Vintage shots
This story takes place in a fairly popular bar in Covent Garden called Navajo Joe (high five to anyone who's drunk there).

They do a decent line in cocktails, but for my money they have one of the finest collections of tequila outside of Mexico. I didn't know that then, but I sure as hell do now.

Some years ago I had a fantastic boss, let's call him Phil. We were great mates and would often drink socially. After a particularly productive month at work, he declared that we should go out and celebrate 'on the company'. Arriving at the aforementioned bar around 7pm, we lined our stomachs for a good three hours with a selection of rum-based cocktails (they do an amazing one with ginger beer, but I digress).

As the evening drew to a close and the last train beckoned, Phil suggested we complete the session with a few shots of tequila. The selection was staggering, so I left it in his capable hands to choose our poison.

Having chosen, the barman lined us up one each, and as is tradition we knocked them back in one.

"Again" shouted Phil. Two more duly dispatched followed sharply by another four.

Having reached my limit I staggered off to the toilet while Phil settled the bill. When I returned, Phil had gone a little pale. Turns out we'd been necking vintage tequila at about £30 a shot, but treating it like that cheap firewater you find in a supermarket.

Phil had no choice but to pay, knowing full well the company would never reimburse him for such a display of reckless abandon.

The pain in the wallet was nothing compared to the pain of knowing we'd barely even tasted it as it charged down our gullets.

Bear in mind that for £30 you can procure a bottle of Patron which in itself is damn fine Tequila.

Still, for about 15 minutes we drank like footballers and bankers without even knowing.
(BinDipper, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 15:38, Reply)