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"My Cold Beer" for a Long, Hot Summer

"My Cold Beer" for a Long, Hot Summer

Toby Cecchini has discovered that it's hot in New York in the summer. 

Stop the presses! 

Writing last week in the New York Times, he weighed in on the heat-soothing aspects of the chelada and michelada, beer-based Mexican cocktails that include, in varying number and proportion, tomato juice, clamato juice, lime juice, Tabasco, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, Maggi seasoning, chili powder, salt, and ice. 

Now, since I'd heard of cheladas but never actually drunk one and since those of us in South Florida regularly deal with the kind of heat and humidity that would send your average tough-guy New Yorker crying for his mommy, I figured now was as good a time as any to give one a try.

Like so many things gustatory, the history of the chelada/michelada

(which roughly translates as "my cold beer") is about as murky as the

drink itself. The best I could come up with is that it originated in

Mexico in the 1940s and, though periodically flogged by glossy,

four-color gringo food magazines, has pretty much remained a niche

product in the Latin market. It's got to be a decent-sized niche,

however, as both Anheuser-Busch and Miller peddle pre-made cheladas,

available at such giantsupermegamarkets as Publix. 

As for the "recipe," there isn't one. Or there are a thousand. Take your

pick. Basically, though, a chelada is beer (light or dark) with lime

juice, ice and in a glass with a salted rim. A michelada ups the ante

with tomato or clamato juice and any or all of the other seasonings,

sometimes mixing salt and chili powder to dust the glass' rim. 

Sacrificing my gastrointestinal tract on behalf of you, dear readers,

I sampled the Bud concoction (with clamato, lime, and salt) and created a

michelada of my own, drawing from a dozen or so different sources.  

The Bud chelada (that's what they call it, even with the clamato), was

an odd one, like a fizzy, watery bloody mary with enough salt to send

your blood pressure racing toward Pluto. Thankfully, it didn't taste

like clams, but it didn't taste like anything you'd want to suck down at

your next barbecue either. 

My own michelada I liked even less, the combination of beer (lager) with

tomato and lime juices, hot sauce, salt, and Maggi (which tastes like a

cross between soy sauce and demiglace) calling to mind the unnatural

mating of a bloody mary with a beef taco. It's gotta be an acquired

taste. 

My advice: Drink a beer, drink a bloody, drink a nice glass of chilled

rosé, and save the cheladas for New Yorkers who miss their mommies.


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