There is a very good restaurant a few blocks from home. This place is therefore easily within walking distance, which is good as this place also has a bar. As I work nights, my supper is in the morning and I can walk over and have it served to me. And have a drink or two. Also, I like to bake, but really should not eat the results of that as I’m trying to reduce my tonnage. One gal who works there noted that I brought cakes and brownies to her former workplace (someone I once worked with works there and… things happened) and so I bake something roughly weekly and take it over for the staff.
The folks tending the bar, at least during the day and excluding the owner, tend to be younger and rather less experienced. I found myself furthering their education by explaining how to make even some of the IBA standard cocktails. The classics like the Manhattan*, the Martini*, and even the Old Fashioned. Then there are those more obscure things I order from time to time. Alright, fairly often. More than once a drink (one of the standards) was added to the billing system’s menu after I ordered it.
A few weeks ago I casually mentioned that the selection was good, but it was a shame there was no rye. I do like the Manhattan and while it’s a very forgiving drink and a decent bourbon will do, it’s better (to me, anyway) with rye. The owner took note and I was expecting Jim Beam rye (quite acceptable) or maybe Old Overholt to appear. Nope. Bulleit rye. He wasn’t messing around. And… the bottle remained pointedly unopened until I was there. That was a bit of a surprise.
But last week something happened I really was not expecting and to be honest, I am still boggled by it. I can see the reasoning, but still. I had ordered and guided the bartender through the making of the Jasmine which, as the article relates, tastes rather like grapefruit (without the nasty note I dislike) despite the complete absence of it. As it came time to settle up the owner added another button to the system. It was NOT ‘Jasmine’. It was my button. My name on it. Yeah, just for me. And the price is set a bit low, and even so the instruction was, “Unless it’s something like Johnnie Walker Blue, just use this for him.”
I’m still “picking my jaw up off the floor” when I think about this. Why, yes, I do believe I’ll walk over there a bit later this morning.
* Those tend to have wildly varying ratios and ingredients depending upon the patron’s tastes. I tend to go for the supposed 1940’s ratios, myself.