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August 2, 2010

When I want to annoy my boyfriend I order a Ketel One martini, extra dirty. (Vodka is sooooo uncouth; a proper martini is made with gin and has a lemon twist; and extra dirty just means “make it so salty I can barely taste the booze.” Not that vodka has much of a taste – the very reason cocktail geeks disdain it. It is, as Mandie reminded me I taught her, just a vehicle for alcohol. (“My dear,” she said, “that is the entire point.” Touché.)) Anyway. On Friday evening at Flatbush Farm, a dirty Ketel One martini was all I wanted. It wasn’t to annoy M.; he wasn’t there (not that I had reason to). Guess I just wanted to get crunkkkkd. (And for the record, it was salty as a salt-lick and positively dripping with uncouth booze and utterly, absolutely glorious.)

When I want to annoy my boyfriend I order a Ketel One martini, extra dirty. (Vodka is sooooo uncouth; a proper martini is made with gin and has a lemon twist; and extra dirty just means “make it so salty I can barely taste the booze.” Not that vodka has much of a taste – the very reason cocktail geeks disdain it. It is, as Mandie reminded me I taught her, just a vehicle for alcohol. (“My dear,” she said, “that is the entire point.” Touché.))

Anyway. On Friday evening at Flatbush Farm, a dirty Ketel One martini was all I wanted. It wasn’t to annoy M.; he wasn’t there (not that I had reason to). Guess I just wanted to get crunkkkkd. (And for the record, it was salty as a salt-lick and positively dripping with uncouth booze and utterly, absolutely glorious.)

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