A constant foil in the daily chore of preparing and consuming cuisine is to attempt to measure up to the appraisal of imagination, that strange truth that food stuffs partaken seldom measure up to in taste or appearance to the memory lingering in the mind’s eye. This tragic reality is a constant disappointment to us all, for do we not all in concert seek the succulent flavors, aromas, and textures of the ultimate perfect creation.
Any simulation of perfection is most problematic to achieve, invariably some small portion of the whole will fail the test, mar the feast, spoil the dish, by perhaps just the tiniest of measures, a grain of salt of sugar, a drip of lime, a dash of sauce. The simple task of recreating the perfect cocktail evades the most accomplished of barpersons upon a momentary basis somewhere upon the globe.
I find an answer is to concentrate the pallet upon a single component, something non-exclusive, additional, say a brand of mustard, ketchup, a mass-produced product that will never disappoint through global availability.