Don’t Take Shots

But do enjoy these incredibly tasty, deceptively easy 50/50 sips.

Recently, a friend told me a story about traveling to Europe and finding himself in an escalating shot-buying spiral with a friendly Albanian. One round of shots begat another, as a sort of thank you for the first. The second round, however, quickly led to a third when the original shots instigator wanted to say thank you for the thank you. A fourth round appeared when another person joined the party, eager to do his part, and then a fifth when the bartender gave the group one on the house. 

This convivial back-and-forth round-buying threatened to continue all night, or perhaps until the end of linear time as we know it. There is almost certainly a multiverse where he is still trading shots with the friendly Albanian. Even in this universe, I gather that he has still not fully recovered. 

You may well have had a similar experience yourself. You arrive at a bar to meet a group of friends or acquaintances, and someone has a really great idea: Let’s all take shots! 

A few minutes later, someone returns with a tray full of tiny glasses containing — what? You’re not entirely sure? Someone said they think it’s tequila? — but it doesn’t matter because the point isn’t to enjoy what’s on the glass, it’s to down it as quickly as possible in order to “get the party started.” Everyone tilts their heads back in unison, and down the hatch they go. Someone screams “woo!” Another person makes a sort of grunting noise and says “hoo boy.” 

Despite — or perhaps because of — the fact that everyone agrees that one shot was definitely enough, this continues throughout the evening, and possibly, if there are some friendly eastern Europeans involved, well into the early morning. Every so often, someone has another great idea to keep the party going, there’s another tray with another set of tiny glasses full of mystery liquid. Another woo. Another hoo boy. 

Even after consuming many of these tiny glasses of oddly colored liquid you are still not entirely sure what, exactly, was in them. Tequila? Horsradish? Limoncello? The mezcal with the worm in it? When you ask, the bartender shrugs and mutters something like, “yeah, that’s my take on a Tallahassee Stagger,” as if you, who have never been to Tallahassee, are supposed to know what that means.

But it never matters that you don’t know what you are drinking, because the point is that it’s a social ritual, a mutual hazing exercise, an act of solidarity and stupidity. 

You awake the next morning, bleary eyed or worse, and once again you say “woo” and “hoo boy,” but for very different reasons. Taking shots was not, in fact, a really great idea. 

As you try to remember how your coffee pot works, the shots you had become regrets. Like Frank Sinatra, you had a few. 

Maybe more than a few. Especially if there were Albanians involved. 

Here is my unsolicited advice: Next time someone has a great idea to take shots — don’t.

Just don’t. 

Have a small sip if you think the mystery liquid will be interesting, but don’t spend your evening downing solidarity shooters just to go along and get along. 

You are, of course, always free to make your own decisions. And sociality is important. But one of my strongest personal drinking rules is a very simple prohibition: Don’t take shots. 

I recommend this policy for others as well. 

As with all policies there are reasonable exceptions: Has someone close to you died? Is taking this shot likely to be necessary to close a very large and life changingly lucrative business deal or career move? 

In other words: Don’t take shots unless it’s genuinely a unique occasion (not just another wedding or birthday or book club night out), or it is quite likely to be worth it. 

Because in general, the reason you shouldn’t take shots is that they simply aren’t worth it. 

Shots typically don’t taste very good, and even if somehow they do, they are designed to be swiftly swallowed that prevents them from being enjoyed as liquid concoctions. At best you get an aggressively flavorful shock to the system and a brief but forgettable — and often forgotten — moment of social bonding. At worst, you wake up and groan your way through the day. Woo!

And yet: I also believe there is a place in the world of drinking for small, intensely flavored drinks — not to shoot, but to sip, to savor, to enjoy, to appreciate. These are shot-like sips, but they are not shots to be downed. They are actually worth it. 

The secret to these small, sippable drinks? Equal parts. The 50/50 ratio, halfsies, on the one hand and on the other hand, both sides — you get the idea. 

The best entries into this category simply combine two contrasting but compatible spirits, letting them play off of each other like great on-screen duos: A well-paired 50/50 sip is the cocktail equivalent of Laurel and Hardy, Bogie and Bacall, Turner & Hooch. The pleasure comes from letting two strong-willed, highly idiosyncratic characters play off of each other and finding out how they perform as a team.

A 50/50 is an amuse bouche, a tiny taste, a boozy snack, a little treat. These curated sips make great nightcaps, when the evening is winding down and you don’t want a full-size cocktail. They also pair surprisingly well with food, especially hors d'oeuvres and desserts. 

So for this week’s newsletter, we’re going to…

• discuss what qualities one should look for when putting together a 50/50 sip

• look at three recipes for some of my favorite 50/50 sips and

• pair each one with a snack-sized food option

Just remember: These are not shots.

Please sip accordingly. 

The Eddie Murphy Factor 

A 50/50 sip is a study in contrasts. 

Like so many cocktail-making decisions, it’s a question of casting. And just as with actors sharing top billing in a movie, you typically want to find two that have contrasting-yet-complementary charisma. You’re trying to cast a sort of liquid double act — a straight man plus a larger than life comic personality, or perhaps a romantic duo that has a real spark between them. (There’s a reason we say that such rom-com combos have chemistry.)

In a movie, the juxtaposition serves two purposes. First, it creates tension and conflict that draws in viewers, as the characters’ goals and personal styles collide. Second, that conflict helps you better understand the nature of those characters. 

A movie like 48 Hours¹ works because you have a gruff straight man (Nick Nolte) paired with a larger-than-life comic personality (Eddie Murphy). The tension between them is engaging and amusing, but it’s also revealing: You get a much better sense of who they are by seeing them play off of each other. You need the Eddie Murphy factor, the intensity and what’s-gonna-happen wildness of it. But you also need Nick Nolte’s sturdy, stolid presence for Murphy to play off of. 

Conceptually, the same goes for booze.