Cocktails

Blame this on my previous experience as a bartender. Why blame needs to be placed is well beyond me but writers looking for an excuse out of a given behavior look for blame and try to place it on some event, person, object, out of body experience, they may have had. Of course, they may only have desired to have the experience so that they can claim blame. I am placing my blame firmly in the lap of Greg Matt, my bartender mentor. I am applying this blame to the recent upsurge in popularity of sophisticated cocktails to which I can give a hearty "thank heavens." I know this is true because the new Old Crown Coffee place has a bona fide bartender who knows his way around the spirits. He also makes an excellent Manhattan. The Manhattan, not the bartender is the real subject of this essay. He was only a sideline and he can now be ignored. The Manhattan is a delightful blend of rye whiskey, sweet (French to the cogniscenti) vermouth, a dash of bitters garnished with marichino cherries. On July 4, the day we celebrated the end of British tyranny, I introduced a friend to the Manhattan. He was caught in its allure. Even the name conjures up images of an old New York seen only in old movies like the Thin Man series (Nick and Nora, where are you when cocktail hour comes?). Now he knows what to order when the cocktail waitress comes around and asking for beer is de classe. He can look at her and say with authority, "I'll have a Manhattan, please." If he would specify rye whiskey instead of bourbon, she would realize he was a man not to be trifled with. Where the story would go from here only you can imagine and we pray his wife doesn't find out.
Cocktails are back! What next? Will pipe smoking gain social acceptance? One can hope.