A frustrating search for cocktails
Let me be honest with you: if I want a cocktail, there is only one place in Belfast I'll go; The Merchant. This evening's events only solidified this.
After a few stouts, the time was ripe for short and sharp beverages. Mr R wanted to try out the newly renovated Northern Whig.
My 'go to' short cocktail is a Margarita. They only offered it on the rocks or frozen. I decided to rise above this crime and ask for it straight up, and they obliged.
They obliged with a Margarita with no salt rim! And too much sugar syrup.
We proceeded onward to The National, where we asked for our favourite in-house cocktail. Sadly, the menu had been rewritten and the youngster behind the bar was new, so we quicky ordered an alternative. I didn't mind it, as I love a Parma Violet, but Mr R hated the sweetness and viscosity of the egg white. He switched to beer.
Our next stop was Muriel's Cafe Bar. As the last drink of the night, we opted for two Old Fashioneds.
We were presented, at length, with two glasses of a sugary sweet, cinnamon flavoured concoction that barely tasted of bulleit whiskey, was saturated with sugar syrup and was wholly incapable of cocking my tail. I switched to stout.
So, in the face of constant disappointment, I revert to my first statement.
If you want a good cocktail, made right every time, just go to The Merchant. You will save yourself money.
After a few stouts, the time was ripe for short and sharp beverages. Mr R wanted to try out the newly renovated Northern Whig.
My 'go to' short cocktail is a Margarita. They only offered it on the rocks or frozen. I decided to rise above this crime and ask for it straight up, and they obliged.
They obliged with a Margarita with no salt rim! And too much sugar syrup.
We proceeded onward to The National, where we asked for our favourite in-house cocktail. Sadly, the menu had been rewritten and the youngster behind the bar was new, so we quicky ordered an alternative. I didn't mind it, as I love a Parma Violet, but Mr R hated the sweetness and viscosity of the egg white. He switched to beer.
We were presented, at length, with two glasses of a sugary sweet, cinnamon flavoured concoction that barely tasted of bulleit whiskey, was saturated with sugar syrup and was wholly incapable of cocking my tail. I switched to stout.
So, in the face of constant disappointment, I revert to my first statement.
If you want a good cocktail, made right every time, just go to The Merchant. You will save yourself money.
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