Dear Frankie's: I love you very, very much
I was sitting at the bar at Frankie's in the Fairmont Bab al Bahr (which I love saying, by the way, just the "Bab al Bahr" part, fast) waiting for a friend the other day when I decided I would try again. The lost cause, as I saw it. Trying to get a proper – okay, just a passable martini – in Abu Dhabi.
And just like that, what I thought was the impossible happened. Jett was a barman, a proper one. My jaw dropped as he took all the right steps, kissing the glass with vermouth, chilling the glass with ice and – soda water! – before giving the vodka a real good shake and pouring it over three delicious olives on a skewer. I almost cried.
Then, when I didn't think it was possible to BE happier, I flipped open the cocktail menu. I almost fell off my stool.
Um, are you kidding me? I can walk into a bar and order a caesar? It's nothing short of a New Year's miracle.
And just like that, what I thought was the impossible happened. Jett was a barman, a proper one. My jaw dropped as he took all the right steps, kissing the glass with vermouth, chilling the glass with ice and – soda water! – before giving the vodka a real good shake and pouring it over three delicious olives on a skewer. I almost cried.
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