I remember the very first Margarita I ever had.
It was summer time, in Santa Monica, CA, at one of my very favorite restaurants, ever, anywhere, famous for their Mexican food, quality Tequila, and Margaritas.
It was still fairly early in the afternoon, but already the Santa Ana winds, usually a fall phenomena that brings hot dry, dusty air from the dessert and dumps it on the L. A. basin, were in force. My companions all ordered Margaritas, so I thought why not try the house Margarita; made with traditional 1800 Tequila and Cointreau, and lime. I ordered it blended with salt.
It was amazing, and the perfect companion for my meal. I became a Margarita convert.
A year or so later, a friend ordered her Margarita "on the rocks"; she said it tasted entirely different. Intrigued, I did the same. And it was entirely different; I could taste the subtle effect of the Cointreau, for one thing. Over the years, I tried variants of the traditional Margarita, using various qualities of Tequila, and alternating between Triple Sec, Cointreau, and Grand Marnier.
I discovered the hideously ugly dark underbelly of the Margarita trade: boxed Margaritas, a beverage and concept so vile that I shudder even as I type. But later, at a small Mexican restaurant just outside SeaTac, I discovered that there are even worse things; the resevoir Margarita. It wasn't until I'd ordered, and received, a glass of what looked like Gatorade on ice, with a salt crust, that I realized that the mysterious green bubbling cooler by the cash register was the source of my Margarita. I tasted it, and wished that it had been Gatorade; instead, it was vaguely like watery lime jello with Ethanol.
There are a number of ways to make a good, traditional Margarita. I've found I prefer a mid-range or higher quality Tequila, (100% agave), and either Cointreau or Grand Marnier, fresh lime juice, on the rocks, with salt.
Margaritas are inextricably tied to summer for me, now; and I'm looking forward to June.