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a few weeks ago, i had a table at molly’s that was a lot of fun–three old-timers having a few drinks and dinner together.  we were pretty busy so i wasn’t able to able to spend a lot of time with them, but i remember them very clearly.  it was an older couple–a heavy-set curly-haired lady and a tall, lanky cowboy-lookin’ old dude with white hair and a mustache just devouring his head above the upper lip.  dude had that deep, hypnotic cowboy drawl that you’d swear was  put on if you didn’t hear him keep it going.  very nice couple, though, and their friend was nice, too–a giant man who laughed at everything.

what they got to drink was memorable.

some people like to make up their own drinks.  the dude, speaking for himself and for his wife, ordered them a cocktail just sounded absolutely foul.  “we take it like this, son.  a whiskey–that’s a double now–kahlua, half-and-half, bailey’s, and coke. tall glass.’

god, BARF, i thought.  ‘does this drink have a name, my friend?’

‘son, you can call it however you like, long as you get it right.’  i double-checked with them and they said i had it right.

whiskey, kalua, bailey’s, half and half and coke.  that is just disgusting.  the only other time a man is likely to have mixed that shit together is in kicking the bottle and dumping all his booze and mixers down a damn drain.  i took this awful recipe to mladen, our bartender, and repeated it until he understood that these people actually did mean to drink it.  he whipped the drinks up, and i brought them back.

i rarely fuss about special orders.  it’s just part of the job.  but in this case, the drink was so nasty i wanted to poke a little fun.  mladen and i had straw-tested it after we mixed it, and it was crap.  it even looked nasty.  the different boozes and ingredients didn’t blend in a way that made a good-looking drink.  it looked like it tasted.  ugh.

‘so, brother, i took the trouble of naming this drink for you since you said i could call it whatever i wanted.’

‘oh yeah?’


the old cowboy dude thought it was funny enough.  i suggested to him that from now on when they order the drink, they should order the drink by name and indignantly pretend that a good bartender should know what a NEEDY MUSTACHE is.  the idea of that husky-voiced old cowboy trying to pull that off makes me smile.  dude’s mustache really was epic.  it was a huge distraction, like if he’d had a fucking math test stuck to his face or something.  i wasn’t going to be able to let them leave without a mustache joke, so the crappy cocktail came through with the chance.

ugh, fuck that nasty drink!


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