"I like cilantro, I don't like grass."
And so ends our foray into Daddy-O's cocktails.
|Optical Illusion Cocktail Size|
Not finding the herbacious mojito on the menu (for good reason, we later discover), Ginger, in a panic, asks the waiter if it is still available. He assures us that it is, and stupidly, we each order one.
They arrive, each a mountain of pleasing green-colored crushed ice with a sprig of cilantro on top. They are pretty enough for a picture, of which Vodka insists on taking at least seven before we taste.
|Practically a Picasso|
The herbacious mojito is a revelation: a revelation in the fact that we are apparently capable of not finishing an alcohol-based drink.
|Not a Revelation We Were Eager to Learn|
|Fields and Fields of Unending Grass|
|I'd Like to Have a Word with Freddy|
|Particularly Because the Straw Doesn't Reach the Bottom of the Glass|
|And Again, Look at the Faulty Straw Manufacturing|
"You didn't like it?" he asks Vodka. She shakes her head in disgust.
"You must not like cilantro," he continues.
"I like cilantro, I don't like grass," Vodka retorts. The waiter backs away, presumably to retrieve the lawnmower that he used to make our cocktails.
Daddy-O's Herbacious Mojito: 1 star