Margarita

Nobody owns the Margarita's origin story, which is part of its charm. The strongest claim is the least romantic: it's a Daisy - a 19th-century family of sours built on spirit, citrus, and orange liqueur - made with tequila, which became inevitable the moment tequila crossed the border in volume. Margarita is Spanish for daisy. Mystery solved, mostly.

What matters more than the history is the ratio, because the ratio is the recipe. Margaritas die one of two deaths: too sweet or too watery. The 2 : 1 : ¾ build holds the line against both. Two ounces of blanco keeps the agave in charge. A full ounce of lime keeps it bright enough to want a second. Three-quarters of an ounce of orange liqueur is enough to round the edges without turning the drink into an orange-flavored apology.

You'll see other specs defended with religious intensity - the equal-parts 1 : 1 : 1, the sweeter 3 : 2 : 2, the liqueur-free Tommy's. They're not wrong; they're different drinks wearing the same name. This one is the driest of the mainstream builds, which is deliberate. A dry Margarita rewards good tequila and fresh limes. A sweet one hides them, and if you're hiding your tequila, the problem is the tequila.

The optional quarter-ounce of agave syrup is the only adjustment worth debating. Sharp winter limes earn it. Good summer limes don't.

The tequila. 100% agave blanco, full stop. The label will say "100% de agave" - if it doesn't, it's a mixto, cut with neutral spirit, and it's where the next-morning regret lives. Blanco over reposado for this drink: the barrel notes in a reposado fight the lime instead of dancing with it. You don't need to spend much - the $25-30 shelf has bottles with more agave character than plenty of $60 ones. The ranked shelf has the value pick and the upgrade; the short version is that clean and peppery beats smooth and forgettable.

The orange liqueur. This is where most home Margaritas quietly fail. Bottom-shelf triple sec is sweet orange water; it pads the drink without contributing anything. Cointreau costs more and earns it - drier, stronger at 40 proof, and clean enough to disappear into the build the way it's supposed to. Grand Marnier works but changes the drink: its brandy base adds weight, pushing you toward Cadillac territory (see variations). If the budget says triple sec, buy one that lists its proof above 30 and its sugar below its dignity.

The lime. Fresh, squeezed the same day. Bottled lime juice oxidizes into something bitter and flat - it's the single most common reason a homemade Margarita tastes "off" in a way nobody can name. One average lime yields about an ounce, so a round for four is a four-lime commitment. Roll them hard on the counter first; warm limes give more.

The salt. Kosher, not iodized table salt, which turns metallic against citrus. Half the rim only - salt should be an option per sip, not a sentence.

The agave. A quarter-ounce, only when the limes bite back. Taste a drop of the juice first; let the fruit make the call.