OLL #6: Orange County Social Club Gin Martinis

Dear OCSC Gin Martinis--

Where have you been all my life?

Actually--where were you on my 21st birthday?

We met in September 2005, after the Rasputina concert (See OLL#4). I thought you would be just like all the others. Some gin martinis aren't happy unless they overpower a lady, make her feel like she's been knocked out with a pine tree. And others--like the ones borne from the bar-womb at Chili's--taste like water.

And let's talk about what I mean when I say "extra olives." I'm sorry, Mr. TGIFriday's Bartender, but "extra" tends to mean "more than one." And, yet, Cool Bartender at the Gambier Grill, "extra" doesn't have to mean "one million."

But those martinis and bartenders are planted firmly in my past, OCSC Gin Martini. I'm all yours. You are flavorful, but you don't burn the back of my throat. You have two fat olives--one to eat immediately and one to soak.

And you always manage to surround yourself with burgeoning rock stars. Cute ones. I can sip you and enjoy the view.

The last time we met was this past weekend; I was fresh out of the Local 506. Michelle's boyfriend, Eric (of My Dear Ella), had just played a set with Ben Davis (band). I didn't have to pay a cover because--get this--I was "with the band." Pretty killer, right? And I followed most of the band to the OCSC, and there you were, waiting for me. I didn't have to pay for you because--all together now--I was "with the band."

Never felt so cool in all my life. You do that for me, OSCS Gin Martini. I'm a girl who stays at home alone most evenings with a book or an old movie. I wear glasses. And men seldom make passes and all of that. When I balance you between two fingers--when I slide one of your olives off the toothpick with my teeth--when I hold you on my tongue for a moment before swallowing--no one can convince me I'm not the sexiest and classiest woman in the room.

How many other drinks can work that kind of magic?

Love,
Sam