Tequila
Flight

An ace. On the 17th at PopStroke Nashville. Forty-two feet, a double-breaker off the top tier, and I hit it the way you'd introduce yourself to someone you hope to marry. It broke left. It broke right. It disappeared.

My playing partners, two strangers we'd been paired with, a retired pilot and his wife, threw their arms in the air like I'd landed a plane in a storm. This is what an ace does. It makes friends out of people.

It was a cold January night, frost on the patio rail, so we finished up and took the celebration inside to the bar. Something this rare deserved something curated.

The Tequila Flight. Four glasses in a row like a firing squad of good taste. Lalo Blanco, bright and clean, honest as a handshake. Casa Dragones Blanco, silky and elegant, a tuxedo of a pour. Código 1530 Rosa Blanco, soft as a rose petal. And Casamigos Reposado, warm and golden, rested and ready, the fireside chair of the lineup.

Alongside them, a spread of fun, flavor-forward garnishes, each one a small adventure.

We sipped slowly. We compared notes. The pilot declared the Rosa his favorite. His wife sided with the reposado.

I didn't choose. Tonight, I'd already gotten everything I wanted in one stroke.