writing

Professor Behre

Writing 323, 10:00 am

February 12, 2019

A Young Man and a Drink

You’ve probably had a Mai Tai before. More than likely it was on a menu with lots of pictures and wacky appetizer names. You thought it’d be fun to try, after all, you were on vacation. Unfortunately, what you got, was some combination of low-quality spiced rum, orange juice from a box, and some kind of sweet and sour mix labeled as “tropical juices.” It was served in a fun glass with some partially melted ice cubes, a sickly-sweet cocktail cherry and a wilted sprig of mint. Since then (and the inevitable hangover) you’ve probably never ordered one again, sure that the experience could never be any better, tropical locale be damned. For many of my formative drinking years (realistically 18-22, legally 21-23) I believed all of that “cocktail” nonsense was just that: terrible tasting and an unappetizing experience. Young me believed that in order to be a real drinker, someone with refined taste and class, you needed to enjoy the finer alcohol without any kind of mixer or additive. I imagined myself at parties or bars, a heavy, hand-cut crystal glass in my hand, swirling a responsible pour of the magical elixirs of bourbon or scotch. If you had asked me a decade ago, whether I’d find myself regularly making and enjoying drinks with vivid colors, burning sticks of cinnamon, and garnished with beautiful flowers, I’d have turned my nose up at the very thought and your clear lack of taste when it came to booze. Today, I wish I had started a lot sooner.

I came of legal drinking age when everyone’s favorite whiskey connoisseur entered the scene: Don Draper. As a sucker for pop culture, and as a young man in search of his masculine identity, I felt a connection to the way Draper carried himself. If he ordered bourbon on the rocks, that next weekend you can be sure I was ordering bourbon on the rocks. If he enjoyed an Old Fashioned on one episode, I was at my local watering hole trying to figure out what was really that enjoyable about an Old Fashioned. Today I know better than to lionize men like Draper, but at this time in my life, I was yearning to present myself as someone more than barely passing college with a crappy retail job. Draper’s life was glamorous: he wore suits every day, had a killer apartment and job, people listened when he spoke. He was everything I was yearning to be. Our one common denominator was the way drank: bourbon or whiskey, straight or on the rocks. Looking back, it was clear that through my new found ability I was looking for something to identify with. Throughout my youth I had not experienced everything that a character like Don Draper espoused: freedom, uniqueness, charisma.

By this point, older me is shaking his head and wondering why I’d think it was ok to idolize such a toxic character. Problematic as his character was, my younger self felt a connection to someone creative and enigmatic. At the time, I didn’t realize how the “positive” traits I saw were so clearly toxic and troubling. Looking back it’s clear that my masculine identity was impressionable and it latched on to this nostalgic fictional character. I was so concerned about how I looked and acted, that I didn’t stop to consider the realities of the man I was trying to be. My personality, tied up in a glass of brown liquid, seemed at odds with the kind of person I wanted to be: kind, compassionate, empathetic. It took some time, but eventually my opinion changed. This time, I would embrace who I truly was inside and not feel like I was any less of a “man.” Of course, it all happened by way of the magic and mysticism of a Tiki drink.

Making a cocktail is hard work. Once you’ve had a good cocktail, it’s difficult to go back to your standard ‘Jack and Coke.’ There’s something about the preciseness of the ingredients and steps that makes it more akin to baking than cooking: too much of one ingredient can overpower the other, too heavy on the alcohol can result in a harsh aftertaste. It seems inconsequential, but I believe the careful and expertise with which my first Tiki drink was made at Hale Pele here in Portland resulted in completely changing my perspective. The Mai Tai represented the opposite of what I had adopted as my persona over the past several years. It was unabashedly fun, no hint of pretention and had not one, but three different kinds of garnish.

The experience of Hale Pele was entirely different as well. Combined with a relaxed atmosphere (and the occasional thunderstorm), my mood and behavior changed. No one here was attempting showmanship. I felt more at ease than I ever had before. It sounds silly, especially considering all this happening in a bar, but everyone sitting there seemed like they wanted to escape and spend an hour away from the cold Portland air. After taking a seat, I took a moment to inhale the smell of fresh lime juice and mint, burnt cinnamon floating through the air. The dim lights from the various blowfish lamps barely illuminating the space, it felt as though we were in a place that was fleeting and shouldn’t be mentioned outside the front door. As our server set the drinks down, letting the crushed ice spill all over the table, the drink made it clear that I had been suffering foolish ideas and presumptions for far too long. It was time to give in, enjoy the moment, and forget about Don Draper and his decidedly un-fun liquors.

After we climbed out the bar, the frigid air started to wake us up, and eventually I stumbled into my ride share. After getting home and feeling my eyes droop with sleep, I took the time to appreciate that a new world had opened for me. To be happy and comfortable with yourself is always a challenge. What if other people don’t like you for who you are? What if they don’t agree with how you see the world? It can be dangerous to let people in, but completely necessary to building your life. As time passed, I was adopting a more convivial and enjoyable persona, the one I knew I had been all along. What I found was that making drinks and cooking for people gave me purpose and joy. Part of this process included dismissing the notions I had about masculinity, enabling me to enjoy life more. As I sought new male role models, I looked for ones who wrote, ate, cooked, drank, and loved passionately without worrying what others might think. As time progressed and my collection of Tiki mugs and Hawaiian shirts grew, I was able to leave Don Draper’s contrived and archaic way of thinking behind. It took time, but embracing myself and my true nature made me a happier and healthier person.