So in Chicago’s Boystown—and all you Chicago Tumblr gay folk can back me up on this—there’s this place called Roscoe’s, and by no means is it my favorite bar on the block because the crowd is hit-or-miss and there are many more boys in baseball caps at Sidetrack across the street or at Scarlett a few doors down. But anyway, Roscoe’s has this death drink, this $15 pitcher of pink lemonade that I’m pretty sure is 90% Everclear with pink lemonade Kool-Aid mix. And since moving to LA I’ve craved it as much as a Chicago-style hot dog or Lou Malnati’s pizza or the cheesecake from my favorite bakery.
I don’t drink that much any more, but this magical concoction will leave your ass on the ground after two cups. Quickest, easiest, cheapest way to get drunk, even if the hangover the next day requires a dozen or so of McD’s greasiest hash browns, and a trip to the dentist.
A lot of bad things have happened because of that liquid X. Which means I’ve made out with a lot of people under its influence, or tried to, leaving a stench of regret that takes days to scrub off.
But it’s so good. They put a handful of cherries in it and give you a stack of plastic cups to distribute the nectar evenly amongst your party. I’m going back to Chicago in a few days and will probably celebrate Black Friday with a pitcher of Roscoe’s pink lemonade. If you’re ever in the area, try it (bring a babysitter). Or swing by and I’ll give you some of mine and then OK we may or may not make out.