The bartender didn't seem bothered by his request for a spoonful of absinthe in his martini. Normally he took a martini as any sensible person would: gin with a touch of vermouth and a squeeze of lemon oil to garnish. Today, however, he was in the mood for something slightly different.
To anyone looking at his drink . . .
As he crossed the tracks on Canal he could faintly make out the gruff voice of a trombone from deep within the Quarter. He glanced down at his wrist out of habit and laughed because he had intentionally left his watch at the hotel. No matter. Crossing this historic street was as close to stepping back in time as one can get. The . . .
He had been home for a week. The early afternoon drinks and cigarettes while watching the sun slowly set had made a profound impact. He had not even unpacked his suitcase yet. The contents still held the sweet, floral, spicy, and a touch fishy scent of Marseille.
Watching the sun reflect off the shiny buildings on Lake . . .
for a Cloudy Afternoon
For whatever reason our American taste buds aren't really huge fans of anise the way just about every other culture is. The Turkish go nuts for Raki while the Greek drink their Ouzo. Sambuca is seen more on the table and less in the club in Italy and in Southern France, Pastis and water is a . . .