Spring means spring cocktails and the loss of my dignity
It is sad that the New York Times liquor blog Proof is closing shop after four months and 40 posts. It dealt with alcohol in serious ways (such as in its first post) but also with a sophisticated pizzazz.
One of the posts I was waiting to highlight was written last month. “Your signature cocktail” talks about how what you order says a lot about you as a person — but so does what you don’t order but secretly would like to. As someone who harbors secret desires for fruity drinks and sugar cocktails I know exactly what the author is talking about.
In the winter I am a scotch, whiskey and dark beer guy. Manly choices that I just happen to love. I also like the the James Bond suave feeling you get from ordering a fine scotch “neat” and having knowledgeable people at the bar turn their heads, often with a nod that says in a nonvocal way “you’re OK.”
Then spring arrives. As the weather warms, my taste regresses to that of an 18-year-old sorority girl. Now I belly up to the bar and turn heads, but from people wanting to see the wimp ordering a mimosa. Or the condescending waitress who lets me know that frozen margaritas still have tequila in them.
Actually, only one waitress has ever been condescending towards my drink choice but others let me know it in indirect ways.