Throughout the years the methods had come and gone. Different bottles. Full to empty. He steadily searched for perfection. Each part of the drink had been examined with the strictest scrutiny. It was his favorite ritual.
The pieces of ice made his fingers look magnified as he held them. A swift smack with the back of a . . .
They usually had a cocktail every evening before dinner. Sometimes two. She would tell him about her day while he stirred their drinks. He wouldn't be home this evening though. It was a rare guys night.
By the time she got home, he would be halfway through a ribeye the size of Texas and all the way through his second . . .
It had been raining all day. He kicked off his soggy shoes the second he got the door open and decided then and there he would be staying in for the evening. There was no need to brave the elements and cooking dinner at home sounded nice.
There was a chicken in the fridge that would do well in the oven and throwing together . . .
He put the last dinner plate in the dishwasher and looked around. It was too early for bed. He wasn't one for having a dessert unless he could drink it. Sticking his hand out the window to check the temperature he decided to go out for a nightcap. He pulled his worn green tweed jacket on and walked out the door.
A taxi . . .
He reached for the tall heavy-bottomed crystal shaker he had used almost every day for as long as he could remember. It was a gift from his mother-in-law from some fancy place whose name he had forgotten. The sticker that signified it legitimate had long been removed the same way he always pulled the band off of a cigar before he . . .
There used to be a time when I could drink more than I could today. Now if I have a drop too much I am in for a world of hurt the next day. It may not even be apparent when I go to bed. No slurring or common actions of inebriation.
One thing I have begun to enjoy are weak drinks. I am not talking about the . . .
The original cocktail of Logan Square
This drink is not mine. A good friend and one of the owners of the Whistler, Billy Helmkamp, came up with this smooth sipping winner about ten years ago. I mentioned him last week on the blog when I was talking about bars that keep their sidewalks clean. Billy has been at it for a long time in the Windy City. If you get . . .