Remember the first time you herfed from booze? Here's how it probably went: You invaded your folks' liquor cabinet at age thirteen, mixed a little bit of everything -- whiskey, vermouth, gin, schnapps, a veritable who's-who of Johnnies, Jacks and Ezras, whatever -- into a recycled 44-ounce Super Big Gulp cup and sucked it down through a twisty straw before a coed slumber party. You woke up the next morning with genitalia etched on your belly button in permanent marker, not remembering the prior night's debauchery.
Oh wait, that was every weekend in college -- but you get the point. All the cosmopolitans and Buttery Nipples in the world won't erase the sweet sensation of the pungent potion and its ensuing purge. The folks at Frederick's Music Lounge haven't forgotten what this rite of alcoholic passage feels like. In fact, they honor it with the inclusion of the infamous Pabst Smir in their Rolodex of in-house concoctions. As tasty Trisha, Fred's lovely barminatrix, explains, this ain't what they taught her at bartending school.
To wit, the Pabst Smir's ingredients/instructions, as transcribed from Trisha's file: Fill glass one-third full of ice, then smear inside of glass with jalapeo jelly (or orange marmalade). Pour in a half-shot of Smirnoff vodka and four ounces of grapefruit juice, then fill glass with Pabst beer and add a dash each of table salt and celery salt, plus three drops grenadine. Garnish with lime pulp and stir. Serve remainder of beer to nearest customer or drink it yourself.
Sounds raunchy enough, but will it make you puke? Only if you're a total pussy. The net result plays like a dirty greyhound, with the salts barely registering as the grapefruit dominates the swill. In fact, it's worth ordering over and over again, if only for the sheer economy: Unless Trisha thinks you're a complete shit-licker, you'll be the lucky recipient of the remaining eight ounces of PBR. At $4, that's bang for the buck, son.