My first heavy drinking experience took place when I was at the ripe age of 16. I know, I know, definitely not the most legal way to start off a drinking story, but in my defense, I was in a foreign country where the drinking age is significantly lower. So as far as the international law is concerned, I was abiding by it. While on this tropical vacation, I indulged a little too heavily in the seemingly harmless but incredibly dangerous Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri. It was sweet, it was delicious, and it was a lot more rum than I had planned on consuming in one sitting, or lifetime. Four hours on the beach and several Daiquiris later, I was drunk as a skunk and hurting real bad from sunburn, too much booze and an uncomfortable brain freeze/sugar rush combination. No more Daiquiris, I swore to myself. No more.

After experiencing the Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri disaster of 2005, I never thought I’d want to consume a Daiquiri again. But on a night out with friends at a favorite cocktail bar of mine several years later, and of legal drinking age I might add, I was convinced by the bartender to order their Daiquiri. Slightly intimidated by him dropping the D-word, he assured me that their Daiquiri was not of the frozen variety, nor was it flavored, and I’d enjoy it a lot more. Hesitantly, I ordered it and took that first icy sip. Cool, slightly sweet and refreshing, I was a born-again Daiquiri lover.

Daiquiri image via Shutterstock