My hands started teetering up and down like a set of oldfashioned scales as I muttered gibberish. Eventually, I snapped and thrust a finger into his chest. “That might be a decent first drink on any normal day. However, today isn’t a regular day. At the moment, I’m looking to try new things. Can you make me a Sazerac?”
“What was that?”
He’s cracking. “A Sazerac.”
The faux-tender pulled a reference guide out from under the bar and thumbed through it. After a brief search, he returned the sheets and excused himself. A few moments later, the other bartender approached, his hands cleaning a small tumbler. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have everything required to make a Sazerac?”
“What are you missing?”
“The absinthe,” the bartender said as he placed the clean glass beside the others. “And since you don’t really want it, can I interest you in something else?”
“Are you a mind reader as well?”
“While I’ve heard of people who like that drink, the vast majority can’t stand the hint of black licorice that comes from the absinthe.”
Not only did this guy know the obscure drink’s ingredients, but he also knew its flavor profile. Dempsey definitely had to be shelling out serious money to employ this fellow. Turning my hands up, I offered a genuine grin. “Bartender’s choice will be more than sufficient.”
With a nod, he looked me over and went to work, deftly mixing my cocktail. His hands whirled about in a state of controlled abandon. It was a mesmerizing show. When he finished, he cracked the shaker and poured the cocktail into a long-stemmed glass. As he shoved the glass toward me, he spooned a little olive brine into the glass and mixed it with a few speared olives. Then, before I could grab it, he dropped a bit of lemon peel into the glass.
“You should give the drink a moment to mellow before tasting.”
I pointed at the sliver of the yellow rind. “Is this how you make martinis?”
“Everyone has their own take to the drink,” the bartender said as he cleaned his tools. “It should be ready to drink.”
I picked up the glass and gave it a cursory inspection before taking the first sip. I let the alcohol flow over my tongue as I absorbed the flavors. This was without a doubt one of the best martinis, if not the very best, I’d ever tasted. If I hadn’t needed a clear head, I would have drained the drink in a single gulp, but I had my priorities. With a broad smile, I carefully placed the glass down on the counter and withdrew my wallet. I thumbed through the bills and withdrew a one-hundred-dollar bill, offering it to him. To my surprise, he looked absolutely offended I offered him money of any kind.
“Sir, in case you didn’t know, prior to the tournament, the bars are open. You can have as much as you’d like.”
That was a useful fact. So I filed it away for future reference and did my very best to contort my face to look disgusted by the bartender’s actions. But instead of arguing, I reached out and stuffed the bill into his shirt pocket. “I don’t recall asking how much I owed, do you?”
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