Strawberry Sangarita Margarita Sangria

The twins are here. Brittany's girls, born May 22, 2026, in Orlando. Zoe and Zara Jackson. Five pounds eleven ounces and five pounds eight ounces. Identical. Tiny. Perfect. Two babies at once, which is the most ambitious thing a body can do and which Brittany did with the calm of a pharmacist who measures things precisely and the strength of a Henderson woman who does not do things by halves — she does them by doubles.

Patricia called me from the hospital. She was crying — the standard Henderson announcement cry, which is the same whether it's one baby or two. "Mama, they're here. Both of them. They're here." I said, "What do they look like?" She said, "They look like each other." I laughed. Of course they do. They're identical twins. They look like each other and they look like Brittany and they look like Patricia, and if I squint — and I do squint, because I'm seventy and my eyes earn their paycheck — I can see Hattie Pearl in the shape of their faces. Or maybe I see what I want to see. Either way, the seeing is real.

The great-grandchild count: ten. Ten. Double digits. I have lived long enough to see double digits of great-grandchildren, and each one is a miracle, and the miracles are multiplying faster than my cornbread recipe, which has been fed to every single one of them in some form and will continue to be fed to them until the skillet breaks or I do, whichever comes first, and the skillet is ninety years old and stronger than I am, so probably me.

The Orlando Greyhound box went out Friday. Doubled, as planned. Two sets of freezer meals. Two containers of each: collard greens, mac and cheese, chicken and dumplings, red rice. A note that said: "For the mother of twins: eat first, sleep second, and call me when you need more food. I can send more food. I can always send more food. Love, Granny Dot."

Made a celebration dinner tonight. Not for anyone who was here — just for the occasion. Fried chicken and red rice and collard greens for two babies in Orlando who will never know that their great-grandmother cooked for them the day they were born, from three hundred miles away, in a kitchen that holds the prayers of five generations. They'll know someday. They'll know because someone will tell them. And the telling is the food, and the food is the love, and the love is the telling.

Now go on and feed somebody.

I don’t often make cocktails — I am a sweet tea and church punch woman by nature — but the night Zoe and Zara came into the world I thought: ten great-grandchildren deserves something with a little more ceremony than a glass of water. I had strawberries on the counter that were one day past their best, which is exactly the right strawberry for a sangarita, and I made myself one glass and sat at the kitchen table with the porch light on and the phone close and I drank it slowly, which is how you drink something you mean as a toast.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes (plus 1 hour chill time) | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 bottle (750 ml) dry rosé wine or light red wine
1 cup silver tequila
1/2 cup triple sec or orange liqueur
1/2 cup fresh lime juice (about 4–5 limes)
1/4 cup simple syrup or honey, to taste
2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
1 orange, thinly sliced into rounds
1 lime, thinly sliced into rounds
2 cups sparkling water or lemon-lime soda, chilled
Ice, for serving
Coarse salt or sugar, for rimming glasses (optional)
Fresh mint or basil, for garnish

Instructions

Combine the base. In a large pitcher, stir together the wine, tequila, triple sec, lime juice, and simple syrup until combined. Taste and adjust sweetness as needed.
Add the fruit. Add the sliced strawberries, orange rounds, and lime rounds to the pitcher. Stir gently to distribute.
Chill. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, or up to 8 hours. The longer it sits, the more the fruit flavors develop and deepen.
Prepare the glasses. If rimming, spread a thin layer of lime juice around the rim of each glass, then press into coarse salt or sugar. Fill glasses with ice.
Finish and serve. Pour the chilled sangria mixture over the ice, filling each glass about three-quarters full. Top with a splash of sparkling water or lemon-lime soda. Garnish with fresh mint or basil and a strawberry on the rim.
Stir and toast. Give each glass a gentle stir before drinking. Raise it to whoever deserves celebrating.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry Sangarita Margarita Sangria — A Toast to Two Girls Born at Once