We once knew a woman who claimed she'd never been to McDonald's. She wouldn't drink from wax-paper or plastic-foam cups. She wouldn't eat the junk served to billions and billions. She was too fine and self-respecting.
   We always felt sorry for her because the only real way to experience the world is to sample across strata. You have missed something if you've never had a sidewalk hot dog, soft-serve ice cream or a cold can of indifferent American beer on a hot summer day. If you've never had McDonald's french fries, how can you pretend to understand America?
   Still, we admit there are certain establishments we tend to avoid, for reasons that have as much to do with our self-image as with the low thrills they offer. For instance, we tend to stay out of chain theme-park restaurants -- those establishments that present themselves as experiential theater, where the wait people affect costumes and the menus pun. Not because there's anything inherently wrong with a Hard Rock Cafe or an Olive Garden or a Hooters. It's just that destination restaurants make us feel silly and don't conform to our admittedly snobbish notions of the kind of restaurants that sophisticated, childless adults should frequent. (We honestly like P.F. Chang's -- it has overcome our prejudices with its excellence.)
   And we do, inevitably, reluctantly, go to them. Sometimes with our brother-in-law, who's paying, and always wants to scrutinize the wine list at great length before ordering a bottle as sweet and clumsy as a wet St. Bernard puppy (with a comparable nose). And that's when we start scanning the "libations" menu, to see what bourbons they've got on hand.
   Usually, they've got Jim Beam, which will suffice. Or Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey. Maker's Mark sometimes. And when, on a recent visit to Lone Star Steakhouse & Saloon, we found Knob Creek -- our favorite small batch -- hiding among the premium selections, we felt a little tingle of satisfaction. Our inner Marv Albert ejaculated: Yesssss!
   Maybe we shouldn't have been surprised, given that -- as these things go -- Lone Star has a fairly good steakhouse pedigree. It's owned by the same people who, in other markets, operate the more upscale Sullivan's and Del Frisco steak chains which, while they are formula restaurants, understand the complementary relationship of good booze to steaks.
   So it's possible to drink with dignity in a place that sells smoothies, white zin and concoctions called Screaming Grasshoppers (a bargain at $4.25), Pineapple Panchos ($5.25) and Alabama Slammers ($5.25).
   Regular readers understand that this column casts a gimlet (gin and lime juice) eye at cute drinks that run Technicolor in the glass, but so long as no one's forcing the "malternatives" -- which is the Lone Star menu's twee rubric for potions like Mike's Hard Lemonade and Smirnoff Ice -- intoxicants for people who don't like alcohol -- we don't suppose any genuine damage is sustained. While we'd rather drink in a less flairsome environment, where cocktails are squat and brown and dreams subdued, we can survive anything for a couple of hours, so long as we have access to a good call brand or even an unassuming, juggy wine.
   While we agree with Thackeray that it's "impossible, in our condition of society, not to be sometimes a snob," we understand our snobbery has as its only prerequisite a little specialized knowledge (or pretension to superiority) and the willingness to behave badly. But it's not the unavoidable snap judgments that make one a snob; it's acting on those judgments. We make assessments all the time based on the clothes people wear, the music they listen to, the books they have (or don't have) around their house -- that's part of what makes us alert and engaged. Though in a more perfect world we might be judged more on the content of our character than the color of our cocktail, it is sometimes possible to glean valuable intelligence from noticing what someone's drinking.
   Lone Star augments the traditional Grasshopper recipe with vodka to make its Screaming Grasshopper. Here's our homemade take on its version.

Screeching Grasshopper
Vodka Creme de Menthe Creme de Cacao Light cream Ice Vanilla ice cream, optional
   Add two parts vodka to one part creme de menthe, one part creme de cacao and one part light cream to an ice-filled shaker. Shake vigorously and serve over ice or, if you're feeling decadent, vanilla ice cream. Spirits is a monthly imbibing guide. E-mail :
   

pmartin@arkansasonline.com

This story was published Friday, June 02, 2006