Biking To Booze: Celebrating a New Bike at Cafe Genevieve

My ownership of the little red mountain bike was a few hours old, and Bike Pimp and I had just finished attaching racks (which enable attaching baskets, etc.) to our respective bikes. She got a new one and I got her old one. This process largely consists of using screws and saying "oh shoot, the washer fell off," based on my experience.
It was a glorious 70-degree day and by now it was happy hour. Obviously, it was time to take the bike in search of alcohol.

In going to Cafe Genevieve, we could do this and sit outside on the restaurant's deck. The cafe is just outside of the Town Square, so it's a pretty easy ride from almost anywhere in the town. It also earns Happy Biker Points because it has a bike rack out front.

Being a small place in downtown Jackson, Genevieve is mildly pretentious and pricy, but the food and drink are top notch. Happy hour is a good time to stop by because Genevieve has deals worth taking on cocktails and appetizers. If you play your cards right, you can easily manage a drink and a bite for around $10.

Knocking back: Bike Pimp and I both opted for the blood orange margarita.

Bon Appetit: Since I hadn't eaten since grabbing a yogurt and a pack of fruit snacks at around 11 (yes, I'm that classy), we split a duck confit quesadilla.

Verdict: In terms of tipsiness risk, the drink wasn't all that heavy on the tequila, but it was pretty big. I was happy by the time I finished,but keep in mind I was already on a bike high. The blood orange kept it from that sticky-sweet taste you can get with some milder margaritas. It reminded me a little of a tequila sunrise with grapefruit juice instead of grenadine, the creation of a good college friend.

The duck quesadilla turned out to be smaller than we'd thought - one tortilla folded in half, instead of two layered. It was seriously good though. Nothing too fancy inside, except, you know, the duck, but really well done. Obviously it required liking duck to enjoy the quesadilla, but it was a delicious example of a fine American resort town tradition: shamelessly co-opting ethnic food and adding a dash of snobbery to justify charging more.

Add in the perfect weather and the fact that an off-season Saturday = no crowds and I considered my new bike thoroughly celebrated.