Once upon a time, I went down to Key West, Florida and had a cocktail created in my honor. This is that story.

There was a heavy scent of suntan lotion and fried fish wafting in the air as we walked to our first bar. The sound of our flip flops made that familiar click I’ve been hearing all my life as our feet met the pavement. Summer in Key West is made for Floridians. Though there were groups of tourists from all over the world proving otherwise, we were made for this weather.

It would be fair to say our lives were leading to this fateful moment when we’d be able to go to Key West during its off season and comfortably walk Duval’s eclectic street unfazed by the terrorizing heat of a July Florida sun. It was Jaime’s first time in Key West and he wanted a beer. I, on the other hand, wanted a piña colada. And not those frozen machine-made basic coladas, I wanted a craft piña colada the likes of which were made to be enjoyed here of all places on planet earth. So we walked into the first open bar we saw, a casual dive called Viva Saloon, and ordered our drinks. The bartender, a blonde middle aged heavy set woman, looked at me with something like disdain.

“You’re in the wrong place, honey,” she said revealing a Southern accent as she opened Jaime’s beer. “I can mix you some rum and pineapple juice?”

Disappointed, I nearly caved and ordered the beer, until our English savior revealed himself from the back of the bar and said, “I can make you one, love.”

I already knew the island’s magic. Years ago it got a hold of me and hasn’t released my devotion since. That moment was one more testament to why I am obsessed with this strange place.

Paul, a transplant from overseas and the future King of Key West, shoved ice into a rag, beat it with a drink shaker, and then grabbed about four bottles of liquor from the back shelf. When he was finished, the best god damn piña colada I ever had was placed before me.

Our friendship would blossom and Paul was even invited to our wedding four years later. We never forgot his act of kindness and honestly, sheer talent. The bar we were in, a former haunted whorehouse and total dive, did not provide the conditions for a mixologist to craft a personalized cocktail. So Paul was good, and to no one’s surprise, he upgraded to a bar on the other side of the island at The Saint Hotel.

There, he was given all manor of fancy bottles and trimmings to design a cocktail menu filled with delightful adventures for every flavor profile imaginable… including a piña colada lover’s. On our fourth of fifth trip back to the island, at that point semi-regulars, Paul coaxed me to order the Shipwrecked.

“It’s your drink, love.” He said and winked. Sure enough, there it was, a full fledged version of the original drink he made me on our first Key West stroll as a couple… right down to beating the ice by way of wooden mallet, a considerable upgrade since its delicious prototype.

I couldn’t help but smile. I took home the menu as a proud keepsake. We have a tradition now of visiting Paul at The Saint Hotel on our way out of Key West for one last beer and piña colada before the road.