Budweiser & Clamato: A Review

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Hm...I'm thinking yogurt drink bar.    People will think I'm nuts.




...they're right.



But thanks, you guys...will try ALL Those eventually and post results...

If I do get a bar job I'm seriously going to try to introduce a drink special based on your idea, though.

[Richter]

It was following a lack of sleep and a long morning of bacon and driving that Blight and myself walked purposefully into a Connecticut liquor store.  Our pace was made by no ordinary determination to buy beer but actually a particular difficulty in moving through humidity so thick it tasted like ice cream flavored with the sins of the nearby casinos.  We did this shit for the gleeful demons who demanded malted beverage to slake a thirst primal, perverse, and acute.  There was no direction to the type of beer so much as there was a repetitive qualifier:  lots.

Blight and I made our way across an adequate selection discussing the intricacies of purchasing a drinkable choice without dropping enough cash to red flag ourselves as deeply pocketed criminals on every agency watch list in the state.  The cooler stacked up cases of vile waste and overpriced swill alike but for a small spot on the top shelf catching our eyes as we exited carrying our weight in cardboard, glass, and booze.  There were words that I could not comprehend, like a nightmare that feels real but defies description.  Budweiser was one.  A hated word.  And something else.

The grocery team was across the parking lot so we rendezvoused in the blank bland aisles with Richter, Leln, and Torte.  I stood there and I thought.  They tossed quantities of food in a cart never meant to be so burdened.  There was something wrong there that I could not shake.  Blight was gone as well, his mind left behind in that cooler.  We walked back.

Clamato.  That was it.  Budweiser and Clamato.  With salt and lime.  It was one of those comforting moments where we realize no, we are not mad, it is the world that is mad and this thought was mixed with the singular purpose of needing to buy this four pack of pure fucking absurdity.  Oh, and another 30 rack because fuck it.  The cashier saw us again and asked if we forgot something and I said "Yes, this."  He confusedly scanned the can to find that they only rang up one at a time.  Nobody ever bought an entire four pack of this.  They weren't even prepared for such an eventuality.

Subjecting ourselves to a mixture of piss beer, tomato juice and clam juice was one of those things that was done with such gusto that before I knew it Cram and Richter were outside shaking their cans with vigor and unconcern.  The tab clicked the concoction open and we sipped and we did not speak and we passed the can to the next and, unsurprisingly, it came rather quickly back.

It was at this time that another Discordian guest arrived.  He was handed the can and drank deeply and he turned and sprayed that amount in a fine mist.  Many described it as terrible.  This is not untrue, it is terrible.  It exists to be terrible.  Being terrible is the only fucking thing this could ever be and as such it succeeded so gloriously that it might be one of the most impressive beers I've had the distinct honor of guzzling with a very intense self loathing. 

I believe Cram said that he didn't dislike it at first, but with each successive sip he hated it more distinctly.  It would explain why all but one can was abandoned entirely.  My can.  Because it had to be done.  And Cram was wrong, here.  With each successive sip I did not hate it more distinctly.  Rather, with each successive sip I hated myself more distinctly.  It is common to know regret following a long bit of excess revelry.  It is not common to know it immediately and fully, and continue with that same act by your own free will.  And for that, Budweiser & Clamato is a drinking experience like none other.

MY first warning was when EoC said he had something "Special"
Was he trying to kill me again?  Sure my directions to the grocery / booze depot had been sketchy, my navigation poor, and the U urn I busted in front of the casino patently ILLEGAL, but exactly what grade of shit HAD I warranted?

Then this stuff came out.

First impression, upon imbibing was "Bloody Mary".  IT turns out this was jsut my brain trying to shield me from the true horror.

With each successive sip, I got less the sense of a morning beverage, and more the sense of three clams having a disco and horrible sweaty clam sex in an insufficiently rinsed pan of tomato sauce. I drank police mace later, and the taste finally remitted from my besieged palette, and the pain numbed my mind of the knowledge of what a golden shower from a Deep One would be like.

[Luna]

It was following a lack of sleep and a long morning of bacon and driving that Blight and myself walked purposefully into a Connecticut liquor store.  Our pace was made by no ordinary determination to buy beer but actually a particular difficulty in moving through humidity so thick it tasted like ice cream flavored with the sins of the nearby casinos.  We did this shit for the gleeful demons who demanded malted beverage to slake a thirst primal, perverse, and acute.  There was no direction to the type of beer so much as there was a repetitive qualifier:  lots.

Blight and I made our way across an adequate selection discussing the intricacies of purchasing a drinkable choice without dropping enough cash to red flag ourselves as deeply pocketed criminals on every agency watch list in the state.  The cooler stacked up cases of vile waste and overpriced swill alike but for a small spot on the top shelf catching our eyes as we exited carrying our weight in cardboard, glass, and booze.  There were words that I could not comprehend, like a nightmare that feels real but defies description.  Budweiser was one.  A hated word.  And something else.

The grocery team was across the parking lot so we rendezvoused in the blank bland aisles with Richter, Leln, and Torte.  I stood there and I thought.  They tossed quantities of food in a cart never meant to be so burdened.  There was something wrong there that I could not shake.  Blight was gone as well, his mind left behind in that cooler.  We walked back.

Clamato.  That was it.  Budweiser and Clamato.  With salt and lime.  It was one of those comforting moments where we realize no, we are not mad, it is the world that is mad and this thought was mixed with the singular purpose of needing to buy this four pack of pure fucking absurdity.  Oh, and another 30 rack because fuck it.  The cashier saw us again and asked if we forgot something and I said "Yes, this."  He confusedly scanned the can to find that they only rang up one at a time.  Nobody ever bought an entire four pack of this.  They weren't even prepared for such an eventuality.

Subjecting ourselves to a mixture of piss beer, tomato juice and clam juice was one of those things that was done with such gusto that before I knew it Cram and Richter were outside shaking their cans with vigor and unconcern.  The tab clicked the concoction open and we sipped and we did not speak and we passed the can to the next and, unsurprisingly, it came rather quickly back.

It was at this time that another Discordian guest arrived.  He was handed the can and drank deeply and he turned and sprayed that amount in a fine mist.  Many described it as terrible.  This is not untrue, it is terrible.  It exists to be terrible.  Being terrible is the only fucking thing this could ever be and as such it succeeded so gloriously that it might be one of the most impressive beers I've had the distinct honor of guzzling with a very intense self loathing. 

I believe Cram said that he didn't dislike it at first, but with each successive sip he hated it more distinctly.  It would explain why all but one can was abandoned entirely.  My can.  Because it had to be done.  And Cram was wrong, here.  With each successive sip I did not hate it more distinctly.  Rather, with each successive sip I hated myself more distinctly.  It is common to know regret following a long bit of excess revelry.  It is not common to know it immediately and fully, and continue with that same act by your own free will.  And for that, Budweiser & Clamato is a drinking experience like none other.

MY first warning was when EoC said he had something "Special"
Was he trying to kill me again?  Sure my directions to the grocery / booze depot had been sketchy, my navigation poor, and the U urn I busted in front of the casino patently ILLEGAL, but exactly what grade of shit HAD I warranted?

Then this stuff came out.

First impression, upon imbibing was "Bloody Mary".  IT turns out this was jsut my brain trying to shield me from the true horror.

With each successive sip, I got less the sense of a morning beverage, and more the sense of three clams having a disco and horrible sweaty clam sex in an insufficiently rinsed pan of tomato sauce. I drank police mace later, and the taste finally remitted from my besieged palette, and the pain numbed my mind of the knowledge of what a golden shower from a Deep One would be like.

These were almost worth tasting that shit.

[leln]

MY first warning was when EoC said he had something "Special"
Was he trying to kill me again?  Sure my directions to the grocery / booze depot had been sketchy, my navigation poor, and the U urn I busted in front of the casino patently ILLEGAL, but exactly what grade of shit HAD I warranted?

Then this stuff came out.

First impression, upon imbibing was "Bloody Mary".  IT turns out this was jsut my brain trying to shield me from the true horror.

With each successive sip, I got less the sense of a morning beverage, and more the sense of three clams having a disco and horrible sweaty clam sex in an insufficiently rinsed pan of tomato sauce. I drank police mace later, and the taste finally remitted from my besieged palette, and the pain numbed my mind of the knowledge of what a golden shower from a Deep One would be like.

Banging an illegal U-ie doesn't justify this shit on your soul. Even if you raped a traffic law, Hell has fucking STANDARDS. (Plus the sign didn't specifically say you couldn't go left there, and if they fail to be explicit they really can't blame you for taking advantage. We were in Connecticut, after all, the Deep Ones recognize that the state deserves it).

I had one drink of the Clamato. A single swallow. My reaction was that it didn't horrify me as much as it really should have. Then again, I drink beer. I drink tomato-based vegetable juice on a weekday basis as part of my diet. The only thing that could scare me in this blasphemous concoction was the clam juice, which I honestly didn't notice at the time. To be fair, I only tasted the abomination once, and it seems that repeated exposures are necessary to truly comprehend the subtle, creeping horror of its magnificence. Maybe my sanity filters beat it on the first onslaught. I can never be sure.

I still regret that we didn't save a can to sneak into the scrambled eggs the next morning. It would have been wrong, but also EPIC. We would have gotten reaction shots when we revealed the "secret ingredient."

[Richter]

MY first warning was when EoC said he had something "Special"
Was he trying to kill me again?  Sure my directions to the grocery / booze depot had been sketchy, my navigation poor, and the U urn I busted in front of the casino patently ILLEGAL, but exactly what grade of shit HAD I warranted?

Then this stuff came out.

First impression, upon imbibing was "Bloody Mary".  IT turns out this was jsut my brain trying to shield me from the true horror.

With each successive sip, I got less the sense of a morning beverage, and more the sense of three clams having a disco and horrible sweaty clam sex in an insufficiently rinsed pan of tomato sauce. I drank police mace later, and the taste finally remitted from my besieged palette, and the pain numbed my mind of the knowledge of what a golden shower from a Deep One would be like.

Banging an illegal U-ie doesn't justify this shit on your soul. Even if you raped a traffic law, Hell has fucking STANDARDS. (Plus the sign didn't specifically say you couldn't go left there, and if they fail to be explicit they really can't blame you for taking advantage. We were in Connecticut, after all, the Deep Ones recognize that the state deserves it).

I had one drink of the Clamato. A single swallow. My reaction was that it didn't horrify me as much as it really should have. Then again, I drink beer. I drink tomato-based vegetable juice on a weekday basis as part of my diet. The only thing that could scare me in this blasphemous concoction was the clam juice, which I honestly didn't notice at the time. To be fair, I only tasted the abomination once, and it seems that repeated exposures are necessary to truly comprehend the subtle, creeping horror of its magnificence. Maybe my sanity filters beat it on the first onslaught. I can never be sure.

I still regret that we didn't save a can to sneak into the scrambled eggs the next morning. It would have been wrong, but also EPIC. We would have gotten reaction shots when we revealed the "secret ingredient."

This folks, is leln in a nutshell.  Bibliographical fury and culinary excellence one moment, horrible, subtle evil the next.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

I say tequila for the salty drink, it will add a touch of peppery the mix.....


Then again, I really like tequila.

I like tequila with ghost pepper sauce thrown in.

[Sir Squid Diddimus]

The ghost chili liquor...



was pretty damned good

[trippinprincezz13]

I say tequila for the salty drink, it will add a touch of peppery the mix.....


Then again, I really like tequila.

I like tequila with ghost pepper sauce thrown in.

Why do I have the necessary ingredients, yet never have tried this?!?  

I assume we are talking this: http://www.amazon.com/Mad-Dog-Ghost-Pepper-Sauce/dp/B003PZY08U

and not this: http://www.ashleyfoods.com/1-Million-Scoville-Pepper-Extract-1MIL1.html (though the brand we have looks different adn comes in smaller bottle I think).

The second one does sound like a challenge, though maybe not a smart one

[BabylonHoruv]

...welp, suffice it to say, if you think tomato juice and anything is gross, you won't like cheladas at all.  Ever.  Pretty much.  I have a sis-in-law who's like that.  She'll take the lime-n-salt version, but nix the tomato/clamato for her.  Is fine. 

Diff'rent strokes, man.

I think tomato juice is gross by itself, bud is gross by itself, and nobody drinks clam juice by itself, but mix em all together with some lime, yum.

[BabylonHoruv]

Oooh, Jenne, what about yogurt, cucumber, salt, mint or cilantro, jalapeno, and vodka blended with just a bit of ice?

I need to try that.

[Precious Moments Zalgo]

EoC, you should post your review on BeerAdvocate.

Schnapps is sweet as fuck, though.

True... but I tend to like the sweet stuff.  I'd give it a try, anyhow.

I think it would be good with yogurt, but not in a salty drink... sweet/salty/minty sounds

Sweet/salty/minty sounds like toothpaste to me.  Not what I want in a beverage.

[Jenne]

EoC, you should post your review on BeerAdvocate.

Schnapps is sweet as fuck, though.

True... but I tend to like the sweet stuff.  I'd give it a try, anyhow.

I think it would be good with yogurt, but not in a salty drink... sweet/salty/minty sounds

Sweet/salty/minty sounds like toothpaste to me.  Not what I want in a beverage.

Same here.  But the mint-salt-cream of a salty dough is soooo awesome.

An acquired taste, again, especially for Americans who are so damned used to every drink being SWEET.

[Jenne]

Oooh, Jenne, what about yogurt, cucumber, salt, mint or cilantro, jalapeno, and vodka blended with just a bit of ice?

I need to try that.

This may be the winner.

[Jenne]

MY first warning was when EoC said he had something "Special"
Was he trying to kill me again?  Sure my directions to the grocery / booze depot had been sketchy, my navigation poor, and the U urn I busted in front of the casino patently ILLEGAL, but exactly what grade of shit HAD I warranted?

Then this stuff came out.

First impression, upon imbibing was "Bloody Mary".  IT turns out this was jsut my brain trying to shield me from the true horror.

With each successive sip, I got less the sense of a morning beverage, and more the sense of three clams having a disco and horrible sweaty clam sex in an insufficiently rinsed pan of tomato sauce. I drank police mace later, and the taste finally remitted from my besieged palette, and the pain numbed my mind of the knowledge of what a golden shower from a Deep One would be like.

Banging an illegal U-ie doesn't justify this shit on your soul. Even if you raped a traffic law, Hell has fucking STANDARDS. (Plus the sign didn't specifically say you couldn't go left there, and if they fail to be explicit they really can't blame you for taking advantage. We were in Connecticut, after all, the Deep Ones recognize that the state deserves it).

I had one drink of the Clamato. A single swallow. My reaction was that it didn't horrify me as much as it really should have. Then again, I drink beer. I drink tomato-based vegetable juice on a weekday basis as part of my diet. The only thing that could scare me in this blasphemous concoction was the clam juice, which I honestly didn't notice at the time. To be fair, I only tasted the abomination once, and it seems that repeated exposures are necessary to truly comprehend the subtle, creeping horror of its magnificence. Maybe my sanity filters beat it on the first onslaught. I can never be sure.

I still regret that we didn't save a can to sneak into the scrambled eggs the next morning. It would have been wrong, but also EPIC. We would have gotten reaction shots when we revealed the "secret ingredient."

This folks, is leln in a nutshell.  Bibliographical fury and culinary excellence one moment, horrible, subtle evil the next.

Your sister is AWESOME. 

[ñͤͣ̄ͦ̌̑͗͊͛͂͗ ̸̨̨̣̺̼̣̜͙͈͕̮̊̈́̈͂͛̽͊ͭ̓͆ͅé ̰̓̓́ͯ́́͞]

THis thread makes me want to get some tomato juice and lager and Tapatio and do SCIENCE!!!

LIME!  Do NOT forget the lime.  Otherwise, all is lost.

I'm doing this next time it's hot out.

WITH SHITTY BEER, YOU FUCKS!