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The syrupy sweet tale of the Pink Cadillac Margarita

In our last installment of the irregular and irreverent series on drinks loosely connected to – or named after – automobiles, we sipped a Taxi cocktail, which in its original form tasted a bit like a margarita infused with Blackjack chewing gum , except worse. This time, we explore mythos behind a drink so pink it usually doesn't make you stop and think. But that's what we're going to do. And, as always, enjoy cocktails (and reading about them) while you're not behind the wheel. Our brother lives in Detroit, where old American cars go to not die. On the streets of the Motor City, you will see all manner of holey-mufflered, salt-rotted, spring-sagging Big Three iron plowing along shoddily. Our brother's next-door neighbor is a connoisseur of such vehicles, and thus populates his driveway with a cache of Malaise Era Cadillacs. (His dog lives in one.) His latest addition, which our brother texted us a photo of recently while we were eating fish tacos in Los Angeles, is a Desert Rose 1977 Coupe DeVille (seen below). Since we're always thinking about cars or drinking (or both), and we were eating Mexican, this put us in mind of a cocktail our cousin's trashy bridesmaid made us try at her wedding in Charleston: the Pink Cadillac Margarita. Suddenly, we were thirsty. The Pink Cadillac Margarita is, quite obviously, a pink drink – a somewhat cloying, if deliciously chuggable concoction colored with a spritz of Ocean Spray, or Chambord liqueur if you're classy. Pink drinks get a bum rap. Blame it on the Cosmopolitan, and everyday misogyny, but many people find pink drinks frivolous. As expert drinkers, and drink experts, we would counter that the consumption of alcohol is, at its essence, about being frivolous. Never mind that the chemical is a depressive; Consuming it is about putting on your rose (or rose) colored glasses, and getting ready to make some mistakes. The Pink Cadillac is apparently so named not just because of its signature color and the irresistible musical connection between Cadillacs and pinkness (see: Aretha, Springstein, Natalie Cole). The moniker also derives from the quality of the ingredients – drawing on the historical expression "The Cadillac of..." to signify something top-shelf. "It's difficult to know quite how that name was derived," says Melody Lee, Cadillac's director of brand strategy.

Junkyard Gem: 1998 Cadillac Catera

Every so often, during the last few decades of the 20th century, the suits running each of the big Detroit automakers would eye their European subsidiaries and decide that some car from the other side of the Atlantic could be making dollars over here in addition to pounds or francs or Deutschmarks over there. Chrysler didn't do so well with Simca 1204s or Plymouth-badged Hillman Avengers in the American marketplace (though the Simca-based Omnirizon did very well). Ford USA moved quite a few Capris and Fiestas during the 1970s, then bombed with the Merkur Scorpio and XR4Ti. General Motors tried, over and over, to get Americans to buy Opels (some sold by Buick dealers, others actually badged as Buicks), and I still see the occasional Kadett, GT, or Manta in junkyards to this day. For the 1997 model year, still stinging from the not-so-great sales of the Turin-Hamtramck-built Cadillac Allante, GM took the Omel Omega B and applied Cadillac badges. The result was the Catera, and I found this silver '98 in a Denver self-service yard recently. The Catera had a lot going for it, with a rear-wheel-drive layout and a modern V6 engine that made more power than the BMW 528i's straight-six that year. It should have been able to compete with European luxury sedans in North America because it was a European luxury sedan. Unfortunately, you couldn't get a manual transmission in the Catera, "traditional" Cadillac shoppers thought the Catera lacked a sufficiently massive presence, and younger Cadillac buyers flocked straight to the Escalade starting in 1999. After 2001, the Catera was no more. I still find Cateras in junkyards, nearly 20 years after the last ones were sold, so they appear to have held together pretty well. This one was in nice shape until the end, with all the original manuals still in the glovebox. Even the Catera ballpoint pen remained with the car for its whole life. As we can see in the owner's manual, Cadillac marketed the Catera as "The Caddy That Zigs." The idea was that younger car shoppers would become as Cadillac-obsessed as their grandparents had been. Inspired by the ducks in the Cadillac logo, the Catera marketing team created Ziggy the Duck to pitch this car. Things didn't go so well. The Catera listed at $29,995 in 1998, about $47,600 in 2020 dollars. That made it an affordable alternative to the BMW 5-Series or Acura 3.2 TL, but total Catera sales came to fewer than 95,000 cars over five model years.

Car subscription services: A slow, expensive start — but the potential is huge

Americans are used to paying for subscriptions — to magazines and cable television, for instance — but experience shows they'll cancel when the price of admission gets too high, or there are more tempting alternatives. Cord cutters ditched nearly 1.5 million pay-TV subscriptions in 2017, according to a survey by Leichtman Research Group. Cable TV started out cheap with basic offerings, and then got expensive. The auto industry's subscription offerings are new, but they're starting out costly, and not price-competitive with traditional leasing. The upside is that they take the hassle out of car ownership for busy people by letting the service take care of maintenance, insurance, licensing and taxes. And they give consumers choice, often allowing relatively painless switches between different cars in the automakers' lineup. Subscription services also point the way toward an ownership-free auto experience, and offer an easy transition to a potential world where ride- and car-sharing will be dominant. Subscriptions are here to stay, but consumers may take a while to "get" them. Lincoln's subscription service for lightly used 2015 to 2017 models, offered through the Ford-owned Canvas beginning this year, got off to a slow start. Many early subscribers canceled. Last month, Cadillac announced it would " temporarily pause" its $1,800-per-month Book subscription service for "adjustments" as of December 1. According to the Wall Street Journal, "Snags with the back-end technology used to support the service made some customer-service functions tedious and time-consuming, adding costs for the company." The challenge for automakers is to come up with a strategy that offers consumers a compelling, affordable option to regular ownership, and one that can also make a profit. I think they'll find that sweet spot, but they're not there yet. Jack Nerad, former executive editorial director at Kelley Blue Book and author of " The Complete Idiot's Guide to Buying or Leasing a Car," points out that "A lot of people expected that subscriptions would be very valuable for people who wanted inexpensive transportation, but the reality is quite the opposite. Subscriptions are offering more choices for the wealthy.