The first time I ever sipped a jalapeño margarita was in Balboa Park in San Diego. It was dark, the twinkle lights were casting a dim yellow glow throughout the park, and we sat on the patio of The Prado surrounded by old world architecture.
My friend casually ordered his usual — a jalapeño margarita on the rocks — and when it arrived at the table I asked for a sip, captivated by the fresh jalapeño slices bobbing in the highball glass. When the salt on the rim, the acidity of the...