The reddish-brown dot soaked deep into his white Oxford shirt. He knew right then it would never come out. No amount of washing, soaking, or dry cleaning would free the blemish. The shirt would be forever marked with Angostura Bitters as a stamp of his commitment to adding them to an Old Fashioned.
From here on out the . . .
Cutting back and moving forward
A few days ago an interesting article came through my inbox that I had to run through Google Translate. Last week, French health officials warned the people of France to cut back on their wine consumption.
New benchmarks for alcohol consumption:
Maximum of 10 glasses per week,
Maximum 2 glasses a day,
. . .
The buzzer sounded, and the game was over. To be honest, the game was over at half time, but nobody wanted to say it. He switched off the television and walked towards the kitchen. Passing the bedroom, he could see that she had already dozed off. He quietly closed the door.
It was past his bedtime, but it isn't every . . .
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 . . .
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 . . .
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 . . .
The ride to the airport was easy and the surly TSA agent didn't say anything about his mismatched socks or the fact that he had no carry-on bag or luggage. His last-minute ticket made the buzzer go off when it went through the scanner. He realized it was the return ticket that would be used to fly back in a few hours.
. . .