Just what is it with the booze at The Matador? Every time I have even a single shot of their the “vodka” — and I do use the term vodka very loosely when referring to what the little old lady with the duffel bag of mickey bottles in the back corner sells — I always end up in some kind of pain the next day. I still have a dull ache in the back of my head and I have errands to run today.
Gulping down bootleg liquor is the price you must pay if you want to get a drink after two a.m. in this damned teetotaler province. A pox on Canada’s WASP founding fathers. Better yet, may they have to eat their own cuisine for all eternity. I’d rather the French had a greater influence on Canada’s laws relating to the pleasant vices. Even though they’re such cheese-eating surrender monkeys, they know how to have a good time.