s no longer a signal of low quality or suitability for winos passed out in the street for a bottle to lack a cork.
My first legal drink was a cool, tall Budweiser at a steak house that my parents took me to. By that stage, booze was old hat for me (I was wild from about sixteen or seventeen to about nineteen or twenty or so) and I knew whatever I ordered it wasn’t going to be special, so might as well be as plain as possible. Afterwards, I met up with some friends, collected several wads of rolled-up ones, and purchased a 30-rack of Busch Light from the local packie. (I’m probably in the middle age-wise of my group of friends.) “You’re not buying for minors, are you?” the lady behind the counter asked me as I unrolled and sorted the various one-dollar bills I had received. “No, ma’am” I answered as I handed her sixteen wrinkled ones.
Shitty keg beer, at a cast party for a play I wasn’t in. I knew I’d hate it, and pretty much just drank it so that I’d have drunk something on my 21st birthday.
Oh, dear. 21 shots over the course of the evening, as per my friends’ demands. Followed by… unpleasantness.
Hmm…I turned 21 while stationed in exotic Omaha, Nebraska. A friend took me to a country bar and I was treated to a Prairie Fire, a shot combining tequila and Tabasco. I was underage for the first three years of my four-year assignment to Offutt AFB, and that last year was completely different. And a lot more fun.