The best margarita I ever had was in a little Mexican restaurant in a Ramada in Farmington, New Mexico. I watched the bartender squeeze the limes, by hand.
This is the sole thing I remember about Farmington, New Mexico, which is surely an injustice to the place. But I’d been driving a long way – the distances are vast out there – and I had taken a wrong turn that cost me 90 extra miles.
That margarita went a long way toward putting things right.
If memory serves, the finest margarita in the world cost me $6.50, which is to say about about as much as the worst margarita I ever had. That one was on a cruise ship. I forget which cruise ship. And really it was two margaritas because the cheap liquor and sugary bar mix destroyed my better judgment and I stupidly had another.
I mention this because I’ve thought about that Farmington margarita, now and again. And I wonder, if I went back, could I get another?