We'd walked over to Honi Honi only to find it closed for the long weekend. Rather than call it a night, we accepted our soggy fate, trekked through the rain, and ended up at Campio instead.
The first thing that hit me walking through the door wasn't the food.
It was the smell.
Specifically, that unmistakable aroma of stale booze that's been spilled, forgotten, and slowly absorbed into the bar over the years. Every bar has its own signature scent. Campio's smells like the floor has heard some incredible stories.
We grabbed two seats at the bar and made what seemed like a simple request.
"Can you make us two random cocktails?"
Antonio paused.
"...Sure."
Then he looked at us and admitted it was only his second day on the job.
You could actually see him thinking about asking one of the other bartenders for help.
"Nope," we said.
"No asking anyone else."
"Just surprise us."
At that point we'd accidentally turned his second day into a practical exam.
We weren't proud of ourselves.
We weren't not proud of ourselves either.
To his credit, he accepted the challenge.
The first two cocktails to land in front of us were the Sun-Kissed Colada and the Honey Bourbon Sour, and honestly, he came out swinging.
The Sun-Kissed Colada is a masterclass in tricking your brain. The cinnamon dusted over the top completely dominates the aroma, convincing you the drink is going to be warm and spice-forward.
Then you take a sip.
The cinnamon almost disappears.
Instead, you're left with one of the best-balanced coconut cocktails I've had. Bright pineapple, smooth coconut, fresh lime, and just enough sweetness to keep everything together. It somehow uses cinnamon almost exclusively as an optical illusion for your nose.
The Honey Bourbon Sour was another solid choice. Smooth, silky, and well-balanced, with the honey and Cynar working together beautifully.
If I could change one thing, it'd be swapping the lemon for orange. It feels like the entire drink would come alive with that one adjustment.
Now that Antonio had passed the first test, we did the only logical thing.
We made him do it again.
Another two random cocktails.
This time he came back with the Mirage 43 and the Canadian Old Fashioned.
The Mirage 43 tastes like Orange Julius finally decided its target audience had mortgages. Thick, creamy, nostalgic, and the closest thing to drinking childhood without having to stand in a mall food court.
The Canadian Old Fashioned took a minute.
The first sip had me skeptical.
The second got my attention.
By the third, it had completely won me over.
It's the cocktail equivalent of a Canadian conversation. It starts with talking about the weather and somehow ends with helping you move.
Looking back, I actually think the menu accidentally built two cocktails that would both improve if they simply traded whiskies. Put the Ripple Rock into the Honey Bourbon Sour and use the bourbon in the Canadian Old Fashioned.
I think everyone wins.
One question, though.
What the fuck is happening with mango?
Every cocktail menu suddenly has multiple mango drinks.
I'm starting to think there's a Mango Investment Fund backing Alberta's cocktail scene.
"Congratulations. Following a successful Series A funding round, we're pleased to announce your venue has secured capital for three new mango cocktails."
Apparently diversification no longer applies once fruit gets involved.
Campio wasn't where we planned to end up that night.
Sometimes a long weekend, a little rain, and a closed door make the decision for you.
What started as an unplanned detour ended up being a genuinely pleasant way to finish the evening. Great cocktails, a bartender willing to trust his instincts on day two, and a reminder that sometimes saying, "Surprise me," pays off.