“The Hova and the Alta-Fashioned are the most popular,” announced our waitress, another fantasy, a plaid-wearing manic pixie dream girl. We ordered two Alta-Fashioneds, a Buffalo-Hattan, and a glass of straight Michter’s. Our waitress skipped off, and we resumed our previous conversation: determining which of the seven deadly sins we were most guilty of.
Once we’d pegged ourselves as a mix of wrath, sloth, and pride, our waitress (after stopping for a dance-break by the bar) returned. When she put down the glass of Michter’s, it splashed bourbon on her hand. She offered to let my friend lick it off, then grinned devilishly at his discomfort. He glanced across the table at his wife, who reminded us of her proclivity toward wrath.
Our first round of drinks went fast; our second round, even quicker. (We reconsidered gluttony.) Ladies’ nights, couples, big groups, and families rotated through the bar as we bobbed along to the ’80s music and bantered with our waitress. Sometime after we dissolved into a singalong of Journey’s “Wheel in the Sky,” we decided to call it a night.
As we shuffled off into the darkness, I was the first to promise I’d return. The bar may cater to bourbon lovers, but good music, tasty drinks, and lovable waitresses appeal to just about everyone.