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It's 1969 and Miz t. and I are on our honeymoon in Mexico City. It's our first time out of the U.S. if you don't count a military exercise I was on in Puerto Rico a few years before.
We are ninos in the woods.
Eventually we tire of cervezas and Margaritas. "You know what would be really good? A Salty Dog." Yeah
I ask the bartender for two. He shrugs. No comprendre.
I search my high school Spanish and, from the depths of my dim dusty memory, come up with "Dos perros con sal, por favor?" The bartender is laughing so hard he cannot speak for several minutes.
Eventually I am able to talk him through two large glasses of ice with grapefruit juice and a healthy shot of gin. And with an expression of "OK, I gotta see this" on his face he puts the salt shaker on the bar in front of us. They were pretty good. :toast:
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