10 2
And speaking
of a Negroni,
my preferred
variation is the
heavy-hitting
Boulevardier,
which subs
bourbon for gin.Say hello to
my little friend.
Underberg, the
German anise-
flavored digestif
sold in 20-ml
bottles wrapped
in paper, is
a bartender
favorite. It’s my
go-to for nights
when I’ve had
three dinners.3:30 a.m., my wife and I, sitting on the
rocky shore, took the last sips from the
bottle as guests wandered off to bed.
Think about the most memorable
moments of your life —your wedding,
40th birthdays, impromptu summer
backyard BBQs that go late into the
night. Alcohol consecrates these times
like nothing else can. The happiest snap-
shots of my life have been defined by
it—a magnum of Billecart-Salmon Brut
Rosé Champagne, an ice-cold Narragan-
sett tall boy (or three), and of course, a
1.75-liter handle of whiskey purchased at
a state liquor store. What people often
get wrong is that they drink to forget.
I like to drink to remember.
RULE 4
One Is Not the
Loneliest Number
My favorite places to enjoy a cocktail, in
no particular order, are: airplanes, hotel
bars, Prime Meats restaurant in Brook-
lyn, and leaning against my kitchen
counter after I get home from work. Not
coincidentally, those are the places I do
my best thinking, too. After a few sips
of, say, Japanese whisky, ideally poured
into a heavy-bottomed crystal tumbler
over a big chunk of ice, ideas seem to
flow more easily. I’ve got a bookshelf
full of Moleskine and composition note-
books filled with all kinds of scribblings
to prove it—from thoughts on last night’s
Detroit-style pizza to a screed on kiwi-
fruit. Thinking and drinking, at least for
me, go hand in hand.
And why is that? Because drinking also
happens to be the best—and cheapest—
form of therapy that I know. It’s the one
time of day I can stop being a colleague, a
father to two daughters, and a husband—
if only for a few minutes. While I’m stir-
ring that 50/50 martini in a mixing glass
until frost forms on the outside (or watch-
ing someone else do it for me), there are
no emails to answer, no deadlines to meet,
no phone calls to return. Those are the
quiet, cellphone-free moments that have
become all too rare for me these days.
Up until a few months ago, I believed
that these meditative breaks had some-
thing to do with the fact that I was
drinking alone. But then I had a realization—at 30,000 feet.
I was on a flight to San Francisco to check out restaurants for
this year’s Hot 10 list when I did what I always do on a plane—I
ordered the ingredients for my MacGyver-esque old-fashioned:
two mini bottles of Woodford Reserve bourbon (that’s the brand
that Delta, my airline, carries), two plastic cups (one filled with
ice), a packet of sugar, and a slice of orange or whatever citrus I
can get my hands on. I already had a teeny one-eighth-ounce
bottle of Angostura orange bitters on hand because, well, who
doesn’t travel with bitters in their carry-on? As I was adding a
few drops of those bitters to the half packet of sugar I’d dumped
into the empty glass, I could feel the stare of my fellow passen-
gers. I was used to it. Who the hell mixes his own cocktail on a
plane? I added the bourbon, stirred it the best I could with my
finger, and added a few ice cubes. Next thing I know I’m hand-
ing out mini bottles of bitters and showing my seatmates how to
make an old-fashioned midair. Even the flight attendant started
asking questions. No, I wasn’t drinking alone. Because whether
you’re on a plane or at a bar, or even at your kitchen counter,
you’re never really drinking alone.RULE 5Make No Mistake About It
We’ve all done stupid things while drinking. Some are funny,
and most are ultimately harmless—like belting out “Living on
a Prayer” at karaoke or trying to break-dance at your cousin’s
wedding. But some are just straight-up stupid. You learn from
those errors.
I was a few years out of college, working at my first publishing
job, when my boss invited everyone over to his house for a sum-
mer cookout. I couldn’t have been more excited. Would it be like
the crazy office-party scene in Billy Wilder’s The Apartment? It
wasn’t, but the wine was going down easy. And then I noticed the
pool. “Let’s go swimming!” I thought I heard someone say. With-
out hesitation, I jumped in—clothes, shoes, all. When I surfaced,
everyone was staring at me. Just me. Things got worse from
there (I’ll spare you the details). Let’s just say that after that
night, I haven’t gotten drunk at an office party since.
At the Bon Appétit holiday party last year at the legendary
El Quijote restaurant in New York’s Chelsea Hotel, I was the
old guy sipping sparkling water with lime. When the young-
sters begged me to do a shot of tequila, I told them next time.
And when my editor in chief gave me a hard time for being
one of the first to leave, I shrugged my shoulders and hopped
on my bike home.
I’m a 43-year-old father of two now, one who is more likely
to ask a younger colleague what “OTOH” means in an email
(it’s “on the other hand,” if you’re wondering) than challenge
him to shotgun a beer. I drink as much water as whiskey when
I’m at the bar (or at least I try to). I drink less, but I drink bet-
ter. And it’s because I’ve learned to respect drinking, the craft
of it, the camaraderie of it, and the importance of it in my life.
I don’t want to screw up that relationship. Drinking is one of
life’s great pleasures when done with thought and care. I want
to do it for as long as I can. After all, it’s made me who I am. FOOD STYLING BY CLAUDIA FICCA. PROP STYLINGBY CHLOE DALEY. ILLUSTRATIONS BY TIM LAHAN.Everyone
should have
at least one
cocktail recipe
memorized.
My first was
a Negroni. One
ounce each of
gin, Campari,
and sweet
vermouth. Serve
on the rocks and
garnish with
an orange twist.
If you can’t
remember that,
you probably
shouldn’t
be drinking.