Last night, faced with a dire cocktail situation, I drew a total fucking blank. Yes, I’m talking about the dreaded banquet hall bar. The people behind the scenes obviously didn’t read my post from a few months back, The Eight Bottle Bar. They went 7/8. Pretty close to my recommendations. But can you spot the blip? They had white rum, tequila, dry and sweet vermouth, bourbon (I recommend bonded rye, but whatever, they had whiskey), London dry gin, and an orange liquor. It’s too bad, but close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and thermonuclear war.

Yeah, no bitter aperitif present. Campari, a knock off, whatever. No Negronis or even an Americano for this poor sap on his first free Friday night with the missus in who knows how long. Among the punters. A free man unshackled from the confines of his bar program, feeling like a P.O.W. out on the town who had just arrived home, thousand yard stare and all. A shaved and trained circus gorilla, taught to nod and laugh at stupid jokes and lame conversation. A convicted man in a pair of new shoes, among the rabble. Decked out in a suit that I actually paid money to have tailored.

Speaking of that suit, I reached into the left pocket and felt something, a relic from the last time I wore it, a piece of card, maybe some chicanery pulled off the windshield? Oh crap. I pulled it out an instant too late. Yeah, the card from my friend’s memorial last summer. I quickly pushed it back in, fought the urge to relive that sadness. The other pocket of course contained a dried wad of formerly tear soaked tissues.

Anyway, yeah, after that I craved a drink to purge the thought from my head. I approached the bar, scanned the bottles. The bartender attacked me right away as if I knew what I wanted. I saw nothing, no rye, no Angostura. The only cherries were those neon red thingamabobs. I really wanted a La Louisiane. Ugh, it was akin to ordering at a dive bar. I realized this way too late, however. Most of the others enjoyed a respectable gin and tonic or the biggest punter beverage of all, the cringe worthy but bar sale boosting vodka soda.

I scanned and scanned. Scoured. Scoured. Mez? No mez…In the corner I saw all the fresh juices. A big pitcher of grapefruit. Hemingway Daq! I almost said it but no. The pressure was on! The bartender’s eyes seared into me. I leafed through the rolodex in my brain and finally blurted, “Martinez!” The guy looked at me like a dog that had just been shown a card trick. “Huh?” I looked but knew deep in my heart there would be no maraschino or orange bitters back there. “Half gin, half sweet vermouth,” I said. “Stirred and garnished with an orange peel.” He shot me back that look and started to free pour. Yup, I’m a pretentious douchebag. So what? He mixed the ingredients in a rocks glass, Hawthorne strained it into an old school martini glass, and garnished with a squeeze from a sliced orange triangle.

Not bad. Not bad. But it would have been nice to drink a Negroni. Something almost impossible to fuck up, even for these clowns.

So, when confronted with such blatant buffoonery, what can one order from the seven bottle bar? Let’s go over it. Yes, I’ve done the work for you here.

1. Gin and tonic. Yup. Maybe the best one out there. Impossible to fuck up.
2. Manhattan. It won’t be a good one, but it’s better than nothing.
3. Whiskey and ginger beer. Yum. Don’t feel guilty.
4. Tom Collins. Refreshing. Gin, sugar, lemon juice, soda.
5. Gin martini. Ask for two parts gin, one part dry vermouth. If there’s no lemon peel, go for olives.
6. I did see a bottle of Disarrono up high behind the boys at the bar and realized way too late (like this morning) that I could have ordered a godfather. Dammit. Don’t do what I do. Ask for bourbon on the rocks with a big splash of Disaronno. Thank me later.
7. Whiskey or whisky on the rocks. A classic jolter, especially if you want to help yourself be social around a ton of people you’ll never see again in your life.
8. Rum and coke. Relive college. It’s pretty damn good.
9. Tequila…Let’s see…Something with tequila. A margarita in this situation would be depressingly bad. A decent tequila on the rocks would be my go to but these guys had Sauza which isn’t even tequila. Maybe guide them to making you a paloma. Tequila, grapefruit, sugar, lime, a splash of soda. Better than a poorly shaken margarita.