Editor’s Note: I meant for my next post to be a wrap-up of my time at the Manhattan Cocktail Classic with a recap of the British Invasion event at Eleven Madison Park. I promise – that’ll come next. First, I wanted to share this long-overdue story, as it was relayed to me by my good friend Michael this past holiday season. Michael and I worked together years ago, and have stayed in touch via Facebook, talking mostly about food, drink and guitars (mutual interests, all). I found Mike’s story to be a very touching tribute, and a commentary on the emotional energy that can be unleashed by taking a drink in your hand and raising it to one we love, so I wanted to share it with all of you.
As told to me via e-mail by Michael Feuda, December 24, 2010:
Growing up, I have vivid memories of my Dad and Uncle Al (twin brothers) mixing up Manhattans every Thanksgiving and Christmas. My sister and I were always curiously drawn to watching them, mainly because of the little jar of maraschino cherries. I remember my Uncle poking one with the little plastic buccaneer’s sword, and handing it to me, only to roll in laughter as my sister or I tried it; watching our faces as the bourbon-soaked cherry burned going down our throats. I also remember thinking to myself, “How could anyone ever drink that? It tastes horrible.” Read More