Eleven o'clock on a Friday night, and I had just lost a ping pong rematch to my sister-in-law. Twenty-one to nineteen. She celebrated like she'd won a war of independence.
I was not tired. I want that on the record. But my eyelids had begun negotiating terms.
Earlier we had played all 18 holes at PopStroke The Colony, and I'd drained a downhill slider on the 12th that broke two full cups left, a putt I will be describing to strangers for years. Now I needed something to carry that feeling across the finish line.
At the bar, the bartender pulled a shot of freshly brewed espresso, dark as a confessional, and the whole room seemed to lean toward the smell.
Into the shaker: 1800 Coconut tequila, a pour of coconut syrup, that hot espresso. A hard, rattling shake, the sound of maracas in a thunderstorm. Strained into the glass with a crown of foam the color of a camel coat. On top, three espresso beans arranged like a little constellation, and a scatter of toasted coconut that smelled like a beach bonfire somebody lit in a coffee shop.
Cold. Silky. Sweet, then bitter, then sweet again, like a good argument with an old friend. The best espresso martini of my life.
I raised it toward my sister-in-law. "Best of five," I said. She was already picking up her paddle.
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Surf instructors are out of this world. Kind and make people want to join in! My little brother came to town this week and Ryan showed him some sauce baby, he was absolutely shredding. Food was heat the mahi tacos are so buss, sliders are fire, and the Kona big wave, let me just say “Heat in the cold of winter” that’s how she makes me feel.
Dave H.
Dallas @ The Colony
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