Log:On the Making and Consumption of Old-Fashioned Cocktails
| On the Making and Consumption of Old-Fashioned Cocktails | |
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| Participants | 30 August, 2017 In which deep thoughts are uttered aloud, drinks are drunk, and bartenders learn that certain folks should just talk themselves out. |
| Location | |
| It's Wednesday night, which for a typical bar and cafe could mean anything. So, of course, tonight it means that a portly, middle-aged man in a three-piece suit is sitting at the bar, reading Down and Out in Paris and London and sipping water that he likely served himself, depending on the level of service here. He seems very engrossed, and so doesn't yet notice if anyone approaches him. There is water with fruit in it, in a carafe, but also likely plain water as well. Full service is not an option, but there's usually someone up at the bar - which tonight is a short young woman, with wild black hair, currently dressed in an orange and green fade, lacy dress with likewise lacy black leggings. She finishes wiping down some mess on the counter, and then ventures over to the man. He gets a curious look, and then she wonders of him after a glance to the water, "Good evening, sir. Would you like anything other than the water?" "Whiskey. Neat. Japanese, if you have it. Santori is preferred. If not," and here he finally looks up and acknowledges her. "Then an Old-Fashioned." He turns back to the book, then seems to remember something and looks up again. "Please." "Um... coming right up!" Ziv doesn't sound entirely certain of what Roland just said, but she does turn back to the selection of booze there are - and a list of notes that was likely left up there at the counter for her. She still looks doubtful as she begins to go through the bottles and rummage around, obviously not entirely sure of what she's doing. Roland looks up again from the book, a ratty, dog-eared volume that likely came from the property's bookshelf, and watches Ziv for a moment before asking, "Do you know how to make an Old-Fashioned?" After the briefest of pauses, he continues on without waiting for an answer. "First get some sugar and water, not a lot of each, and mix them together in a low-ball glass." Here he pauses, looking over his glasses, waiting. At the instruction, Ziv just kind of freezes - at least at first, staring at Roland for a bit. There's a faint purse of her lips though, thoughtful more than anything, and she nods before going to pick up one of the lowball glasses. She's fairly quick, though, at mixing the water and sugar at least. "Excellent, we're halfway there, now," Roland intones, oblivious as to whether Ziv has actually ever made one of these drinks or not, but gamely going into Instructor Mode. "Now, take some whiskey, whatever you have is fine, and pour about," here he puts two of the fingers on his right hand together, thinks about it, then adds a third and puts his hand next to the glass. "that much into the glass." He smiles. "You have oranges and lemons, I assume?" Ziv does as instructed, looking into a glass and peering at it after she's taken in Roland's fingers. There's a faint nod to herself, more than anything or anyone else, and she goes to grab a fresh lemon and slice it up. "Lots of oranges and lemons," she agrees, nodding a little absent-mindedly as she makes it look pretty. Closing a hand around it, she brings it over and puts it before Roland. "Very fine," he remarks, "very fine indeed." He raises the glass to Ziv (because why not?) and says, "May your story be told far and remembered long." And with that... toast?... he takes a sip. Satisfied, he puts the glass back on the bar. "Well done. Remember this, it's a classic American cocktail with a rich history spanning back to before even Prohibition." "...I was never very good at history," admits Ziv, looking at Roland a little dumbfounded perhaps, as she leans against the edge of the counter. Her eyes are scanning the rest of the cafe, at present, for anyone else she needs to attend to - but it's a relatively quiet night. "But um, I'll remember that I think. It's pretty simple. Sugar water and whiskey." "Exactly," Roland agrees. "Its appeal is in its simplicity. Most of the classic cocktails have that going for them." He takes another sip then looks around the establishment. He sighs. "Would that I were younger," he half-mutters to himself, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a billfold (because of course Roland is the kind of guy with a billfold instead of a wallet). He peels off a $20 bill and places it on the bar. "I'll drink these until you decide that I've paid for them with this. Then we'll reconvene." Ziv moves over and checks a price chart, and then nods to herself. "Why would you be concerned about being younger?" she wonders, as she starts mixing up the next Old-Fashioned, brows drawn together thoughtfully and tongue poking out partially in focus. "Unless... well, you want me to just keep serving until the twenty is gone?" "Yes, please," Roland remarks, answering the second question first. He sighs through his nose before continuing. "Well, as they say, forty is the old age of youth, and fifty the youth of old age. Given that, I am a young old man and sometimes wish to be the opposite. Especially now." An ill-advised gulp and the first Old-Fashioned is finished. "Well now," he continues, "but I have the experience to know better. Theoretically." It may or may not be that Ziv is following along with what Roland is waxing about, in regards to age. She certainly listens, at least, while she mixes up a few more Old-Fashioneds and proceeds to set them out on the counter next to the older man's elbow. "Oh. It seems a little... hmmm... silly." "What, to pine for one's youth?" Roland, perhaps starting on a tear, reaches for the next drink. "True, it is typically old men who do it, but what's wrong with that?" The book, forgotten for the moment, sits next the the modest line of drinks on the bar. "Old men have had it the best of all others because of the leeway they were given in their youth, so of course they long for that time again. Others are not so lucky as us, but then again they must grow into adulthood much sooner, something that men, old white men for that matter, never really have to do." He takes a sip of his latest drink, obvious as to whether he makes any sense at all, let alone whether Ziv understands him. "Feeling like you're old instead of doing whatever you want with the time you have," answers Ziv, in counter to the tear that Roland just went off on. She does seem, at least, to have some sort of idea what he's talking about. A shrug lifts her slender shoulders, and then she continues in answer as she places another Old-Fashioned, "Don't know much about this 'leeway', I guess, but ummm... from what I hear, everyone's real keen on criticizing each other." "EXACTLY," Roland agrees with a great deal more force than might be appropriate. "There are those who always want to tear down others, if for no other reason than so they can stand taller in the aftermath." Another sip, then... "We should just let others find their way as they choose, ride their ambitions to their heart's content, be who they ARE, not who the critics think they should be. History is made by people who never listened to critics." He takes another sip, then fixes Ziv with a stare that might be a bit intense, unless you remember that these are fairly strong drinks and Roland is halfway through his second. "Tell me, right now, what are your passions? What do you love about your life? What will you not allow anyone to criticize?" "Um..." that, at least, seems to draw Ziv up short where she'd previously found some fire in response. She puts a fourth (total) Old-Fashioned on the counter nearby to Roland, and lingers there in a lean. There's a look of consternation that settles onto her otherwise useful face, a hand resting on top of the counter. "I... honestly don't know." "Oh, come now," Roland scoffs, putting his now empty glass next to the other empty glass and taking up the next full glass. "Surely you have interests, things that you love, that you do when you're not here," he gesticulates with his free hand. "This place is fine in its way, but it SURELY can't be your whole life." "I actually just started here," offers up Ziv, remaining in her lean against the counter. She watches one of the other patrons head out and on their way, tonguing the inside of her cheek. "...I don't know... I like animals, and I like singing pretty well. But I don't know if those count as 'passion' or 'loves'." "Singing! Excellent!" Roland smiles widely. "Passion or not, it's something you enjoy doing, yes?" Another sip and then he continued right on. "Stoke those flames, however faint and low they might be. See what becomes of them. You might surprise yourself. Take me, for example. I was a well-regarded history professor. I enjoyed it, but I wasn't PASSIONATE about it. So, one day, I just started writing. And I kept writing. Now," he chuckles here, "I'm no longer a professor, but a well-known author of two acclaimed novels. And an advance and option for a third." He nods. He sips. He's tipsy at least. Ziv is starting to look a little dubious now, with Roland's fairly cheerful proclamations, but she ultimately just says, "Oh. Well congratulations, sir. I don't... um... think that I have a novel or anything in me." Another shrug is given, as she goes to clean up some of the mess, not straying too far as of yet. "One of the other... workers, though, has written a novel. I imagine he could carry on a good conversation about it." "Excellent! I'd love to meet him," Roland exclaims, perhaps drawing a look or two from any remaining patrons. "I should leave my card for him," he continues, patting his pockets before drawing out a business card holder and his billfold again. He pulls two cards from the holder and hands them over to Ziv. "One for you, as well," he adds, perhaps a bit too smarmily. The cards are professionally printed and look new. They read: Roland T. Garreau
Author / Reenactor / Historian
His contact information follows. "See that this co-worker of yours gets the other. I'm happy to give any marketing or writing advice shoud they require it." | |
