Perched on a round stool at drugstore cowboy, a bar-and-coffee-shop combo located in Deep Ellum, I’d just ordered the Shakerito, a blend of bourbon and cold brew. I was feeling apprehensive.
Confession: I rarely drink coffee. I don’t often hang out in coffee shops. I’d rather be at a bar, where I can order alcohol, my addictive liquid of choice. But I was about to broaden my horizons. The red-bearded bartender, grinning at my coffee-related naiveté, mixed the coffee and bourbon into a silver shaker.
“Is this going to seriously wind me up?” I asked, leaning over the glossy wood bar.
“The bourbon will bring you down.” He began shaking the drink.
“So they cancel each other out?”
“Not how that works,” my companion said, scanning the menu. “You’re in for an interesting ride.”
Drugstore Cowboy is laid-back and well-lit, the kind of place where literary types, artists, and musicians might spend time. The space is long and narrow, with a few chairs near the front and wooden benches that run parallel to the bar. Succulents are scattered along painted-on, factory-style windows, and the walls are mostly exposed brick. There’s a stage with an old-timey microphone at the back of the room.
After an eternity of shaking, the bartender finally poured my drink. I couldn’t help myself. I nearly pounded it. It was sweet, pleasant, and strong, a too-easy-to-drink mix of two wonderfully addictive substances. If Drugstore Cowboy is where coffee sippers and booze lovers come together, the Shakerito is where their two beloved drinks meld together in perfect harmony.
After I’d guzzled it down, I took a look around. More bar staff had arrived to help set up for a comedy show scheduled later that evening. Behind me, a few guys sat drinking Lone Stars. An attractive couple walked in, laid motorcycle helmets down on a low table, and ordered Shakeritos from the other bartender, a pleasant, purple-haired woman.
My friend asked for an Irish Coffee next, which arrived warm but not too hot in a white coffee mug. It was rich and creamy (the cream is made in house), akin to a nice hot cocoa. He settled in to enjoy it, but I was riding an unstoppable wave of caffeine and alcohol that could not be contained. I decided to go make some friends and stalked over to the motorcycle couple, who were enjoying their Shakeritos near the front of the bar.
The red-headed lady was so pretty I had to will myself not to stare at her. Her friendly guy friend told me he visits Drugstore Cowboy once a week. They both pretended not to notice that I was gesticulating wildly and practically shouting.
“This is the perfect place to meet someone. You can have coffee first and drinks later,” he said.
“They open at 7 am,” I said. “I bet people come here for some pre-work liquor.”
“I have a friend—” he trailed off. “Actually, I better not say any more.”
After a few more minutes, I began to feel a little strange. I went back to the bar and looked at my companion, who was savoring the last drops of his Irish Coffee.
My body is used to bourbon, but the stimulating nature of the coffee had thrown me for a bit of a loop. I actually laid my head down on the bar for a minute.
I wanted to order another delicious Shakerito, but I also wanted the room to stop spinning. I called to the bartender, who was busy restocking cans of beer. “How did you come up with a drink like that Shakerito?”
“We drink a lot of coffee,” he said with a grin. “And a lot of alcohol.”
