There’s something to be said about milk-based cocktails. They’re sweet, creamy, and have you teetering on the edge of shitting your pants. Having recently watched The Big Lebowski, naturally White Russians were the only way to approach this inconsistent but virtuous thrill of consuming alcoholic cow-juice.
White Russians are the equivalent of throwing vodka into an iced coffee and calling it a day. It’s like a mocha version of an espresso martini, or a weird caffeinated milkshake that makes you question your ability to consume lactose. There’s nothing like drinking upwards of two litres of milk on a night out. Typically consisting of vodka, Kahlua, and cream (milk’s just easier though), these provide all your necessary sustenance to maintain your bulk without the need to eat at all. These would perfectly encapsulate the ideal tradie breakfast with the addition of a dart. The dude abides.
Like the effect on your stomach, you never really know what the White Russian is going to give you. It’s a carefully constructed formula of cream to alcohol that rides the line of one not overpowering the other, like a Russian Yin and Yang. When this drink is done well, it’s magical. When it’s not, it tastes like drinking the weird milky soup of melted day-old ice cream. When ordering these at a bar, it’s a 50/50 chance. And that’s the excitement of it. The rules of the White Russian are arbitrary and facetious; it’s a coin flip every time. Ordering a few of these at Carousel, Critic was charged three different amounts ranging from $11 to $18, with its mysterious milky makeup seemingly changing every time.
I’ve not yet been brave enough to venture into the land of the Black Russian. Based on the idea of it alone, I imagine these tastes like soaking feels: there's something there, but it's missing the cream to really pull it together.
Pairts well with: A rug that really ties the room together
X factor: Shitting in town
Hangover depression level: 7/10. Gagging at your morning coffee
Taste rating: 7/10