As we left Chez Jose last weekend, leaving three nearly full glasses of margaritas on the table, we paused outside the front door.
“Wait, have I ever walked away from a margarita?” I asked my friends and family, assembled at the Cherry Creek cantina for a teary, post-Broncos-loss drink.
The answer, of course, was no. (More accurately: Never!)
Never have I met a margarita so offensive, so grotesque that I paid it the ultimate diss – the walk-off. Even with the most tart, carelessly made concoctions, you can usually swallow your pride and suck down the drink.
A bad drink is worse than a slap in the face in many ways. It’s even more personal, because this is something you’re putting into your body.
And so it was with heavy hearts and queasy stomachs that we stood off East Second Avenue in the crisp night air and discussed why we’ll never trust Jose’s margs again.
To paraphrase the shared sentiment, the drink’s troubles are in its very roots. The ingredients here are flawed because of the inclusion of the Citronge orange liqueur. The folks at Patron doubtless know their tequila, but I’ve never been a fan of the company’s Citronge. It lacks the subtlety of Grand Marnier, and it’s also easily overused.
I’m not sure about the rest of the contents, but you have to wonder how you can mess something up with a tremendous base of Herradura. The mixers are more focused on the orange side of the citrus scale than the lime, which is a good idea. I’m a fan of orange juice in my margarita. But this recipe doesn’t work – something we found out the hard way after the five of us blindly ordered two pitchers.
Across the table, Kit was watering hers down. “Nope,” she said. “Still no good.” I tried unsuccessfully to sip mine without flinching, wincing. Matthew, to my right, at one point declared it “undrinkable,” which is saying something, because I’d swear that man can drink gasoline.
Chez Jose
3027 E. Second Ave., Cherry Creek, 303-322-9160
Funky: Chez Jose is known for its excellent burritos, mix-
and-match salsa bar and killer takeout for good reason. It’s good bar food.
Skunky: This job demands an iron stomach and a titanium liver. But even I wasn’t
feeling so great after that half-margarita.
