Audio By Carbonatix
The sign above the Thin Man’s bar warned: “Drunkenness prohibited.” That appealed to the rule-breaker in me, so…game on! I ordered the first thing I saw on the blackboard, the Crystal Snooker ($5.50), made with homemade cinnamon vodka and half sour mix, half ginger ale. This cocktail had definite potential for serious drunkenness; it tasted like the innocuous but potent drinks that frat boys serve to girls who don’t like beer. I sensed that the flavored vodka was behind the drink’s agreeableness and felt compelled to do more research. With nine homemade flavors to choose from (apple cinnamon, strawberry, cucumber, blueberry, mango, pineapple, lemon, orange and the cinnamon), I knew I was well on my way to achieving my intoxication goal. The bartender, like every bartender I’ve encountered at the Thin Man, was a credit to his profession — attentive but not cloying, talkative but not chatty, available but not in my face. When I asked for an apple cinnamon vodka suggestion, he served it straight up and chilled, martini-style. Yes, very agreeable. But then the bartender decided that he’d turn me on to the Thin Man’s “extraordinary” grappa selection. For me, grappa ranks below rubbing alcohol and cough medicine as a beverage possibility, but I was willing to try anything this night. I went with one of the bar’s finest grappas (the embodiment of an oxymoron), called Grappa Marolo ($14), which supposedly had subtle vanilla undertones after the burn — but I couldn’t get beyond the burn. After such a warm and tender relationship, how could the bartender do this to me? And then it hit: Grappa is how the Thin Man prohibits drunkenness.
