I am here to talk to you about the intoxication of Torontonians, but no, we will not be discussing the perils and pitfalls of crack cocaine. We have professionals for that. 

Instead, I come bearing news of briny, alcoholic goodness, known in this great country of burly lumberjacks as The Caesar. Basically, it's a Bloody Mary made with Clamato juice instead of lame old tomato. My first piece of advice for drinking Casesars is the following: don't think about it too much. Yes, Clamato is clam juice mixed with tomato juice and no, I don't know exactly what clam juice is. 

The Bloody Caesar was invented in 1969 in Calgary by Walter Chell, a Canadian born in Montenegro. Even its origin story is sexy. Chell, a man with a pencil-thin mustache like some Montenegrin Clark Gable, was inspired by the classic coastal Italian dish spaghetti alle vongole, or spaghetti with clams. Chell created the drink in honor of the opening night of the Owl's Nest, an Italian restaurant nestled in what is now the Westin Hotel in Alberta's largest city.  It's been said that the original Caesar had mashed up clams in it, whereas today you're more likely to find it piled high with pickles, olives, dilly beans, and the ocassional slice of bacon. 

Like many other members of the inebriation hall of fame, the Caesar achieved its rise thanks to some major corporate sponsorship. At the same moment that Walter Chell was mortar-and-pestling shellfish into the glasses of Alberta oil tycoons, the bigwigs at Motts were unveiling the briny love potion known as Clamato juice. Who knows why they invented it if not to mix it with vodka, but hey, it was the seventies. Things got weird. Needless to say, sales were not great until Motts discovered Chell's magical mixology and began promoting the alcoholic hell out of it. By 1994, 70% of all Clamato sold in Canada was used to make Caesars. Today, over 350 million Caesars are consumed annually in Canada alone.

Which is why today you'll find tallboys of premade Caesars at your local LCBO (Liquor Control Board of Ontario) stores, in flavors of Extra Spicy or Original. It also comes in bottles, which I have seen bros down as if they were the Smirnoff Ice of the North. A recent bar trip had me clamoring for a Caesar made with Valentina hot sauce, as if it were some cocktail equivalent of NAFTA.

Imbibe a Caesar and you will taste the depth, complexity and polite patriotism of the Great Lakes themselves. Your tongue will be lyrically transported to a flavor place that provides all you need: vegetable, vodka and umami. After I let my tall can of Ready To Drink Caesar breathe a little too long one warm afternoon, I took a long glug of it and dubbed it the World's Best Alcoholic Soup. (TM impending).

Is there a season that doesn't lend itself to this salty smorgasbord of flavours? The depths of winter require the Caesar's hearty sustenance but even summer brunch is a great excuse for extra servings of vegetables and hair of the dog. How many evenings have Caesars boldly ruled the space once reserved in my stomach for dinner, that amateur's game? More nights than Caesar ruled, I'd say.

Long live the emperor of cocktails. All Hail Caesar.