The Bartender’s Handshake

I’m sitting at the hotel bar, chatting up the bartender, he says, you want a shot?  I say, sure, he gets out a bottle, pours a shot in a rocks glass, one for me, one for him, we clink glasses, I shoot it, and it’s just TERRIBLE.  What the F was that?  He responds with a grin.  That’s the Bartender’s Handshake.  Fernet Branca.  Neat.

There’s a new bar in town called…Bartender’s Handshake.  I checked it out last night, and of course, it was packed.  Minimal seating at the bar, and at the tables.  For the five minutes I was there, I thought it had a really good vibe.  Sorry, I’m an old man.  To keep me there, I need a chair.  But my old pal Liz Bertolette was there taking orders, and she’s the type of hot/smart gal you want working for you.  Word has it that a bartender owns the bar, I’m sure they have a lot of tasty cocktails on the menu, and it’s a place where you call the bartender a mixologist whether you like it or not.  And that’s a compliment.  Gone are the days like myself that the bartender just pours jack and cokes and gin and tonics.  You gotta KNOW YOUR SHIT NOW.  What tastes good with what.  But getting back, next time you’re in the bar, ask Liz for the bartender’s handshake, and don’t make a face when you drink it down.  See it as entree to a special club.

-Clint

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