Last night I met an old friend at a highly regarded cocktail lounge. With the velvet cushy chairs and the subtle candlelight, the ambiance was fancy yet relaxed.
The cocktails were made tableside by the head bartender and you could not help but be impressed with his knowledge and skill as he crafted for me a delicious tequila cocktail. He urged me to take a sip as I waited for my tablemate’s drink to be made, so as to not miss out on the drink’s freshest sip.
I was surprised at the smoothness of the cocktail and sat back to listen to my friend as the bartender mixed a blackberry gin basil cocktail. I was even more surprised when, all of a sudden, mid-shake, a full glass of blackberry purée, liquor, ice, and basil leaves flew all over me.
Right out of a movie, I thought as I tried to wipe the blackberry purée out of my hair and off my face, clothes, and bag. I simultaneously reassured the bartender, who seemed to be borderline suicidal after the incident, that it wasn’t a big deal. Seeing as how I was wearing a dark purple sweater from H&M and out with just a friend, it really wasn’t.
Three other servers rushed over to help clean up the mess as the head bartender assured me that he hasn’t had a mishap like that in over 11 years. I excused myself to the bathroom to wipe the last few blackberry speckles off my cheeks.
A free $80 meal later, I was happy to take one for the team.



















