Martini Art

I/Pro’s next board meeting was followed by a party at the SF Museum of Modern Art, sponsored by one of the East Coast investors. I loved gatherings at museums: one could drink and chat with associates, all the while viewing interesting and creative art. Not only that, she had arranged for this to be a martini bar affair.
Martinis and I were not good friends. The ridiculously high alcohol content in the drink meant that I couldn’t swallow at the same leisurely pace as I could with beer, wine or even gin & tonic. I’d be wasted after one or two. Nonetheless, with so many choices of Martini variants, I decided to experiment.
It must be hard for bartenders to compute by fractions. My requests by one-quarter glass so as to trial the differing concoctions were met with confusion or disregard. So much for martini flights! My ability to discern the subtleties of one strainer to the next began to fail. Meanwhile, the art became even more overwhelming in its bold proclamations.
Our hostess, seemingly Madam Butterfly, flitted about the lobby level from guest to bartender. I deemed it time to leave, before my driving abilities fell below that threshold. Martinis and New Yorkers: two mysteries I could never fully appreciate.