My Drink

If you know me well, you know I have a drink. It was my Grandfather's drink. I think he gave me a sip when I was around 12 years old. It wasn't my thing then. But he gave me another sip when I was 18 or so, and I was intrigued. My Grandfather and I were a nice pair. He liked to cook and taught me how to make a proper salad nicoisse. He was a hardcore democrat and loved laughing at my moderate politics, claiming I had spent too much time around my other Grandfather who was a Republican. When my Grandmother refused to turn the air on one 90 degree night, I snuck out in the middle of the night and lowered the thermostat to 78. In the morning he raised it back up and told me to go on, it would be our secret. He died before knowing I'd co-opted his favorite libation. At his memorial service I ordered one in his honor, as did all the other over 21 family members. I however, was nearly the only one who liked them, so I polished off mine and many of the others as well. Since then I have almost always kept gin, sweet vermouth, and campari in my possession. So cheers to my Grandpa Dan and the Negroni.