The establishment is smoky and refined. The barman places the cocktail glass on a small paper napkin in front of me. He puts three blocks of ice into it and then pours in the murky, lime tinged liquid from the chilled shaker. The tip of my tongue rests against the back of my lips.

"Looks good."

"Oh, it is sir."

I take the glass and place it to my lips. I savour its cool, liquid occupant. Heaven.

"Shit this is magnificent, without a doubt the best margarita I have ever tasted."

"Thank you sir."

"What's the secret ingredient?"

"Well, that would be a secret sir."

"Come on, you can tell me."

"I am afraid I can't sir."

"Cointreau?"

"Well it's in there, but I would hardly call that the secret ingredient. Any margarita worth its salt has a good orange liqueur in it sir."

"Pun intended?"

"Of course sir."

"OK fine. Now stop calling me sir. And fix me another one of these puppies."

"Coming right up."

He mixes up another as I drain my glass. It arrives with all the aplomb of the first, and tastes even better. He long poured the tequila; I must remember to give him a good tip.

"Actually, I make a pretty good margarita myself."

"I am sure you do sir."

"You want to know what I use as my secret ingredient?"

"The curiosity is literally eating me alive sir."

"I thought I told you not to call me sir."

"Quite correct, yes you did. I apologise."

"OK good. So my secret ingredient is…. wait for it."

"I most certainly am, with baited breath in fact."

"Semen!"

"What?"

"I shoot my load in the cocktail shaker just before serving."

"I find that most surprising sir."

"Yup, a batch of my swimmers makes for the best margarita in town, second to yours of course."

"That's very interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Well it seems we both use the same secret ingredient."

"What? You mean…"

"Yes."

"In this one?"

"I am afraid so sir."

"Why you fucking wanker!"

"Quite correct sir."

"Stop calling me sir!"