By night in Chile

Last night Fernando took me to his favourite Mexican restaurant, where he sang boisterously along with the mariachi while I poured tequila down my throat and smiled idiotically. I asked Fernando what the best kind of pisco was and he said the only criterion for good pisco was its proof, i.e. the proof of the pisco is in the proof. Then we got into Fernando’s truck and drove to a nightspot called Brooklyn’s English Pub, where I drank 46% pisco and munched on popcorn while we waited for the band to come on. The band came on at midnight, by which time the place had filled up quite a bit, and opened bizarrely with Radiohead’s ¨Karma Police¨, before giving it large with the Chilean rock classics, and of course a U2 song, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme. We were sitting right in front of the band; the bassist could have pissed in my pisco. But I don’t think he did.