Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Breakfast of Champions

The Times has a weird little piece today about a guy who got the shits and managed to turn it into a horrific-sounding novel; apparently my bout of typhoid was completely wasted. But what amused me was that the author and I have almost the exact same morning routine:

In Mexico City, where I live sometimes, I have a routine. I get out of the gym at about 9:30 and walk across the park to my favorite cantina, where the waiters know to bring me a shot of Herradura blanco tequila and a Victoria beer immediately. I love tequila and I believe that Herradura blanco, fiery and peppery, those first sips going down with the combustion of a space shuttle liftoff, is the great commercial tequila. I like mezcal too. Nothing macho about it: I just like the clean cactus and earth flavors, the warm ebullient high, and that you can drink a number of shots without feeling bloated.

The difference is that I'm not real good about going to the gym.

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