Death of the Martini?
“I'd like a dry martini, Mr. Quoc, a very dry martini. A very dry, arid, barren, desiccated, veritable dustbowl of a Martini. I want a Martini that could be declared a disaster area. Mix me just such a Martini.” - Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H I took a seat at the bar of a brand-new restaurant in San Jose, California, taking in the scent of new polyurethane on the bar and fresh paint on the walls, admiring the gleam of surfaces that would become dull and worn all too soon. It was a steakhouse and while most steakhouses tend to be wastelands for culinary originality and creativity, my carnivorous urges were calling. The portions are usually insane (no human should be eating 64 ounces of meat in a single sitting) and no vegetable “side” is served without being violated in some way (you can't get corn, but you can get creamed corn, you can't get spinach, but you can get creamed spinach, asparagus must come smothered in hollandaise, etc), but I must respect a place ...