The B-52

The first time Carolina and I (Gretchen) met, it was her birthday, and she was visiting The City of Brotherly Love for business. My husband and I met up with Carolina and our mutual friends, MG and Chas for sushi at POD in University City. We literally ate a mountain of sushi that evening—the highlight, if I recall, was the evening’s special, warm lobster roll. Heavenly.

We had a few cocktails and laughs over sushi, and later strolled down the street to Philly’s renowned White Dog Café. I knew of the place, but had never actually dined there. They have a bar, but it’s an intimate place, not really the type of bar that was prepared for a raucous crowd like ours coming through the doors at nearly closing time. The bartender humored us while we debated our drink options. We were long past the point of wine and simple cocktails. We were ready for shots. But all of us, long since past our college primes, shun the “let’s get über drunk” type of shots like lemon drops and cheap tequila.

It was Caro who recommended the B-52s, my first introduction to a shot made of an eye-balled blend of coffee liquor (like Kahlua), Baileys, and Grand Marnier. They were smooth and went down easy, warming my insides on a colder-than-usual early spring night. I’ll always associate the B-52 with my partner in crime here, and I wouldn’t have been the first to do so. For, you see, Carolina had learned of the drink when she was a wee freshman in college. The bartender at the local dive (called “Stacks”) introduced her to the drink when she mentioned that she liked anything to do with coffee and coffee-flavored concoctions.

“I liked the name; it sounded audacious,” Carolina recalls. Later, during a trip back to Argentina, she introduced a local bartender there to the B-52, and he subsequently named the drink for her. From then on, it was known as “The Carolina.”

Since it’s sort of become her defacto “signature drink,” Carolina is quite an expert on how to create the perfect B-52. “You can use equal parts, but I like the coffee flavor, so I always put in a little extra—about twice as much as the others—of the Kahlua,” she confides. Also, she forewarns bar patrons, don’t fall prey to a lax bartender who just tosses the three liqueurs into a shaker and mixes them and chills then. “You’ve got to layer them and serve at room temperature. That’s the best,” she stresses.