There are certain things in life that warrant a strong cocktail.

Here are three:

  1. A bad day at work
  2. Car problems
  3. Menards

Not necessarily in that order.

I realize that for many of you, there are a multitude of issues more disturbing…A family squabble, finances, the Redskins being renamed “The Washington Football Team.” (OK…you may have a point with that one.)

Yet I maintain…a trip to Menards is as provoking as anything. Case in point: Caulk. 

There is nothing exciting about caulk. Or electrical tape. Or any of the other kazillion home improvement items you can buy there. So instead of the required masks, I propose that Menards hands out mini bottles of alcohol. Suddenly there’s a party in Aisle 2.

Unfortunately Menards has yet to realize the benefit of intoxicated home improvement shopping. Which meant that the first stop for the Iowa Roadie & husband after buying a “self-adjusting rotating level,” (the price of this thing was enough to drive anyone to drink) was Whiskey Junction in Denver, Iowa. 

Denver has a population of 1,780 residents and is considered part of the Waterloo-Cedar Falls Metropolitan area. Directly across the street from Whiskey Junction is a local ice cream parlor called The Sweet Spot. However inside Whiskey Junction was something even sweeter…$1.50 cans of Blatz.

Loyal Iowa Roadie readers (all three of you) know that I have a fascination with Blatz beer. Not because I drink it (which I don’t), but because it is the most elusive of the old school beers. I equate it to finding a four-leaf clover. A special treat (and I use that term loosely) for those able to uncover this beer rarity. 

Ironically my husband did NOT order a Blatz. Instead he chose–surprise– a Busch Light…which is about as uncommon as water in Iowa. It was a very disappointing decision as Bush Light offers very little in the way of Interesting Writing Material. 

What WAS interesting is that Whiskey Junction has bras hanging from a cow skull. They also serve a delicious homemade apple pie shot and my new favorite…a pickle shot. 

A quick side note…I have determined the pickle shot to be as elusive as the aforementioned Blatz beer. However, unlike Blatz beer, pickle shots are delicious. So delicious, in fact, that the Iowa Roadie thought she could make them at home.

She was wrong. 

My five-star pickle vodka recipe resembled sauerkraut juice. 

Mixed with curdled milk. 

And weiner juice.

I assure you it was not pleasant.

So thank you Whiskey Junction for selling a pickle shot that did not make me want to vomit.

A mere ten miles from Denver is Waverly, home of “The Wooden Foot Saloon,” an Iowa Roadie favorite. My three loyal readers may recall that the last time I visited The Wooden Foot, they were hosting Shot Madness, an NCAA championship-like bracket featuring 64 shots. 

The night the Iowa Roadie last visited, Butt Sex was dueling Zelle Bean. Butt Sex prevailed…and went on to win the entire championship, beating out a shot whose name is a bit too explicit for print. (For the record, I cast my vote against Butt Sex in the first round, favoring instead a shot that tasted like Fruit Loops.)

However X-rated shots were not on my radar, as the Iowa Roadie’s mission was instead to purchase the Wooden Foot’s fresh fruit margaritas. These delectable drinks are made from scratch and feature six flavors including strawberry-rhubarb and pomegranate. They are also offered in “to go” aluminum cans, perfect for quarantine drinkers tired of Busch Light. 

Although a bold statement, I proclaim the Wooden Foot’s pomegranate margarita “the Nectar of the Gods.” ALSO… I would like to point out that pomegranates are full of antioxidants which reduce inflammation and remove free radicals (whatever they are). 

Translated…there are Health Benefits to consuming pomegranates…even if they are drowning in tequila. (The Surgeon General has yet to endorse Busch Light.) 

While sipping my super healthy cocktail, I had the pleasure of visiting with Wooden Foot owner Jake. Jake had recently purchased a new Tesla equipped with…are you ready… a fart machine. (Remember when power steering was a novelty?) This gassy feature allows the driver to make his car fart on demand. 

The only other place one is able to achieve this level of immature humor is junior high shop class…or a toga party.

Fortunately the Iowa Roadie is far too sophisticated for that sort of juvenile merrymaking.

Instead I’ll make burping noises with my armpits and drink a pickle shot in Aisle 4…right next to the toilet plungers.


Fresh Fruit Margaritas in carry out cans
Wooden Foot Saloon Shot Championship (The X-Rated Showdown)
Bras and Antlers at Whiskey Junction in Denver, Iowa
The elusive pickle shot
The Farting Car

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