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Why anyone
would want
a glass full of
chilled gin or
vodka is beyond
me. Next time
you order a
martini, do me
a favor and ask
for a 50/50
cocktail. Half
gin, half dry
vermouth with
a few dashes
of bitters, and an
olive (or three).
If you don’t like
it, I’m buying.Grapefruit is
an overlooked
cocktail garnish.
I like a twist
with my martinis
and a half-
moon slice with
my margaritas.
It adds an
alluring perfume
without
lemon’s acidity.RULE 1Drink Like an Italian
The first time I realized there might be an art to drinking was
in 1996, during my senior year abroad. I was sitting at a café in
Siena, Italy’s Piazza del Campo with a bunch of my Birkenstock-
wearing classmates. We pointed to the crimson-red drinks
everyone was drinking—a pitcher of beer seemed badly out of
place. “We’ll have two of those,” we told the bow-tied, white-
jacket-wearing server. Soon a highball filled with ice and what
we would later learn was Campari arrived. It was flanked by a
mini bottle of club soda, a lemon wedge, and a half-moon slice
of orange. We mixed the two liquids together and garnished it
with the citrus. It was refreshing, pleasantly bitter, and mildly
sweet. We ordered another.
Around us, none of the tables crowded with multigenera-
tional friends and families were hooting and hollering or
screaming at the top of their lungs about how hammered they
were. There was no TV, no Golden Tee golf video game, no
Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring from speakers. We talked
about European soccer and life after college, drank Campari
and soda highballs, and snacked on fat olives, olive-oil-fried
potato chips, and plates of thinly sliced prosciutto and melon.
For the first time in my life, drinking became an elevated
experience, something refined and romantic—something
intoxicating, but for altogether different reasons.RULE 2Back-to-School Special
As a 20-something junior editor at Bon Appétit in the early
2000s, I was out every night, eating at new restaurants, soak-
ing up trends, and trying to make a mark in the food world.
But I still hadn’t found my niche. Then, in 2005, a swanky bar
called Pegu Club opened in New York’s Soho. To say that it
changed my life might sound like hyperbole, but it’s true. You
see, I wasn’t old enough to be a part of the American food
revolution happening at places like Chez Panisse in the ’70s
and ’80s. But the cocktail revolution? I had a front-row seat at
Pegu Club’s long maple bar. Night after night, I discovered
drinks both classic (Singapore Slings and 50/50 martinis) and
new (Gin-Gin Mules and Old Cubans). I spent hours absorbing
every detail about cocktail making and drinking. “What’s
that green stuff in that serious-looking bottle?” I would ask.
(It was Chartreuse, a crucial ingredient in the gin-based Last
Word cocktail.) “Why do you stir some drinks and shake oth-
ers?” (Generally, you shake drinks that have juice or egg in
them; you stir liquor-only ones.) “What’s that tool called you
use to measure out liquids?” (It’s a jigger, and the best ones
are sold at cocktailkingdom.com.)
Inspired by my nights at Pegu, I started collecting old cock-
tail manuals by the likes of Jerry Thomas, Harry Craddock,
and David Embury. And just as important, I met people whoRide a bike, throw a baseball, or treat oth-
ers with respect? Yes. Drink? Not really.
For the most part, we are raised to
believe, at least in America, that alcohol is
inherently evil (it’s not), causes trouble (it
can), and leads to a life of dependence (in
some cases, it certainly does). “Drink
responsibly,” the beer ads implore us
incessantly during football games, all
while depicting a group of friends high-
fiving, having the most epic time of their
lives. What young person wouldn’t be
the least bit curious? Who wouldn’t
want to get their hands on a six-pack or a
pitcher of margaritas and try to repli-
cate that lifestyle? So when you are finally
old enough to drink, you often do it in
excess, recklessly, without even giving an
iota of concern to how good or bad some-
thing actually tastes. How else do you
explain the appeal of Long Island Iced
Teas at college bars or high-proof grain
alcohol–filled Hand Grenades sold on
Bourbon Street? You drink to get
drunk. That’s the entire point, isn’t it?
It’s not. Drinking is actually some-
thing you can do very well. You just have
to work at it. I should know—it’s some-
thing I’ve quite literally spent my entire
adult life working on.
No one
ever
teaches
you how
to drink.