White Russians

Oh there's an article in today's Times about how some hipsters, inspired by their love of the movie "The Big Lebowski," are now drinking White Russians like crazy.

I drank White Russians at one time. It was the disco 70s and early 80s, just like the article says, and I was working as a cocktail waitress in Atlantic City. We used to sneak drinks all the time, yes, drinking at work, we all did it. Anyway, White Russians (along with Banana Banshees and the vodka spiked sibling, Screaming Banana Banshees) were our favorites. Sweet and laced with thick, heavy cream, the bartenders used to put a batch in the blender with ice for us. It was a frosty milkshake with a kick. I never cared for Black Russians, the dairy-less counterpart, as they seem almost too hardcore, like the old people eating coffee ice cream. By the end of a night of drinking White Russians, of course, your mouth tastes like you've been chugging Elmer's glue, and the next day the hangover was singularly agonizing. But oh, the taste, the rich, creamy sweet taste and oh, the buzz, a combo of sugar rush and alcohol (which is also essentially sugar) was divine.