iPhone 7, all auto. |
At some point during my university trip to Greece in 1979-80, several friends and I ended up patronizing a red bar — literally underground, down slippery stairs, a meeting place for socialists who'd survived The Colonels and were tentatively emerging from hiding into a society still overwhelmingly reactionary. I don't remember who found it. Might have been our professor, an expert on alcohol and its discovery. Might have been me, with my nose for reds and rebels. Either way, I recall several nights there toward the end of our time in Athens, drinking Brandy Alexanders, specialty of the house, very definitely the recommendation of our knowledgeable prof. So on this first return in 37 years it seemed sensible to seek one out for tradition's sake. The Brandy Alexander, I mean. Not a survivor of The Colonels. Problem being, no-one knew what they are. Fashions change, seemingly. We wandered up and down the Plaka, late-ish after dinner, searching for a bar that might know them, and stock the ingredients. At last! Linda pointed to an upscale Milennial's café where men in expensive-looking suits sat at glass tables. Behind the bar: lots of bottles. Promising. And: success! And yah, as far as alcohol goes, this is pretty freakin' great. It's basically a chocolate shake with brandy. So that now, Brandy Alexander is my mixed drink. And my stripper name. Glad we got that sorted. |
