Daiquiri

I'd like a daiquiri.

At a bar in Johannesburg’s bohemian Melville suburb, a good-looking brunette named Tania sips on a strawberry daiquiri.

I want a daiquiri.

Or maybe you just believe that limes are for summer, best reserved for daiquiris and mojitos. That last argument is debatable, but defensible. In any case, El Presidente is less daiquiri and more Manhattan, less summer and more winter.