Elevate Your Margarita Game with the Kraken Margarita

Ingredients 

• 2 ounces El Jimador Tequila 
• 1 ounce Patron Citronage 
• 2 Limes 
• 2 Clementines
• Agave
• Salt (optional)
• Ice

Directions

If you’ve ever made a cocktail before, this will feel familiar. If you haven’t, welcome. Either way, here’s a margarita.

Salt the Glass (Optional but Encouraged):

Run a lime wedge around the rim of a rocks glass, then dip it into coarse salt. If you skip this, that’s between you and your conscience.

Juice the Citrus:

Juice the limes and clementines. You should end up with about 3–4 ounces. Do not overthink this. Margaritas do not reward precision.

Build the Drink:

Add the El Jimador, Citronage, citrus juice, and agave syrup to a cocktail shaker.

Agave is to taste – start with a quick squeeze. You can always add more; you cannot un-add it.

Ice It and Shake Like You Mean It:

Fill the shaker with ice, seal it, and shake vigorously for 10–15 seconds, or until the shaker is cold enough to make you feel briefly accomplished.

Strain & Serve:

Strain into the prepared glass over fresh ice. Drink immediately while congratulating yourself on not buying a pre-made mix.

If You’re in a Pinch

Margarita emergencies are real. If you find yourself in one, substitutions are allowed. Not ideal, but allowed.

No Clementines?

You can use one small orange instead. You will taste the difference. It’s not bad; just different, and now you’ve been warned.

No Agave?

Simple syrup works, but you’ll need to do a couple of sip tests to get it right. Start small. Overshooting sweetness is a rookie mistake.

And Finally:

I’m not a brand snob – if anything, I’m an influencer rebel. That said, I’ve tried enough combinations of tequila / liqueur to say this with confidence:

It Matters. 

Use the El Jimador Tequila and Patron Citronage if you can find it.

The Story

The Kraken margarita is named after a real person. Her name is not Kraken, but that’s what I call her. You may also call her that.

I’d love to tell you she’s a witchy villain – kicks puppies, puts ketchup on mashed potatoes – but the truth is more disappointing: she’s perfectly fine. A little bland. Not evil. Just deeply committed to hating my guts.

Kraken is, technically, my ex’s new, dreadfully boring, girlfriend. (Was that phrasing generous? No. Accurate? Close enough.)

My ex and I have a classic American love story. We met on Tinder, fell immediately in love, and committed to exclusivity almost right away.

Correction: I committed to exclusivity. He apparently committed to vibes.

This minor philosophical difference led me (briefly and heroically) to decide we were incompatible. Which was annoying, because I really liked him. More importantly, I liked playing with him (calm down). We hiked, biked, kayaked … every outdoorsy summer-camp activity for adults who refuse to grow up. Since this was early COVID and neither of us had roommates or better judgment, we spent a lot of time doing exactly that.

So yes, we got close. Friends, even. He went on to date half of Raleigh (if you live in North Carolina, you either slept with him or know someone who did) because he’s got that kind of charm.

Eventually, he met Kraken. Something about her aggressively vanilla personality clicked with his chaos, and she was absorbed into the friend group. Everyone moved on.

Everyone except Kraken.

Kraken developed a focused, disciplined resentment of me. And, much like Fran Drescher before me, I was eventually out on my fanny.*

Before that happened, though, Kraken tried to win us all over with her very special margarita – a drink she guarded like it was nuclear codes. The recipe was simple. The secrecy was not.

Unfortunately for her, I am nothing if not motivated by spite.

I learned the recipe. She was furious. It tasted even better after that.

So now I’m sharing it with you. And I sincerely hope you share it with everyone you know.

*this is a Nanny sitcom reference and if you’re too young to know it, you’re too young for this drink.