Warned by a friend that the food at The Blue Bonnet was a joke, off we went to this former landmark anyway. The food was amusing, but the house margarita was hilarious. If this is a Margarita, then I?m the the King of Pop. The drink was a massacre, Sand Creek on the Platte. I thought I?d stumbled into Tony?s Meats by accident, given the butcher job here. I mean, it was OFFAL! If there were a margarita board of ethics, Blue Bonnet would be subpoenaed daily. No Nectar of the Gods here; this green swill tasted more like the Antichrist, straight out of Linda Blair?s mouth. (Sorry). My point is, though: This really ISN?T a margarita, by definition. NOT EVEN CLOSE!! FACT: Margarita, invented in 1948 in Acapulco by Margarita Sames. Mixed to order; 1) a generous portion of fine white tequila, (50%), 2) a splash of fresh lime (25%), 3) a float of Couintreau (25%). Obviously, some subtle variations have evolved; i.e., substituting Grand Marnier or triple sec for Couintreau (still orange liqueurs), maybe a splash of fresh orange or lemon juice, or using a darker tequila, all good. Now when you throw in gender and sexual-orientation issues, (not that there?s anything wrong with that) you get out of my realm of interest. But if you do ask for a fruity drink, that?s what you should get. And if you order a real margarita, THAT?S what you should get. So what did I get? I guarantee you there was no fresh juice in there, probably industrial sour mix concentrate instead. Nor any liqueur even resembling Couintreau, more likely sugar, MAYBE orange zest. Hopefully they sprinkle in a little tequila although I really couldn?t taste it. $CHA-CHING, BABY$. If you want to get technical, and I do, what we have here tastes more like a tequila sour or a cheap tequila daiquiri than a margarita. IF IT LOOKS LIKE A DUCK AND IT QUACKS LIKE A DUCK, THEN IT?S A DUCK! I couldn?t get away with this kind of deception in my business for a minute, let alone decades. Unfortunately, we?ll never really know for sure, because at the Bonnet, you can?t watch the bartender mix your house margarita from scratch like in a professional restaurant. Here, THEY JUST SHOOT THIS CRUD OUT OF A HOSE, LIKE DOWN ON SOME FEED LOT IN FORT MORGAN! Makes you feel special. Ok, so WHERE does this stuff come from, then, since it?s not hand-mixed to order behind a bar? Is it delivered in tanks from companies like Coca-Cola or Seagram?s? Or do they cook it up in some clandestine lab somewhere, like meth? Maybe a big, tattooed guy named Tiny with black engineering boots, a bad case of dandruff, no hairnet, and a penchant for revenge on the public. Who knows? Why the hell doesn?t this place just get it over with and run a couple of troughs out through the dining room. One for the amusing slop, the other for the hilarious swill. That way, the hapless cattle that graze on this fraudulent stuff could just line up and load up. Easier for all concerned. Truth is, though, this kind of mediocre B.S. really needs to fade into the sunset and find its eternal resting place down in the tar pits. And while we?re at it, can I toss in our dinosaur of a waitress here? Talk about hostile body language. I was SURE this old battle-ax was going to attack me bad even BEFORE I started to open my mouth to joke about the $1.50 charge for the salsa. Guess she?s heard it all before..... No crime here, though. The place gets away with murder every day. Just ask my ?margarita?.
Pros: I didn't meet any here.
Cons: Talked to plenty of them.
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