A rarity in Florida, cool breeze, crisp clear skies and not a drop of humidity, all in August no less. I found myself venturing to the city of Lakeland to meet my twin sister Liz for dinner and drinks. This had now become our bi-monthly custom since I had returned to the south. Neither of us lived remotely close to the land locked city of our rendezvous, but it just so happened to be an hour drive for each of us, making it a perfect location.
Now if you live in central Florida you may know of the city called Lakeland. You may even have ideas of what it is like. A remote town sparsely populated with more cattle and abandoned trucks than human residents. This beautiful hick perception is in fact false. Sure, it is very much farm country, but smack dab in the middle is historic downtown Lakeland. Tightly wedged streets bulging with blocks of brick buildings that look like they more belong in a breezy New England town then they do in the humid swamp infested state of Florida. Quaint bars, record stores, a-typical law firms and bank businesses, small diners, and shady parks dot the city like spots on a Dalmatian. And at one of these diners, Harry’s Cajun Diner, is where Liz and I had scheduled to meet.
In our normal twin fashion we arrived at the same time, parked very near to one another and exited our cars at the exact same time. And being of the same like mind we gave each other the once over realizing we were an almost mirror image of the other. Both of us were clad in dark denim jeans, solid burgundy shirts and low top vans. Using the same tone and inflection in unison we proclaimed “How does this always happen? Worst and best twins ever!” This in turn made us giggle as we embraced. Sibling to sibling we strolled towards our destination. “First things first, our priority is drinks!” Liz stated. Since our wonder twin-esque powers allowed Liz and I share thoughts and feelings, it was impossible for me to disagree. Hand in hand we walked into the pungent spicy smell of cumin, pepper and seafood that wafted from the kitchen to every corner of the restaurant. This overwhelming sensory destruction made the outside patio to be a perfect place to retire and play catch up over cocktails.
We seated ourselves and began to peruse the drink menu. Fate must have intervened that evening for my eyes had barley settled upon the page when something jumped off the menu and into my soul. A Mojito Martini, what on earth could this be? I had always held a fondness for the Cuban born beverage and martinis were a close second. I was perplexed and intrigued by the lack of a description for the drink, what on Earth could it be? A mojito made with vodka or gin? A martini made with mint and rum? Obsessing over these thoughts I had yet to notice Liz ordering from our waiter then giving me the “are you ready” look. Startled I looked up at our waiter and smiled, “sorry I was lost in my thoughts. I didn’t catch your name.” Before me stood a man who looked too well off to be in the service industry. He stated his name was Gatz and was there anything he could help me with. “I had a question about the mojito martini. What pray tell is that? It peaked my interest yet the menu isn’t very clear on what it is.” Gatz proceeded to inform me that it was a concoction of his own making. The cocktail was very similar to a mojito, but he used raw sugar instead of cane syrup and it was chilled as opposed to the classic over ice, and to top it off it was served in a martini glass. The oddity of it sealed my curiosity, “I’ll take one of those my man” I proudly stated.
Liz and I caught up on the events of each other’s lives while we waited for our pre-dinner drinks. Our small talk lasted several minutes before Gatz returned with our beverages, two-hearted ale for Liz (a hometown favorite) and the coveted Mojito Martini for me. “Please let me know what you think of the cocktail” Gatz said “for I love to mix drinks yet I don’t partake in drinking.” Odd I thought what kind of man creates mind blowing ideas for drinks yet doesn’t imbibe alcohol? Now with a bit of trepidation in my heart I put the sugary rim to my lips and gingerly took my first sip. Dear Jesus, this had to be the best beverage I had ever consumed! It had a subtle sweetness to it with a light bite of lime and a perfect balance of mint most of all it still held the strong spiced rum taste that was the backbone of the concoction. That first magical sip was all it took; I was hooked like a fish on a gaff. Seeing me enthralled in my cocktail Liz had to discover what all the hubbub was about. As she took a hefty pull from the martini I witnessed the whirl of wonder and amazement dance across her emerald eyes. “This has to be the pinnacle of rum based drinks, if not all cocktails” she announced. All thoughts and ideas of a full dinner were swept away by the blissful feelings this mojito had awaked in our taste buds. The next hour was spent nibbling on complimentary bread, ideas for matching tattoos and imbibing the majestic drink know as the Mojito Martini. We left Harry’s with praises on our lips for Gatz and his superb bartending abilities. The night was slipping into the realm of lateness so we twins decided to call the evening a success and part ways, vowing to return to this luxurious hole in the wall and its magical drink specials.
On the drive back to Bradenton I realized a small portion of my soul was left behind at the bottom of that last sugary martini glass, oh woe was me. The I received a text from my good friend Jamie, asking if I was back yet and if so would I care to meet her and our mutual friend Steph at Tarpon Pointe for a few drinks. Knowing me, this was an absurd question, because of course Mike was down to share good conversations with long time friends, no matter the hour of day or night. I arrived at the tikki like bar to find my ladies enjoying an invigorating breeze curiosity of the gulf coast. Before I joined them I thought it prudent to stop at the bar and continue my affair with Cuban concoctions. The bartender introduced himself as Buchanan and resembled a man whom in his youth enjoyed the popularity of being an all-star high school football player but had now fallen on lean times. I secretly pegged him as a beer supremacist. Normally I have never been quick to judge, but with his ratty Yale polo (which I highly doubted he ever went there), grizzled features and abrasive demeanor, I distinctly felt he was one not to be trusted. So, against my better judgment I order a mojito, thinking to myself, I sure he can make a great one, this being a tropical themed bar and all. Buchanan disappeared for what seemed to me to be entirely too long for a simple and typical drink. I mean yes it wasn’t a beer, but how hard can it be to make my order? When the gruff looking so called Ivy-leaguer returned he handed me an off white beverage with a large sprig of mint jutting from the top. I gave it half a glance, paid the lug and headed towards the perch my friends had occupied.
Sitting down after brief greetings followed by quick and tender embraces I toasted my friend and took a strong pull of my so called mojito. My senses were assaulted with a strong alcohol tinge and bitter mint flavor. What on God’s green Earth was this? No tangy limes, an absence of sweet sugar, were these mint leaves even muddled? My face must have given away my shock and horror at what was happening within my mouth. Jamie gave me a perplexed look and asked me if anything was wrong. “Why yes” I rasped, “That certain deems to call this a mojito? This is nothing but blasphemy in a plastic cup!” My drink lacked pizzas, it was absent of anima, in fact this “drink” was an affront to Cubans themselves. Just as I was about to storm back up to Buchanan, toss my drink into his smug face, and denounce him for the swill slinging barbarian that he was, I remember some very wise words. In my young and vulnerable years my father took me aside and gave me a piece of advice that I had been turning over in my head ever since. He said, “Whenever you feel like chastising a bartender, just remember that not all the people in the world have enjoyed the drinks you have.”
