I don’t understand fancy cocktails and I never know what to order at a classy bar. Even worse than a classy bar is a really hip one. If there’s reclaimed wood on the walls or bookcases full of classic novels, I’m gonna be lost.
Sometimes I can fake it if they have a straightforward menu, but there’s always something in the ingredient list that I don’t know—liquor distilled in a Brooklyn basement or a mixer made from an Ecuadorian fruit. I think, to solve the problem next time, I’ll just duck-duck-goose it and see what I get.