Once upon a time, a poor man needed a drink. His
stocks were down, his job was disappointing, and his girlfriend Mary listened
to Nickelback. It was 10am—so bars, and pants, were out of the question. He
cracked open his emergency vodka, then scoured his fridge for some mixers.
Realizing he spent all his grocery money on the vodka—priorities, people—he
took out the one lone bottle he did have: ketchup. Desperate and sober, he
squirted the ketchup in the vodka. It tasted like expired soup, but anything is
better than Nickelback, right? He chugged his concoction every morning until he
got so permanently drunk that he faked a British accent for the rest of his sad
life. Bloody stocks. Bloody job. Bloody Mary.
This is how the Bloody Mary was born.
Okay, so this is not at all how the Bloody Mary was born, but I really can’t think of any other reason that someone would willingly mix vodka and tomato juice except when faced with the deadly combination of desperation and Nickelback. A vodka ketchup by any other name is just as gross, so why is it on every single brunch menu in America?
I met up with one of my closest friends over
brunch last weekend. She was gabbing all about her new boyfriend when I
interrupted her to introduce her to my new boyfriend—and by boyfriend I mean
this place’s menu because I have never felt a more true, intimate connection
than with this list of egg sandwiches. My god, it was beautiful. The budding
romance was abruptly cut short when the waitress showed up for our drink
orders. My friend ordered a Bloody Mary, and out of sudden heartbreak and sheer
panic, so did I.
The waitress apparently dropped our glasses in
dirt before pouring our drinks, or at least that’s what the salt and pepper on
the rim looked like. There was a lemon for garnish, and I don’t know if you
guys also had little cousins that pulled pranks at family barbecues like
pouring lemonade in the ketchup bottle, but trust me- this was not a
combination I ever wanted to revisit. I reluctantly took a sip, and for a
split-second, I appreciated it. It’s an odd, savory drink that’s supposed to
taste somewhat like soup to make you feel Mmm Mmm Good after a night of Mmm Mmm
Bad decisions. Right as the hunger and vodka started to work their evil Snape
magic on my brain, our food arrived.
One bite into my croque-monsieur, and I gained
clarity. The grilled ham, the Swiss cheese, the poached egg. I saw the light. I
found salvation. I was immersed in the holy trinity of brunch. However, my
heavenly breakfast turned my drink into hell. The sandwich’s deep, smoky,
satisfying flavors turned the heartiness of the drink into a savory overload. I
felt heavy, slow, and in need of something light to balance me out. I ordered a
Bud Light, mainly to keep my wallet happy—we’d been fighting ever since I
ordered a French delicacy for breakfast and a nauseatingly expensive cocktail
that I barely touched. As soon as the golden nectar slid down my throat, I felt
complete. The light crispness perfectly complemented the warm depth of the
croque-monsieur. The sandwich saved my soul, but the beer brought me back down
to earth.
The poorest decisions I have ever made have been
direct results of either impressing my friends, recent heartbreak, or extreme
hunger. Ordering a vodka ketchup at brunch last weekend involved all three. If
I’ve learned one lesson in this life, it’s to not order the drink that’ll get
more likes on Instagram—or to treat people with respect, whatever. But really,
beer may not be as hot or trendy as a Bloody Mary, but beer will always be
there for you, even after the looks start to fade—and isn’t that the one you’d
rather wake up next to?