I planned a girls' weekend up in Beaver Creek when I doubted the Rockies would even make the playoffs, let alone the World Series. So the last Saturday in October, there we were in the mountains, hunting for a place to watch game three. First we tried E-Town, but between a waitress wearing a Red Sox jersey and a tequila selection limited to Cuervo and Tres Generations (E-Town, you should be ashamed to call yourself a sports bar), we soon fled around the corner to Frites, which was the best decision of the night. The space now occupied by Frites has always been one of my very favorites in the entire Vail Valley, with an enormous staircase descending from the bar into a dining area that could be in Paris. And our bartender, Bret, was not only willing to put up with us, but was also so cute that I started reconsidering how pathetic I usually think it is for women of a certain age to date twenty-something men. He didn't even bat one long, beautiful eyelash when my gaggle of girlfriends decided that to properly support our team, we needed to order a different martini each inning. The list went from a Pear Martini ($8), made with Grey Goose Pear, sour apple Pucker, a splash of triple sec, lime and Sprite, to an Espresso Martini ($6), made with Stoli Vanil, Kahlúa and espresso, to a Sunflower Martini ($7.95), made with Ketel One, Gran Marnier and OJ. From there we moved on to a Lemondrop, then a Cosmopolitan, then a Sidecar, then a French 75. For a seventh-inning stretch, we tried an Alpenhorn ($7.95), made with Stoli Vanil, Stoli Razberi, Kahlúa and Baileys. By then, I was determined that someone in Colorado should score — so I invited Bret to game five. The Rockies struck out there, but I haven't given up on you, Bret: B4I4-Q, RU>21QT?
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