It was my second weekend in Wolf Point when I decided to head to the Elks club for some Saturday night beers.
Unlike the previous weekend, the Elk was slow. This was probably because everyone was “partied out” from the Wild Horse Stampede that had taken place the week before. One person mentioned how people in Wolf Point don’t seem to have a lot of money in the second week of July because they spent most of it on the Stampede. So at the bar it was just me, the guy at the other end of the bar and the blond-haired bartender who looked like my friend Michael from back home. The bartender wasn’t too thrilled with it being slow, though she did that it gave her a chance to close down early.
Behind us was a group of gentlemen shooting pool and laughing. When they came to the bar, one of them, in an accent that I guessed was Irish or German, ordered two shots of tequila mixed with rum, which sent shivers down my spine just thinking about it. Rum and tequila were dangerous enough on their own, but it was not the alcohol content that I concerned me, but rather the taste.
After the guys had their shots, they began talking with us at the bar. One of the men, wearing a green shirt, hat and glasses, explained that they had come to Wolf Point for some work and they were celebrating his friend’s bachelor party. The bartender asked the future groom what his fiancé thought of them being away from home, but he said she came to visit him.
When I finished my Coors Light, the bartender, out of what I guessed was boredom, began looking on her phone of different disgusting shots. I did my best not to cringe as she began reading off the different recipes for shots she had found. One had mayonnaise and tobacco sauce with Tequila. Another had cottage cheese in the mix.
A shot that intrigued me was called the New Jersey Turnpike, where you take the barmat that sits on the bar and drain all of the alcohol that is soaked into the mat, in a shot glass. It reminded me of the game King’s Cup and I told the bartender she should use it as a drinking game in the future.
Then she found one called Motor Oil, which was Jagermeister, peppermint schnapps, Goldschlager cinnamon schnapps and Malibu coconut rum. Again, each is dangerous on their own – well Malibu not so much – but Lord knows the impact they could have together.
Unfortunately the bartender did not have Goldschlager, so she used substitute liquor instead. After she poured five glasses, she made all of us a deal that if we did not make a terrible face, she would buy our next beers. Being one of the kings of the bitter beer face, I silently pumped myself up and
After toasting with my fellow guinea pigs, I poured the shot down my throat. To my surprise, it was entirely sweet and left me with no urge to make the bitter face. My companions also commented on how sweet the shot tasted.
The bartender shook her head in defeat. We all agreed that had the shot would have been different if she had the Goldschlager. Nevertheless, she bought all of our next beers, but vowed to make us pay in the future.
As for the group of men, I saw them at the store the next day, but they did not seem to recall the night at Elks. Perhaps the shot of Motor oil was more powerful than I thought.
1 oz Jagermeister
1/2 oz peppermint schnapps
1/2 oz Goldschlager
1/2 oz Malibu coconut rum