Whatever You Say #33

I have come to the Bazi Bierbrasserie and take a quick stock of the place; two men at the bar, one fellow with a laptop and a glass of wine, three couples obviously on dates…the bar it is. Strolling up to a gentleman in a trucker cap, I ask him what fine reddish drink fills his chalice.

They’re out of it. So the bartender recommends Flat Tail‘s Berry White lambic-not quite the same but close, so I go for it. Sometimes, you have to adapt and adaptability is one of the things humans are great at, if we let ourselves be.

I take a seat and the lovely sits across the table when the bartender, Johnny (who introduced himself three times over the course of the night-he just seemed to be one of those eager, people-persons) pitched a house made margarita with spices and a house infused I-can’t-remember-what to her. The eyes go wide and I know already; she’s having the tequila drink.

We settle in for our drinks when a man from a few tables away calls, ‘Those margaritas are the best things ever. He (Johnny) totally converted me to them a few months ago, which is why I had to steal him to come work for me. I went to Vegas and all I could get were margaritas made from Triple Sec and syrup. Terrible!’

I like living in a city where you can randomly run into people who own or at least have a personal stake in the pub you visit.

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