Drink Margarita’s At Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant

Margarita
A date took me for margaritas to Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant in San Francisco’s Little Russia neighborhood. Tommy’s was opened by the Bermejo family in 1965. Tommy’s son Julio is recognized as one of the world’s top experts on tequila.

My margarita consisted of 100% pure agave tequila, agave syrup and fresh squeezed lime juice. The date was good but the margarita was just OK. OK enough to drink two. It would have been better to sit at the bar, get a tequila lesson, and taste a few instead of just ordering “a margarita.” What I know about tequila is to order Cazadores on a budget and never order Patrón unless you want the bartender to mock you.

The restaurant had old timey character. I didn’t eat so I can’t say if the food is any good. We sang Happy Birthday to a kid making a wish over his flan at the next table. Is it true that tequila is the only alcohol that’s an upper? I choose to believe this.

 

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Drink Margarita’s At Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant

SF Pride

Sarah and Doris 1

Last night my friend D and I donned our blue and pink wigs and went to California Academy of Science’s Pride NightLife event. We got to use the staff entrance with the drag queens and were asked, “Are you ladies on the list?” It kind of made me giddy. I wondered why I didn’t go to “Such and Such Day at the Such and Such Museum” events more often. As I waited on line to have a sea cucumber excrete in my hand, I remembered why I don’t usually go to such things. They are crowded as fuck. Fun fact: When a sea cucumber gets stressed, it eviscerates its own organs only to regrow them later.

I wasn’t about to go sea cucumber but I was annoyed about spending a couple waiting everywhere. The spicy margaritas with the peppers that made my lips numb were worth the wait, however. We got some free rainbow sunglasses and spent an inordinate amount of time trying to take a selfie with fish.

Heklina’s show was great. Her legs and ability to strut in high heels made me jealous. When I met her afterward, I was star struck. I’m working on a story for The Bold Italic about female urination devices so I used a urinal in the men’s bathroom. Nobody cared. I ate McDonald’s afterward and felt very guilty. San Francisco is confusing.

SF Pride