Ranch Water Cocktail

Spring. The desert is blooming. The bakery is recovering. The customers are returning. The farmers' market reopened — Phase Two of Sofia's recovery plan — and we sold out in ninety minutes on the first Saturday back. Ninety minutes. The pent-up demand for conchas at a market stall is apparently significant, which is a sentence I never expected to write and which Sofia expected, because Sofia expects everything, because expectation is her default state, and reality is merely the data that confirms or denies the expectation.

Isabella is finishing high school. Her last semester. AP exams in May. Graduation in late May. UTEP nursing in August. The trajectory is clean and clear, the trajectory of a girl who drew a line at thirteen and has walked it without deviation for five years, and the line is about to cross the finish and become a runway, and the runway will launch her into the next phase, and the next phase is the babies, and the babies are waiting.

The family got a dog. Yes. A dog. After five years of Camila's prayers and petitions and escalating adverbs in the Thanksgiving grace. The dog is a rescue — a small brown mutt from the El Paso Animal Services shelter, approximately two years old, name unknown, history unknown, the only known fact: small, brown, doesn't bite, exactly as Camila specified in her prayers. She named him Concha. The dog's name is Concha. My daughter named her dog after the bread I make. I have no words. Concha the dog sits in the bakery during slow hours and the customers pet him and he falls asleep under the counter and the sleeping dog under the counter is the most peaceful addition to the bakery since Doña Esperanza.

I made carne asada to celebrate the dog's arrival — because carne asada is the celebration food and the dog's arrival is a celebration and also because I lost a five-year battle and the defeat deserves a feast. Camila held Concha the dog while eating carne asada and said: "See, Mamí? God answered." I said: "God was just waiting for me to say yes." She said: "Same thing." Same thing. God and Maria Elena. The same thing. According to Camila, I have been elevated to divine status in the matter of pet procurement, and I accept the promotion with the exhausted grace of a woman who has been lobbied by an eight-year-old for five years and finally, mercifully, capitulated.

Carne asada needed a drink, and in El Paso, there is only one answer: Ranch Water, cold and sharp and tasting exactly like the desert does when it finally decides to bloom. I made a pitcher of it while the asada rested, Camila still holding Concha the dog with both arms like he might evaporate, and I thought — five years of “please, Mamá” deserves at minimum a proper toast. Sofia had a glass. Dóna Esperanza would have approved. The dog slept through his own party, which felt right.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 1

Ingredients

2 oz blanco tequila
1 oz fresh lime juice (about 1 large lime)
1/2 oz triple sec or orange liqueur (optional)
4–6 oz Topo Chico sparkling mineral water, chilled
Ice (preferably crushed or small cubes)
Lime wheel or wedge, for garnish
Pinch of salt (optional, for the rim or stirred in)

Instructions

Chill your glass. Fill a highball or rocks glass with ice. If you’d like a salted rim, run a lime wedge around the edge and dip it in coarse salt before adding ice.
Build the drink. Pour the tequila and fresh lime juice directly over the ice. Add triple sec if using.
Top and stir gently. Pour the cold Topo Chico slowly down the side of the glass to preserve the carbonation. Give it one gentle stir to combine — just enough to mix without losing the fizz.
Garnish and serve immediately. Add a lime wheel or wedge to the rim. Serve right away while the bubbles are still lively. For a pitcher, scale up the tequila and lime, and add the Topo Chico per glass just before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Ranch Water Cocktail — The Toast We Raised to Concha (the Dog, Not the Bread)