I am sorry, Chevy's Bartender. I don't know what I was thinking. We only came into your place of employment because my daughter wanted to eat there after her High School Graduation.
I know that the other adults at my table ordered watery, neon-colored Tequila or Rum-based drinks in fishbowl-sized glasses, and I probably should have done the same. Even the kids had virgin margaritas (the dollop of whipped cream on top was a nice, if somewhat curious touch.) But I haven't enjoyed Tequila since that night years ago when Russ and I polished off a bottle of Cuervo and I spent hours on my hands and knees yakking into the ivy in our back yard after shooting out the neighbor's porch lights with a pellet gun. So since Tequila is no longer my drink of choice I probably should have ordered a Raspberry Eucalyptus Daiquiri (or whatever your "Flavor of the Month!" was) but in my dotage I've come to appreciate the subtler joys of "classic" drinks with a minimum of mystery ingredients. So, as you undoubtedly recall, I ordered a Wild Turkey Manhattan on the rocks.
For your future reference, Chevy's Bartender, here's the recipe:
a glass
ice
1 shot of Wild Turkey
3/4oz of Sweet Vermouth
a dash of Angostura Bitters
maraschino cherry
(I also like a splash of maraschino cherry liquid, but that's just me.)
My drink arrived last, after I'd helped pass the comically-oversized drinks to my tablemates. When the waitress set my "Manhatttan" down in front of me I didn't know what to think. It was in a single Old-Fashioned glass, which I expected, and it had ice cubes in it, which I also expected, but there all semblance to an actual Manhattan ended. It was brown, sort of, but a strange, light, cloudy brown rather than the clear, dark, somewhat intimidating look of a real Manhattan. I'd never seen a cloudy-looking Manhattan before.
But what I found most disturbing about my Chevy's "Manhattan" was... The Foam. Yes, Chevy's Bartender, you somehow managed to make me a foamy "Manhattan" --and as you know, we're not talking about just a few bubbles, we're talking a good quarter inch of persistent brownish yellow scuzz on the top of my drink. How the fuck did you do that? I've never, ever seen foam on a Manhattan before. As far as I can tell, there isn't even anything in the ingredient list that could conceivably result in foam.
I sat there confused, not knowing what to do. I could have whined to our waitress about it, but she was so nice, and worked so hard to cater to the varied dietary needs of our multigenerational party of eight. And besides, I heard her say "and here's your Manhattan" when she put my drink in front of me. She clearly believed that the foamy, cloudy drink with two little straws and no cherry was a Manhattan. I turned to my wife, to ask her opinion on the matter, but she was already deeply engrossed in her Margarita, and really doesn't know much about whisky drinks in the first place.
So, Chevy's Bartender, I did the only thing I could do. I pulled the little straws out, set them on the napkin, and had a taste of my Chevy's "Manhattan."
Aaack.
Of course it was bad. Not "tastes like they're using a cheap whisky" bad, but more of a "tastes like a mixture of whisky and spermicidal jelly" bad. Again, Chevy's Bartender, I gotta ask, how the fuck did you do that? It definitely had whisky in it --my tastebuds did the usual "uh-oh, whisky, are you really sure you wanna swallow this?" thing that they do whenever I take my first mouthful of a whisky drink-- but I have no idea what the other ingredients were. I continued to take cautious sips throughout my meal, but it wasn't palatable or identifiable enough for me to drink more than a quarter of it. I thought that perhaps you mixed my "Manhattan" in the same blender that you'd just used to whip up a batch of Tahitian Stomach Smashers --that might account for the nasty foam topping-- but that didn't make sense because nobody, even you, Chevy's Bartender, mixes a small, on the rocks drink in an unwashed blender.
In the end, Chevy's Bartender, I came to the conclusion that you were sending me a message. I imagined you there, in the bar, behind a wall of whirring blenders, getting a drink order from the waitress with some mysterious drink on it called a "Manhattan." Of course, being a highly trained Chevy's Bartender you know how to make "Flying Blue Wallabies" and "Sex In Your Ear" (or whatever the Fun! New! drinks are these days) but you have no idea how to make a Manhattan. I picture you musing to yourself: "Well the customer said it has Wild Turkey in it, and I know there's something else... Ah fuck it, I'll just put whisky and the rest of this Chevy's Avocadorita in a glass, and he'll never order another Manhatini or whatever it is."
So, Chevy's Bartender, I say to you: "Message received, loud and clear." I will never order another anachronistic drink in your establishment again. Next time I'll go along with the crowd and, despite my distaste for Tequila, order a Chipotle Margarita just like everybody else. Feel free to put one of those little umbrellas in it if you want (I like those) but please, please, hold the whipped cream.
this is in or around The Chevy's restaurant on Saratoga in San Jose