I walk into The Davenport (2115 Richmond, 713-526-9997) to join my friend Sanchez for a double date: mine with a brunet spiritualist, his with a blond poet. The place has a Combustible Edison-esque, '50s lounge feel and drinks more potent than black tar heroin. There's a fireplace with a DVD fire and skateboards on the walls. As Spiritualist and Poet discuss fashion, literature and academia, Sanchez and I have an intellectual debate called Who Can Down His Drink First. Soon we're shitfaced. Just as it looks like both of us are doing fairly well with our respective dates, Sanchez gets up to grab another round of drinks and tells the Poet the round "is dedicated to her luscious breasts." The girls' eyes fill with overeducated anger. When Sanchez cluelessly walks back to the table, he's unaware that he's just ended the night -- for both of us. "I'm getting pretty sleepy," Spiritualist says, feigning a yawn. "Maybe we should call it a night." Poet agrees, and as they rise to leave, Sanchez slowly starts to realize he's made a grave, irreversible party foul. Warming my hands by the frigid fire and shaking my head in disbelief, I tell Sanchez he seriously needs to take some remedial classes in the game.
2 ounces Stolichnaya vodka
1/2 ounce peach schnapps
1/2 ounce Midori liqueur
Splash orange juice
Splash pineapple juice
Combine vodka, schnapps, Midori, orange juice and pineapple juice in a shaker with crushed ice. Shake well, then strain into chilled martini glass.
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