Our friend Billy is visiting, so last night we decided to drop into our local bar (it’s walking distance) for pizza.
On previous visits we’ve been charmed by it’s quirky hole-in-the-wall feel; the friendly staff; the hot, crisp and tasty pizzas and the reasonable wine list.
The drinks menu even featured an apple martini. I didn’t ever try this, but I knew it probably meant Marty (barkeep) could mix a drink. I took him up on this and had an acceptable gin martini one evening.
But last night was a different story. As sometimes happens when a venue changes hands it goes into some sort of death spiral.
I spotted a bottle of Bombay on the counter and after a couple of domestics earlier at home, I was in the groove and thought “Hell, why not, I’ll have a martini while we wait for the pizzas.” I knew things were not going well when the barkeep went into the tiny kitchen and came back with a jar of kalamatas.