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 . . .
I'll have a #nofilter martini with a twist
I recently read Cal Newport's new book, Digital Minimalism, and loved it. It reaffirmed some ideas I have tried to incorporate into my life over the last few years of social media mania. His explanations on why people are posting and waiting for likes, thumbs ups, and comments and how those things correlate to the apps that are . . .
What do you want out of an Old Fashioned?
A few years ago I wrote a Medium post called The Old Fashioned Bell Curve. For those of you who didn't read it, the premise was pretty simple: Make the drink as strong as possible and let it dilute over ice until it hits the apogee of the curve - or as I call it, the best part.
Since I wrote the article, if I was making . . .
While walking home, he was thinking about what to have for cocktail hour. He knew the fridge contained two fresh bottles of sweet and dry vermouth. A splash of either stirred with a heavy pour of gin would undoubtedly do the trick.
He walked into the apartment and hung up his coat before looking over the bar cart that . . .
Throwing his bag on the neatly made hotel bed, he hurriedly checked his watch. After a small delay at the airport, he still had enough time to make it. Quickly he unpacked and hung up anything that could get easily wrinkled. He kicked off his boots, slipped on a pair of loafers, and grabbed his worn-out blue chore coat before . . .
In red neon cursive "BAR" glowed in the afternoon shade. Before pushing the door open, he respectfully unrolled the sleeves of the striped blue Oxford down to his wrists concealing the faded lines inked into his skin. The humidity outside permitted a less formal approach, but the small brass sign on the door clearly . . .
Getting to the airport was easy. Elevator to sidewalk. Sidewalk to subway. Subway to airplane. It was a dance and he knew all the steps through repetition. He waltzed through his preferred security checkpoint and made it to the assigned gate in record time.
He preferred a window seat if it was a short flight, like today, . . .