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(The author’s First Communion. He tried the wine.)

 A man, directed by his particular passions, acquires certain skills as he grows up.

Each week, I will use this space to explore cocktails, their construction, and general commentary in that vein from the perspective of the casual tippler, and gentleman host. There are volumes on volumes penned by professionals from the world’s finest watering holes and you should read them if it pleases you. Yet even the French Laundry does not serve meatloaf as good as Grandma used to make on Fridays and so you may find the hospitality of your own hearth the irreplicable ingredient in some of the best libations your friends, lovers, and even yourself will ever have enjoyed so thoroughly. Or maybe Grandpa will simply disdain you a little less when you fix him a proper drink. If you want some of that action, I’m your huckleberry.

Thus, next week we will begin at the logical beginning. Scene: A handsome, be-suited gentleman leans easily against a long wooden bar, taking in the room, the portrait of casual elegance. Now, what is he drinking? Naturally, a martini. Ubiquitous. American. Irreproachable. Simple? Don’t be too sure. See you next week; drink well.


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