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In the basement of my childhood home, my parents had a built-in bar filled with bottles of alcohol that were crusted over from lack of use. Drinking wasn’t part of our cultural experience. It wasn’t until my forties that I started to appreciate cocktail hour. At first, I’d order Bloody Mary’s, which received a lot of scorn from my gourmand friends. They taught me the pleasure of Manhattans and Martinis, and I haven’t looked back since.
Bloody Mary oil painting by Oriana Ingber [1]