Okay, so that's not actually how you ordered your martini, but I didn't think you'd mind the comparison to James Bond.
I mentioned your love of martinis in a different post, but I think your favorite drink deserves a post of its own. Aside from family, friends, pets, the obvious things, martinis were your absolute favorite thing in the world. Martinis were sacred to you.
For as long as I can remember, this is how you ordered your martini -- exactly how, because this did not ever vary, except in the two ways noted below:
"I'll have a very, VERY" (pause for effect. Lock eyes with waiter or waitress, confirm they understand the gravity of the situation, the necessity of this second VERY) dry martini." Pause. "Up." Pause "With a twist." (Occasionally, if you had decided the waiter hadn't shown sufficient understanding, a post script: "Very Dry," with eyebrows raised and another eye lock - a plea for acknowledgement of this key factor of the order).
The only other variation came one day when you changed "with a twist" to "with olives." (I think this is called a dirty martini, but you didn't order it that way). This change shook up my world the first time I heard it, but you acted like it was no big deal. Like you hadn't been ordering the exact same thing in the exact same way for 20 plus years.
I loved watching you take that first sip of your martini, slowly, reverently, and then hearing your judgement after you'd carefully considered the taste of it. The best was when it was a really knock your socks off kind of martini, you were so pleased. "Well, THAT is a good martini" you would say with a grin.
When I was a kid, you and Mom used to go out to dinner with friends every Saturday night. When you'd come home, we'd say "how was dinner?" and you invariably responded by describing the quality of the martini.The entire restaurant experience -- and you loved going out to dinner -- hinged upon the quality of the martini. If it was a good martini, it was a good restaurant. If it wasn't a good martini, well, you could count on never seeing Joe Dempsey there again.
The worst were the few times when either Megan or I picked restaurants to take you to in our respective cities (San Francisco, New York) that turned out to be beer and wine only. This is what would happen when we accidentally took you to this kind of inferior establishment:
The waiter would come around asking for our drink orders. You would order your very, very dry martini, up, with a twist. The poor, unsuspecting waiter would say "Sorry, sir, we only serve beer and wine." This remark would be met with icy silence as your eyes sought out whichever imbecilic daughter of yours had chosen this restaurant and shot them a brief but powerful death glare. Then, back to the waiter. "Okayyyyyyyyyyyy," said drawn out and business-like, sternly. Then you'd order a glass of red wine. We learned not to make that mistake twice, and always checked the liquor offerings on hand before taking you out again.
You used to describe your Friday or Saturday night need for a martini with the term "dipsomania," which is "a historical term describing a medical condition involving an uncontrollable craving for alcohol." Leave it to you to use a 19th century euphemism for alcoholism as if it were part of the common lexicon. "I'm having an attack of dipsomania," you said so many times. I am pretty sure no one else in the present-day English speaking world actually uses that word, Dad.
No one can accuse you of not enjoying life, of not taking the simple pleasures that were available to you and appreciating the hell out of them. And no one else could have managed to bring "dipsomania" back into everyday speech.
Every time someone orders a martini, I think of you, Dad. I always will.
xx A
I mentioned your love of martinis in a different post, but I think your favorite drink deserves a post of its own. Aside from family, friends, pets, the obvious things, martinis were your absolute favorite thing in the world. Martinis were sacred to you.
For as long as I can remember, this is how you ordered your martini -- exactly how, because this did not ever vary, except in the two ways noted below:
"I'll have a very, VERY" (pause for effect. Lock eyes with waiter or waitress, confirm they understand the gravity of the situation, the necessity of this second VERY) dry martini." Pause. "Up." Pause "With a twist." (Occasionally, if you had decided the waiter hadn't shown sufficient understanding, a post script: "Very Dry," with eyebrows raised and another eye lock - a plea for acknowledgement of this key factor of the order).
The only other variation came one day when you changed "with a twist" to "with olives." (I think this is called a dirty martini, but you didn't order it that way). This change shook up my world the first time I heard it, but you acted like it was no big deal. Like you hadn't been ordering the exact same thing in the exact same way for 20 plus years.
I loved watching you take that first sip of your martini, slowly, reverently, and then hearing your judgement after you'd carefully considered the taste of it. The best was when it was a really knock your socks off kind of martini, you were so pleased. "Well, THAT is a good martini" you would say with a grin.
When I was a kid, you and Mom used to go out to dinner with friends every Saturday night. When you'd come home, we'd say "how was dinner?" and you invariably responded by describing the quality of the martini.The entire restaurant experience -- and you loved going out to dinner -- hinged upon the quality of the martini. If it was a good martini, it was a good restaurant. If it wasn't a good martini, well, you could count on never seeing Joe Dempsey there again.
The worst were the few times when either Megan or I picked restaurants to take you to in our respective cities (San Francisco, New York) that turned out to be beer and wine only. This is what would happen when we accidentally took you to this kind of inferior establishment:
The waiter would come around asking for our drink orders. You would order your very, very dry martini, up, with a twist. The poor, unsuspecting waiter would say "Sorry, sir, we only serve beer and wine." This remark would be met with icy silence as your eyes sought out whichever imbecilic daughter of yours had chosen this restaurant and shot them a brief but powerful death glare. Then, back to the waiter. "Okayyyyyyyyyyyy," said drawn out and business-like, sternly. Then you'd order a glass of red wine. We learned not to make that mistake twice, and always checked the liquor offerings on hand before taking you out again.
You used to describe your Friday or Saturday night need for a martini with the term "dipsomania," which is "a historical term describing a medical condition involving an uncontrollable craving for alcohol." Leave it to you to use a 19th century euphemism for alcoholism as if it were part of the common lexicon. "I'm having an attack of dipsomania," you said so many times. I am pretty sure no one else in the present-day English speaking world actually uses that word, Dad.
No one can accuse you of not enjoying life, of not taking the simple pleasures that were available to you and appreciating the hell out of them. And no one else could have managed to bring "dipsomania" back into everyday speech.
Every time someone orders a martini, I think of you, Dad. I always will.
xx A
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