City Paper is not for tourists
The drink: Mongolian Motherfucker
The location: The Red & The Black, 1212 H Street NE, (202) 399-3201.
The price: Whatever the bartender decides.
The buzz: My closest friends in D.C. are a sextet collectively known as the Shitheads. We adopted the nickname after our habit of behaving badly in public, the pinnacle of which occurred when one of us (name withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) loudly mocked a blind man for knocking over a jug of olive oil and then not cleaning it up. (Disclaimer: The Shithead in question didn’t know the man was blind at the time, though he still believes blind people can be assholes.) I say all this as background for the Shitheads’ recent visit to The Red & The Black. We already had a martini in us when we arrived. I badgered the bartender, Jason, to make us his signature cocktail. He hemmed and hawed, asked what we like, and then confessed that he makes a bad-ass “Mongolian motherfucker,” which he said included 12 different ingredients. It sounded ridiculous, really, sort of the mixologist’s version of the Hollywood mad scientist’s potion. I almost expected the drink to bubble and smoke when it arrived. Jason graciously outlined all the ingredients of the Mongo Mofo. You might want to hit the toilet first before reading the next sentence; it’ll take awhile to finish. The drink includes sloe gin, melon liqueur, peach schnapps, triple sec, black raspberry liqueur, amaretto, citrus liqueur, coconut rum, dark rum, spiced rum, light rum, Southern Comfort, rail tequila, grenadine, and orange juice. I got the sense Jason was making this shit up as he went along. The real beauty of the Mongo Mofo is watching Jason pour it. He tilts a stack of small rocks glasses—-or are they large shot glasses?—-so that each has an opening just large enough to pour the rust-colored liquid into them. (See pic above.) I swear Jason must have the steadiest hand in town. We followed the barkeep’s orders and downed the drink in a single gulp. I was surprised that it didn’t taste like jenkem. Instead, it tasted like you were drinking Hawaiian Punch with a fresh wad of Bazooka bubble gum in your mouth. The Shitheads were pleased. So pleased we ordered another. Then one of the Shitheads of the female persuasion suggested that the Lady Shitheads needed to thank Jason with a kiss, which they did. (Frankly, one of them seemed to be heading toward lower parts of Jason’s body.) We broke out the camera and took endless pictures. We started to talk loudly. We even made my wife’s sister an honorary Shithead. Yep, if there’s a house drink at Chez Shithead, it’s the Mongolian motherfucker.