Underscoring how far removed my life is from any sort of shiny Sex in the City* cocktail-swilling existence, the most cosmopolitan experience I've had with my BFFs lately was a conversation about martinis. It was at lunch. A very dry lunch.
My sexy friend endorsed Morton's martini--Finlandia, straight up, couple of olives, a little dirty--as one of the best in town. With icy shards on top and blue cheese optional, she called it "a meal."
My no-nonsense friend nodded to Bound'ry. She wasn't so specific about the brand of vodka--and yes, we were talking vodka--but we agreed the presentation with the tiny carafe cooling in a separate glass of ice water is always a nice trick. Sure, you could chill your drink on the cold plate at Bound'ry's bar, but the dramatic two-vessel delivery offers the decadent reassurance that, when you finish what's in the glass, there's still more left.
As for me, the last martini I imbibed was Bricktop's watermelon version. Vibrant with pink fruit pulp and rimmed with sugar, it was the ultimate knickerdropper. (The house dirty martini, made with Gilbey's vodka and three huge olives, was no slouch either.)
For those of us who only get a few chances to indulge, help us make good drink decisions. You know, for example, when you get together with your BFFs for a sober reminiscence about your favorite cocktails, what martinis do you talk about?
*I am taking applications for a more updated pop-cultural reference for thirtysomething** working women who use the F-word a lot.
**I am also taking applications for a much more updated pop-cultural reference for people between ages 30 and 39 grappling with the existential questions of what it means to work, be married and raise children, bla, bla, bla.