Berries from the west, a concoction featuring vodka topped with pinot noir, was light purple and adorned with blueberries. It was so beautiful, I really wanted to like it. But I didn’t.
I hadn’t yet made up my mind about Happiest Hour, the Uptown mega-bar that served it to me. As I sipped the too-sweet, not-strong-enough drink, I looked around at the neatly arranged rustic wood furniture, flashing televisions, and Invisible Man-esque cluster of lightbulbs hanging over the gigantic bar area. Uninspired, I suggested to my bearded friend that he take his $14 Jonesing for an Old Fashioned and come with me to scope out the upstairs patio and one of the best views in town.
A gentle breeze wafted through the well-heeled crowd as the downtown buildings began to light up against the cocktail-pink sunset sky. I decided I needed a better drink to accompany the moment. I explained to the bartender that I couldn’t take another sip of Berries From the West. Unfazed, she whipped up a Mustang Morning Shooter (sans simple syrup) and promised me I’d love it.
New blackberry beverage in hand, I drifted over to the railing, hoping to get a better view of the cityscape. I was immediately distracted by a game of giant Jenga transpiring in the light-strewn courtyard below. Beside me, an older man leaned over the railing.
“No way,” he yelled down at a bespectacled man nervously circling the teetering tower of blocks. “There’s no chance!”
After several sweaty minutes, the guy plucked a block from the bottom of the tower, which promptly crashed to the ground. The guy beside me yelled down again: “What did I tell you? F—ing rookies!”
I finished my Mustang Morning, and soon it was time to go. The drinks were pricey, and the place was a little too polished, but we were reluctant to leave. Sometimes a great view and a strong second round are all it takes to make an evening perfect.