What do you want out of an Old Fashioned?
A few years ago I wrote a Medium post called The Old Fashioned Bell Curve. For those of you who didn't read it, the premise was pretty simple: Make the drink as strong as possible and let it dilute over ice until it hits the apogee of the curve - or as I call it, the best part.
Since I wrote the article, if I was making . . .
While walking home, he was thinking about what to have for cocktail hour. He knew the fridge contained two fresh bottles of sweet and dry vermouth. A splash of either stirred with a heavy pour of gin would undoubtedly do the trick.
He walked into the apartment and hung up his coat before looking over the bar cart that . . .
Throwing his bag on the neatly made hotel bed, he hurriedly checked his watch. After a small delay at the airport, he still had enough time to make it. Quickly he unpacked and hung up anything that could get easily wrinkled. He kicked off his boots, slipped on a pair of loafers, and grabbed his worn-out blue chore coat before . . .
In red neon cursive "BAR" glowed in the afternoon shade. Before pushing the door open, he respectfully unrolled the sleeves of the striped blue Oxford down to his wrists concealing the faded lines inked into his skin. The humidity outside permitted a less formal approach, but the small brass sign on the door clearly . . .
Getting to the airport was easy. Elevator to sidewalk. Sidewalk to subway. Subway to airplane. It was a dance and he knew all the steps through repetition. He waltzed through his preferred security checkpoint and made it to the assigned gate in record time.
He preferred a window seat if it was a short flight, like today, . . .
He barely survived the trip home due to the obscene temperature outside. Walking in, he turned on the kitchen light to a loud pop and a flash. Darkness. Letting out a loud sigh he walked right back to the elevator. He checked the temperature again-- negative twenty. When the doors opened on the first floor he was wrapped up, . . .
The lock released with a loud buzz and he pushed the heavy outer door inward. He couldn't exactly remember which apartment his friend lived in but he was mostly sure it was on the third floor. Seeing as he took a cab all the way here he figured he might as well climb the stairs instead of riding the elevator.
When he . . .