6:30 sharp...or YOU have to make the drinks!
For the last few months, my wife and I have been enjoying a cocktail hour at home. This is a daily thing unless we happen to be out for some reason. It is in both of our calendars and whoever is late has to make the drinks...which are martinis more often than not.
Why Cocktail Hour?
We are both pretty intense in . . .
A long time ago he made a personal rule not to have a toddy unless there was an inch of snow on the ground. He, of course, made exceptions for a sore throat regardless of the forecast. A few more minutes of accumulation and he would be in the clear.
He placed a kettle on the stove and turned the fire on. While that got all . . .
The plates had been cleared and it was time for dessert. When this part of the meal rolled around he usually ordered a black coffee and watched while everyone else cracked into their large crème brûlées. He wanted a liquid dessert and didn't like to share.
After sitting through a whole meal he needed to get up and move . . .
A few sips in he realized this would not be like any tasting he had ever attended. No sales pitch was lurking in the shadows. No brand to be seen. Each glass bottle held clear liquid and had blue painters tape attached. In Sharpie, he could read date, agave, and distiller.
He had been invited to try his buddies personal . . .
Time and Place for Cocktails
Certain drinks don't work in certain places. I have always known this but unless you change your geographic location and always drink the same thing it is often hard to tell.
Think cocktail bar vs dive and what you would order at each one. What if instead of a cocktail bar and dive it was urban and rural settings? What . . .
Extra innings meant that he was on edge. She had been asleep since the stretch. He usually loved West Coast away games but September baseball carries a different weight when you are only a few games ahead. The announcers yammered on about great plays from the start of the season and how players had either blossomed or shriveled . . .
He poured the last sip of wine for her and waltzed over to the small bar cart to see about a nightcap. Neither of them needed one, but the fireworks would be starting soon. They had been an unexpected surprise throughout the summer. An amenity he enjoyed far more than the gym he assumed was on the third or fourth floor.
. . .