There’s a bit of a mystery happening at Junior’s Tavern (30 E. 300 South, SLC). It seems to come into clearest focus every Sunday afternoon around 5 p.m.
During the next hour or two, there are five or six gentlemen seated around the bar who find themselves there near-weekly. They provide the core of the day’s business. And then there’s a group of five-to-seven younger folks, who’ll roll into the space, cranking up the volume by at least half.
Unlike the weekly regulars, chewing on their salted, in-the-shell peanuts, this new group is never made up of the same people (therein lies the mystery). They’ll arrive weekly: a handful in number, a touch loud, maybe a drink or three into their afternoon rounds already. And every week, these two groups peaceably meet and mingle at Junior’s.
Sometimes these new folks will strike up a conversation with those who’re weekly assembled. At that point, the Great Salt Lake Salt Drink may come up in conversation.
It’s a creation of bartender Mike Abu, a curly-haired, wise-cracking fellow who walks the mats at Junior’s every Sunday from the opening shift until about 7 p.m. In this role, he caters to his peanut-chomping regulars, but he’s also got The Bartender’s Touch—the ability to make conversation with everyone who walks in the room.
Even as he continuously changes the music and engages regulars in long, thoughtful convos, he’s serving drinks. Including the GSLSD. You may never come across a more specific, more simple, more regionally appropriate drink. Take note!
Start with a basic, state-approved pour of 1.5 ounces of rail vodka. This is topped by water, roughly in the same amount.
Added to this is a trio of salts: table salt, sea salt, kosher salt. At this point, your glass is guided across the bar in your general direction.
Note what doesn’t happen during this drink assemblage—at no point is the GSLSD shaken or stirred. It’s never placed in an icy tumbler. It’s not strained from such. Thus, the li’l mound of salt at the base of the glass is unperturbed.
Instead, that salt mound sorta sits there, staring back at you, shaped into a sort of pyramidal form. Over time, that salt will slowly begin to become one with the vodka and water, but the sheer curiosity of this room-temp cocktail tempts most drinkers into tilting it back before that salination is achieved.
Then comes a variation of the same consumer review, again and again: “It’s salty.”
What else needs to be said? It’s salty. Real salty. It’s characteristic of the lake of which it—and our fair city—are named. It’s also cheap. And it’s a conversation starter. (Or conversation killer.)
Is it a real drink? On this, we’re not sure. Abu’s got a prankster’s deft touch, and he’s the smartest guy in the room (no matter the room), so we’ll just say that this is a civically themed shooter that may yet find a tiny, brine-shrimp size following.