Say it’s oh, 90 billion degrees outside. Face meltingly hot. And you are in need of a frozen libation, but do not wish to drag the blender out to make just one. Or maybe you don’t own a blender. I will pause for a minute, because that just sounds really, really sad. No blender? Even the Amish have blenders. I’m pretty sure.
So what do you do? If you’re in Dallas, you drive down to Market Center Boulevard, and get your booty over to 1622 Market Center Boulevard, to be specific. Daiquiris To Go. It’s next to a strip club, and looks kind of run down, and once I swear I saw a pimp slap a ho, but the hubs says I didn’t. But I did. Seriously. Pimp slap. Ho. In the face.
You might just drive past it. I did. But it’s pretty easy to cut a U-turn, and head to the sign that says, “Daiquiris To Go, ENTER HERE.” It’s easy to miss. You’ll follow the drive around the back of the building, and then pull in what used to be a garage or car wash or funeral home. I don’t know. All I know that this is a case of not judging a book by its cover. Because inside this building contains awesome nectar of summer life and even winter life if you don’t mind drinking frozen things in the winter.
Daiquiris. That you can take with you. They make it in a styrofoam cup, and then put a lid on it. Then the whole shebang goes in a plastic bag, which is then heat sealed shut. Then you’re on the honor system to not crack it open or rip open the plastic before you get home. It’s $6 for the smallest one, which is still bigger than the biggest daiquiri you can get at a bar. For $1 more, you can put an extra shot in. They also sell this stuff BY THE GALLON.
The gallon. In case you’re really thirsty and hate your liver, or slightly thirsty and love your friends and want to share.
The names are racy. First time I went, I thought I could brazen out pronouncing one of the names, but ended up giggling like a third grader and pointing to what I wanted. This time, I ordered something tamer sounding, so I didn’t get carded when I burst into a giggle fit.
After all, if you’re old enough to visit a drive-through daiquiri hut, you’re old enough to not giggle when you ask for a drink with a name that includes a part of the female anatomy. Or old enough to know you can’t not giggle, and order the Cougar Tamer instead.