My Dad barely drank -- maybe a beer with dinner, occasionally, was it. I never saw him drink a cocktail. My Mom barely drank most of her life, either. When she got drunk eating rum soaked fruit from a punch in the Bahamas, during a business trip with Dad, it was memorable for me. Later in life, she got into vodka to help her sleep, and overdid it a bit, but then went dry again after a visit from my Cali sister videoed her.
I fell far from that tree -- I greatly enjoy several adult beverages. In college it was mostly beer, and the once in awhile grain alcohol punch at parties, and later, even before the Dude, I got into Kahlua during a trip to Mexico. In law school, my mentor Ed, Mike's Dad, introduced me to the vodka martini, which has been my drink since.
I rarely try a craft cocktail. I appreciate them, but always revert to my mean -- a freezing cold Ketel, or Stoli, or Stoli Elit, if I'm feeling like spoiling myself, do the trick.
Today's Times has a lovely story, about the retirement of the long time bartender at Sardi's. I was served by him a few times -- an evening of Ketel martinis, and a NY Strip, followed by "Book of Mormon" is my favorite Broadway experience. D2 was with me -- and we both laughed so hard we may have peed a bit.
Another all time bartender, though I only met him twice, is Marc at Gibson's Steakhouse in Chicago. The guy is out of working class Chicago Central Casting -- probably 6'3" and teller of great tales. The first time I met him and ordered my usual, he asked "You want I should make it as cold as my ex wife's heart?"
Fate and my deposition schedule had me back in Chicago the following year -- in April. Marc recognized me "Hey -- Dave from Miami - welcome back!" This time he seated me at a table where Frank sat, and regaled me with the tale of how Ole Blue Eyes saved Gibson's by his visits in the early 90s.
Locally, my man is Victor, at Trulucks, which is located where our office was, on Brickell, for many years. Victor is a lovely Peruano, and his favorite celebrity customer was Paul Newman. Back when the handsome guy raced cars, he was often in Homestead, and came all the time to the Benihana in South Miami. He and Victor would chat for hours -- Newman in shades and a ball cap -- no one recognized him. Man -- Wifey would have enjoyed being at the next barstool.
Sunday night, Mike, Chris, and I were at Anthony's Runway 84 in Lauderdale. It was a fine dinner, with a couple of martinis -- and then a trip to see John Fogerty at Hard Rock Live. I tried to get Chris to be a vodka martini drinker like his late grandpa -- but no dice -- he's a Manhattan man.
Fortunately I'm not an alcoholic, except in the eyes of one person, who has banned me from attending her daughter's wedding on account of she thinks I'd get drunk and "ruin the whole affair." Hey -- as the great Ricky Nelson sang -- you can't please everyone!
My friends find this hilarious. Serves me right, they figure, for a popular guy to be intensely disliked by at least someone! Barry keeps bringing up another example -- Stephanie in college. Stephanie lived on the first floor of our 3 story apartment, and when we would toss a football or baseball, and it would roll near Stephanie's window, she accused me of being a peeping Tom! I wasn't -- but the chick just couldn't stand me. Barry found this endlessly entertaining, and so I did, too.
But the groom in the wedding I'm missing also expressed some pretty obvious anti-semitism, even though his intended is full blown Jewess. So it's become a thing now -- "Hey Dave -- when is the anti-semitic wedding you're not invited to?" Yeah -- my friends can indeed be assholes. I love them.
So sooner than later I'll be raising a glass. I wonder -- had Dad lived longer, would I have turned him into more of a drinker? Probably not -- but my Mom DID have uncles who could tie a few on. I guess I carry on their tradition.
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