The Pioneer Newsletter #51

What I'm Drinking This Summer

Introduction Paragraph

I’ve never seen a child at Trader Joe’s.

I’m sure they’re in there. Somewhere. But a child would surely feel out of place at the grocery chain without family-sized portions or a family-sized parking lot. Trader Joe’s has instead built a business on shorting companionship - packaging its food for self-sufficient shoppers. It is no supermarket. There is in fact nothing super about it. It’s instead eerily specific. Portioned. Algorithmically studied. The tubs of tzatziki and buffalo chicken dip so addicting, there should be graphic European tobacco warnings on it. The asparagus cut and measured near perfectly to the dimensions of an air fryer. The frozen tikka masala just robust enough to leave room for dark chocolate peanut butter cups right after. Nothing tastes bad. Yet its selection of middling produce, spices, and sauces discourages its mid-20s sales rep customer from cooking up anything too good. For the world we’ve created, Trader Joe’s is perfection. The opportunity to buy groceries for ourselves and ourselves only. I take comfort in that. An institution that champions my inability to reach beyond the flattened world around me. This is how we are supposed to feel in our modern times. Fine. Agreeable. Sufficient. Refined to a level of sedation. And yes, I still am talking about frozen tikka masala. I wish I was brave enough for the farmers market. Where one must decide how many tomatoes they will consume in a week. Only then would I confront the true nature of my existence. Efficient yet terrified. Alone. I’ll over-index on tomatoes that indeed will go bad. Sir Trader Joseph knows this. It’s why he builds his parking lots so small. It’s why he keeps his portions singular. It’s why I’ll keep coming back and fall deeper into the cut and sliced world that binds me.

What I’m Drinking This Summer

Guys and gals. I know what you drank last summer….Contratto Negronis, Chardonnay, Montucky Cold Snacks, and a few Appletinis. How might I know this? Because it’s what you read in last year’s hit column What I’m Drinking This Summer. But I also know that we all broke from the guidelines. Charted our own consumption course off the beaten newsletter. Experimented with beverages worthy of another round. So let’s gather once again for another cocktail conversation. Another Dionysian debate. Another crossfire of cold ones. A sipper symposium that’ll take us through Labor Day. What I’m Drinking This Summer II. Bar’s open.

The Cruiser

Last summer, I went Texas Sober (domestics only). But this summer, I’m crossing the border. The northern border, that is. So when I need a cheapo five buck bottle, it’ll be a Labatt Blue. This might sound random. Even political if you’d like to take it there. But the choice is neither. I’ll instead be drinking Labatts because, dare I say…it reminds me of home. No, I’m no Canadian. But deep in the place beyond the pines, just hours south of the Great North, in a land known as Albany…Labatt reigns supreme (at Off Track Betting locations). I rarely indulged in it back in then as young squire. But now, out West, I see the Labatt taps untouched, disregarded, and pushed aside for cervezas. Not this summer, bud. I’m gonna turn some heads. Welcome the second glances. Forge a bar tab of my own. Find God up north. BECOME Big North.

So here’s to the great outdoors. I’ll see you out there with a Labatt in the coozie.

The Draft Sleeper

Mel Kiper and the draft sharps just tore me a new one after reading that last pick. A Labatt up top?? But Simmer down Mel. Hold your horses, Booger. Keep crushing SEC Tourney tape Russillo. Y’all don’t need to worry. I’ll toss in a good sleeper. It’s name is Shiner Bock. A deep first-rounder with serious upside. And don’t let its dark and stormy color profile fool you. This Texas lager goes down brilliantly on a hot summer’s day. Goes down a little mischievously in the evening as well. The Shiner isn’t always on draft but when it is, I always make sure to sip its praises. Looking for a little more Shiner as the sun shines this summer. Join me, won’t you?

The Anchor

Never loose sight of why I call this The Anchor. It’s not a drink that makes you whip out a textbook, boil homemade bitters, or make a midnight liquor store run. I respect and appreciate an inventive cocktail just as much as the next pioneer, but The Anchor truly must be an anchor. Nimble. Universal. Easily constructed and always appreciated. And as much as I’d like to fall back on the tried and true Negroni…I’ve got some leftover bourbon on the bar cart. I could simply let that hibernate until winter, but I’m feeling a little dangerous. Time to zag. Put on my leathers, get on the Indian, and take a controlled slide into the unknown. Turns out, it’s Bourbon Summer and The Presbyterian will anchor it. The cocktail is quite simple. Like a whisky ginger that graduated with a respectable 3.4 and got a job at the bank. Go equal parts bourbon and ginger ale, then finish it with three parts club soda. If you’ve got a lime wedge, that’d be pretty cool too. It’s a little sweet, a little strong, and crisp as hell. Why is this drink called The Presbyterian? No idea, but I hear John Calvin liked to get bombed out of his tree.

The Sidekick

Just because this newsletter needs variety, don’t mean I can’t keep a little Campari in the mix. Picked up a bottle from Ralphs the other evening. On sale, if you were wondering. I had a dinner party to attend that night and was looking to indulge in a little conversation grease before I kicked off the evening. Thought about a Negroni but knew…this was just a little convo grease. Nothing more. So what’s the Campari equivalent to a glass of wine? I’d say it’s a Campari soda. I use some Cherry Vanilla seltzer from the cursed Trader Joe’s. IT HIT DIFFERENT. And I knew right then and there that I’ll be calling this out from the bullpen whenever I’m lookin’ for a little low ABV this summer.

The Head Scratcher

A few months back I was looking for a soda. Perusing the cold case, waiting for a sugar drink to catch my eye. And there it was…cream soda. Hadn’t had one since I was a child. Used to suck ‘em down on Sundays with a Tombstone frozen pizza and some Eli Manning heart attack football on the tube. As it turns out, friend of the newslett Parad had also recently rediscovered the sweet treat. We got to talking and figured it was time to catch a vibe with this stuff. Before I could say the word cocktail, Parad sought out a dystopian suggestion courtesy of ChatGPT. OpenAI calls this cocktail the Vanilla Garden Gimlet. It’s 2 parts gin, half-part elderflower liqueur, half-part lime juice, and 1.5 parts cream soda. Not gonna lie, that sounds pretty scrumptious. Thanks Sam Altman. It’s no Social Network Appletini - that just might be the ultimate summer head scratcher. But I’ll be sure to break out the Vanilla Garden Gimlet at least once this summer. Here’s to the future. The robots wanna drink with us.

Conclusion Ixt

(haircut in layman’s terms)