The San Diego Zoo Margarita is a dangerous beast worthy of its own exhibit.
I’m back on the West Coast, in California, the so-called Golden State. Or, as I call it, the “other Sunshine State.”1
I once heard a joke that stepping outside into Florida humidity is like shoving your head inside of a washing machine. If that’s true, then I think California is the dryer.
Like a fresh pair of underwear, I’ve traveled from the washer to the dryer, and find myself in the dry heat of Los Angeles once again visiting Maddee. This is my fifth trip out west in the past year. In my previous four trips, I’ve seen concerts live, watched football games in person, climbed mountains, and hiked along Malibu. This time, Maddee and I decided to take our adventures even further south and visit a city whose name in German means “A Whale’s Vagina.”
That’s right. We visited San Diego.
Of all the lovely things to do in San Diego, the most popular tourist trap is undoubtedly the San Diego Zoo. Consistently voted the best in the country, the city’s zoo boasts over four miles of pathways, complete with damn near every exotic animal under the sun. From the awkward, loping okapis to the anxious, pacing tigers, Maddee and I saw them all.
And, like the deranged degenerates that we are, we pregamed the Zoo in the parking lot.
(If you’re a San Diego law enforcement officer, kindly stop reading here. If you’re an employee of the San Diego Zoo, well, first of all, thank you for your service. Then, second of all, also kindly stop reading.)
As tailgating sports fans figured out decades ago, the key to enhancing the fun at any event, while keeping prices low, is to drink an absolute shit ton of alcohol in the parking lot of said event before it begins. I stand by this not only for sports games, but also for amusement parks, zoos, and concerts.
There’s a laundry list of other events that I haven’t tailgated but are on my tailgating bucket list. These include trips to the aquarium, doctor’s offices, court hearings, and elementary school plays.
Maddee and I stopped at a grocery store on the way from Los Angeles to San Diego and loaded up on tall boys of Modelo Negra and PBR, then parked in the Zoo lot, a picturesque hilltop space sandwiched between massive public parks. It was there, overlooking a valley of lush, Pacific greenery, that we speed drank four pints of beer in Maddee’s sweltering Honda Civic, surrounded by passing families.
Once sufficiently lubricated by Modelo and Pabst, we embarked upon the stumbling, bumbling, blacktop trek from Civic to Zoo, eager to observe many a caged animal without needing to pay for as much booze.
Key word: as much.
I always expected to enjoy an overpriced brew inside the zoo. That’s part of the tailgate process; it’s acceptable to purchase a $14 beer inside the event space — even you must pay with a limb — but, because you’re already two-and-a-half sheets to the wind, you shouldn’t need to splurge to reach that coveted third sheet.
What I did not bargain for, however, was discovering the lethal and legendary San Diego Zoo Margarita.
We located the drinks quickly. The zoo cocktails vendor — a concept assumed to be an urban legend at my native Philadelphia Zoo — was located between the koalas and the baboons.
How appropriate for the strongest drinks to be found between God’s laziest animals and His most bare-asséd primates. The San Diego Zoo was laid out like a stanza of poetry.
What caught my eye about the drinks stand was the final item on a long list of libations: Margarita - $14.
Two thoughts surged like lightning through the folds of my pea brain:
Holy shit, margaritas at the Zoo? and,
Only $14? That’s how much I expected to pay for a single beer!
I knew then, as we slunk our way through the pornographic baboon enclosure, what had to be done.
We didn’t pull the trigger for a solid hour. We had to first let four miles of walking burn off the beer already bloating our bellies. Only after a thorough walkabout through the aviary and the tundra did we succumb to the marg.
Another note about the tailgate process: It is always best to assume that every drink sold to you inside a venue is watered down, weak, and not deserving of purchase. So, when Maddee and I bought the margaritas, I assumed that they’d barely have one shot of tequila per souvenir cup.
Oh, how wrong we were. Innocent to the wrath of the regular marg, we opted to spend $6 for an extra shot of tequila — the final boss of zoo beverages.
Lest you judge us for purchasing $20 drinks, heed these words: The San Diego Zoo Marg was the single strongest alcoholic beverage I think I’ve ever purchased in my life. Most bars in Southern California would charge twice the amount for one quarter of the total alcohol volume that was in the Zoo Marg.
We ordered, we paid, and the crypt crypt keeper at the drinks stand handed us our lime-green souvenir cups, locked, loaded, and with the safeties off. The drinks were less painful than sipping petroleum straight from the pump, but only barely. There’s nothing quite so jarring as refreshing yourself from the Pacific sun with a kid’s cup packed to the brim with tequila and lime.
But, boy, did it do the trick.
Elephants enjoying casual lunch have never been more entertaining. I made prolonged eye contact with a zebra, and considered trying to ride one of the giraffes. All thanks to the San Diego Zoo Margarita.
A confession, if you will entertain it…
We didn’t finish our Zoo Margs.
I know, I know.
$20 dollars per drink and you couldn’t even finish them? We were weak, and deserve your most ardent criticisms.
But know this: we tried our damndest. In the end, a combination of the California heat, the thousands of calories burned walking, and the beers already in our belly stopped us in our tracks somewhere around the giraffes.
It’s probably a good thing. If I had finished that margarita, the police would’ve found me scaling the giraffe’s neck like it was the rope in gym class.
But, for the several hours that we did drink the San Diego Zoo Marg in the San Diego Zoo, I’ve never felt more alive.
Shouts out to…
Ben “Crack Pipe” Pollino for the kick ass new EG logo.
The larger of the two okapis at the San Diego Zoo. You know what you did.
Technically, I’m not in California anymore, but I was when I wrote this.
My copyright lawyers will be in touch.