Dear Cointreau,

OK, look. You're up to your neck in it, right Cointreau? Too much Mount Gay Rum, too much Remy Martin VOSP Cognac, too many trips through the effing blender with that no-good Milagro Tequila followed by dumps into a ridiculous salt-rim glass the size of a human head. You're all up in the swirl and the swirl is all up in you and sometimes you spin and spit and whirl and just can't seem to find the bottom of the glass. Right? I know how it is.

Although virtually every bar on the planet has a bottle of you - KWAHN-troh - on the shelf, right next to other supporting players Gran Marnier, Triple Sec and Crème de menthe - chances are that you have never found solace over ice. Just you, ice and a glass. No crazy straws. No Harley-Davidson muscle shirts tucked way, way into high-waisted demin shorts wrangling you at sports bar. No brown sandals paired with white tube socks sipping you on the sand. Just, solitude. And orange.

Essentially, you are an orange-flavored liqueur forced to embellish drinks such as margaritas. Oh, I admit it. I go there, too. I always request a splash of Cointreau in my Margarita. Triple Sec is a bum and using Gran Marnier is just plain silly. The latter is like using Burgundy from Romanée-Conti to make beef daube (cue rattle your jewelry). But you, dear Cointreau, in a margarita or many other mixed drinks elevate them in the way that a Hermes Birkin bag or a Piaget timepiece bestows a little extra flair upon its owner.

Cointreau, you're classy and classic. You've been around for more than 150 years, virtually unchanged. Even your bottle design remains almost identical to that which was unveiled in 1849, when confectioner Adolphe Cointreau and his brother Edouard-Jean created you in Angers, France. Since that time, the alchemy of you has remained consistent and invariable.

I say "alchemy" because Cointreau is made from a well-guarded secret recipe that's passed down from generation to generation in the Cointreau family. I also say it because Chris Keil at the 1022 South says that word, so it adds cred to the column.

What's known is this: You're made with orange peels, Cointreau. It's true. Orange peels are combined and distilled with alcohol. But not just any old orange peels, Anita Bryant. You burst with flavors of sweet oranges from Spain and Brazil, along with the bitter tang of the Caribbean Bigarade orange.

First, the orange peels are separated by hand from the orange pulp and meat. Then they are dried in the sun and carefully sorted. In addition, some sweet orange peels from Brazil are used fresh, not dried. The handpicked peels are then shipped to your distillery in France where they are bathed and distilled in alcohol and pure spring water for weeks. During this time the essential aromas and flavors of the oranges permeate the alcoholic brew while the distillation process takes place in 12 red copper stills.

The result is a unique and wonderful liqueur, 40 percent alcohol by volume, that when poured over ice and sipped by a fire puts a quick end to any and all disputes about fire station budgets, Murray Morgan Bridge openings and coal trains. For relaxing times, dear Cointreau, I sip you next to the fire at the Crown Bar. You pair well with its earthy zihua mushroom quesadilla.

But that sort of sipping is for purists. More often than not, the Crown Bar adds you to its Blood Orange Cosmo ($8.50), Charlie's Crankin' Sidecar ($9.75) and seasonal Country Fair ($9) with rhubarb, vodka and lemons.

Here's one of my favorite Cointreau cocktails, called a Screaming Orgasm: Mix the following ingredients in a shaker with ice: 2-ounces Cointreau, 1-ounce Irish cream liqueur, 1-ounce vodka, 1-ounce Amaretto, 1-ounce coffee liqueur. Shake and serve over ice with a strawberry or cinnamon stick for a garnish. Orgasm guaranteed.

Happy New Year Cointreau. I hope 2013 is filled with more respect. May you enjoy more solitude by warm fires.

Cheers,

Ron Swarner

CROWN BAR, 2705 SIXTH AVE., TACOMA, 253.272.4177