People love personalization-- something made just for them. An article in The Wall Street Journal a few days ago talked about that exact thing. As you know, companies use your data to figure out what you like. Now they are making custom mixes of stuff like shampoo, vitamins, and health drinks for people based on their preferences. . . .
In the United States, our ideas on drinking are always so strict. Liquor is a deadly serious topic while an aperitif should be lighthearted. It seems as if we have forgotten about aperitif cocktails while the low-ABV and spiritfree movement are catching hold. We are passing over the original low-ABV OGs. This, of course, is nothing . . .
You can get a bittered sling at any bar in town
Most of the cocktails I make are incorrect in terms of bartending books, the mixologists at the snooty bar down the street, and the social media glamour bar coalition of Instagram. There are lots of opinionated drinkers out there with strong drinking beliefs. It seems that everything has a specific way to do it down to making simple . . .
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 . . .
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 . . .
The time had come. It was do or die. If he dawdled it would all be a waste. The pearlescent liquid winked at him in the bottom of the straight sided crystal glass. "Goodbye."
No longer flirting with freezing temperatures the drink had grown-up. Mellowed. Aged. He remembered only ten minutes ago when it was fierce . . .