Bar reflections

I am in love with this article, in which a bartender talks about vodka and first dates and chardonnay and what it all means. You could say I love bars. But what that really means is probably something different than what most people think. I don't love "Let's find a crowded, no-atmosphere bar that's playing Britney Spears and do shots and try to score" kinds of bars. Rather, I love the stories happening within bars; I love the dark wood, the candlelight, the way women slip off their slingback heels under a bar stool to stretch out their feet when they think no one is looking. I love how people can be their best or worst selves there, depending on the evening, and the company. Most years, on the night of my birthday when I've invited friends out for a drink, I try to be the first person there, so I can order something, sip it slowly, watch the people around me, and mark my luck at seeing another year pass.

Too, I love ordering a drink, and trying to guess what it makes the bartender assume about me. I am a different person when I order a dirty martini (sassy) than I am when I order a Sam Adams seasonal (conversational, casual), or a prosecco (celebratory), or a gin and tonic (nostalgic for my family). When I ask for a Tanqueray, I'm asserting something about myself; I'm letting you know what you're in for.

I am a different breed than the lady in this article, but I am trying to experiment the way she seems to -- namely, by trying to get into bourbon. Tips are appreciated, for me (on what to try) and for whatever bartender you frequent (when you order).

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