When I was young, and beautiful, and rich, I drank whisky. (And I spell it that way because what I drank was Scotch, which is spelled whisky, while only Irish and American whiskeys have the “e” in them.) Anyway I drank Scotch, and a lot of it, which I thought made me look very sophisticated while I staggered out of the bar, drooling on my blouse and wiping the cocktail-nut grease on my slacks.
When I wised up and realized that I didn’t look all that worldly, much less together, I switched to wine. Became a real connoisseur, in fact. Spent hours poring over the Parker ratings, took a class, visited the wineries and caves in France and northern California, bought in bulk and enjoyed a glass of wine every day when I came home from work. Until one day – ONE DAY – I got home, dropped my purse and tote bag, shucked my coat, grabbed a glass, poured some red, took a gulp and immediately got SLAMMED with a migraine that would last a week.
When the pain was finally gone, I tried again. Another glass of red, another devastating migraine.
I mentioned this to friends and co-workers, who informed me that red wine is, indeed, a migraine trigger, and all I needed to do was switch to white. Maybe only for a while, maybe for good, but white – they assured me – would do the trick.
So I went home and poured a glass of white, took a tentative sip and guess what? Was bushwhacked by the migraine and spent the following week doing a different kind of staggering, the kind one does when one has had a migraine for three weeks and it shows no sign of abating.
These are not mild headaches, my friends. These are not the simple dizziness that comes with a good wine buzz. No, no. This is full-blown, gut-wearing pain that takes space out of one’s day and keeps sleep away at night.
I railed at the friends and co-workers, who were baffled, until one of them said, “No, it isn’t the color of wine. It’s the sulfites.” So I raced to the wine warehouse, bought up all the wine with No Added Sulfites and tried that.
Chalk up week four of the migraine pain.
Well, I don’t know about you, but four weeks of grinding, blinding pain is enough for me. I swore off wine and used the bottles I had on hand as hostess gifts for the next three years. During which time I found I could drink only sparingly. Even one cocktail with gin or vodka would give me a hangover. The only thing I could enjoy was a margarita – and even then, only one per occasion. Which was difficult; try going to a Christmas party and asking for a margarita when the selection is red wine…or white.
So I switched to beer. Which is a fine line to walk for me. I can’t do dark beers, or wheat beers. I love the taste of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. But lately, I’ve found that I really just don’t care to drink a whole 12-ounce beer. I’ll open it, take enough sips over an evening to consume slightly more than half, and toss the rest. It seemed like a fantastic waste to me, so I bought some of those little things that cap the bottle, but they really don’t keep the beer from going flat overnight, so the bottom half of the beer is, truly, down the drain.
Then I found Coronitas.
The Mexican brewer of Corona has, miraculously, done all the work for me, in bottling 7 ounces of Corona in a smaller bottle. It’s enough for me to enjoy while I fix and eat dinner, or for one half of a football game, and I don’t have any left over. It’s a nice, pale beer, so I like the taste. I don’t get buzzed – not even a little bit – but I like the taste (there are some nasty blogs out there about Corona and Coronita; I don’t care – this is about me, not about them). Right now it’s perfect for me – about twice a week. Because in my dotage, when I am not so good-looking and can’t afford a huge liquor budget, to have a 7-ounce beer twice a week is, really, all I need. And – best of all during this holiday season – I can tuck a bottle in my purse for those Christmas parties where they serve only red or white.
Do you have a personal favorite drink that is your signature ask at the bar? Or is alcohol a thing of the past for you? For me, for a while, anyway, pop me a Coronita, Senorita. If the headaches come someday, I’ll move on to something else. YOLO.