It all started as I was making my second Negroni of the evening in between flips of a big ol' steak on the grill. I had flipped the meat, put the lid back on my trusty Weber, started the timer, and ran upstairs to mix up another round.
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 . . .
"Hey! Welcome! We're all having Pisco Sours. I'll make you one!" As the offer floated from her vocal cords, through the air, and bounced into his ears his mouth slowly opened and he pushed out a barely audible "okay." But it wasn't okay. He hated Pisco Sours.
He didn't only hate Pisco . . .
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 . . .