DOUBLE TRAIN
by Trevor Zavac
A helicopter whizzes by his ear.
“Big or small?” asked the spectator.
“Depends on the day and situation,” I responded.
I love a martini. Always dry and with a twist–never on olive. Also, only gin. Dirty vodka martinis are ordered by an advanced age, and, every once and awhile, their disciples.
“It will cut his hair if it’s not careful.”
“But how do we know that’s not the aim?”
Manhattans are also nice. Although there is something to be said for the interesting taste-world of the perfect manhattan, which I have been known to order, a classic manhattan simply cannot be beat. Always rye. Another thing the infernal dirty vodka martini devotees will never understand. Also, a manhattan on the rocks is criminal–I simply won’t allow it.
“Suppose it knicks his ear.”
“He’ll still have the other one.”
Now the sazerac. I like it, but it cannot be overly sweet, and usually must contain just the right amount of peychaud’s and absinthe to be worthwhile. No ice. And, though I may sound pedantic, which I suppose is not an unfair assessment of my character, I must insist that it never be served with the lemon peel. The fruity waste must be discarded before serving. Otherwise, what are we doing? This is the only cocktail in which I believe this should be the rule. I have no idea why, but there you have it.
“Actually, now that I think about it, perhaps they’re both the right size. Why not?” I said.
“What are you talking about?”