The Art of the Drink...

A few weeks ago, I was at a bar with a buddy of mine in Denver, and we went to a bar that was exclusively known for serving scotch. I approach said bar in awe at the multitudes of upside down bottles in their individual dispensaries behind the bartender. I say to the bartender "I'll have a Talisker, neat, 3 fingers." to which she replied. "Ummm...Talisker...?? Let me see if we have that." and she then proceeded to walk around a corner and talk to an elderly man, who pointed to the second row of scotch dispensaries. She nodded, and came back to me, and said.."Okay, now how do you make a...what did you call it?" "A Talisker...neat...3 fingers?" "Yeah, that!" "You...grab a glass...How long have you worked here?" - "2 years." - "Oh, for fucks sake...Do you know what a scotch on the rocks is?" "Yeah." "Give me a scotch on the rocks, with no ice, and 3 squirts from your little mechanism that it's sitting on top of."

This hurt my soul.

Not for the fact that she didn't know any of the jargon I was using, but for the fact that a place that should have invited class, had a person in a hooded sweatshirt working behind the bar, that knew nothing of the peaty, distinct richness of scotch, and how to serve it to a gentleman in the know.

I peruse the liquor aisle in a grocery store now and I see "Infused With...", "Cherry Flavored" "Lemon Craze"...and I have to just look on with a head that shakes from side to side in heartbreak.

No longer can a true gentleman show his expertise with such class and elegance by knowing a vast array of drinks off the cuff when hosting a lady in his place. "What would you like?" he would say as he disappeared behind his bar as he popped the top from his silver bullet shaker. "A Rob Roy." "A Sidecar." "A Tom Collins."

And the man would go to work.

Now, with premade, prefabricated everything, in a world that demands "I want it faster!", the smooth caress of a mans hand upon his martini shaker is slowly becoming a thing of the past.

Liquors now have recipes on a rubberband hanging around their neck that simply read "Mix with 7-Up, and you're ready to go."

They've taken then Class out of Classic.

To go back to the bar, where I'm staring with a forlorn face into the empty gaze of a hoodie wearing bartender...I will finish my pain, and agony by giving you her final retort to our conversation.

"So, you want a triple shot of scotch?"

I almost cried.


Classically yours,
Mangano, Johnny Mangano

Shaken, not Stirred.