Needing a place to unwind, I meet a friend at Downing Street Pub and Cigar Bar (2549 Kirby, 713-523-2291) for a nightcap. We make our way around the bar’s giant humidor and take a seat at the bar, amid several curious stares. We’re surrounded by gentlemen smoking cigars and drinking dark beers. I ask bartender Clint for a house specialty, and he points to a glass jar filled with pineapples and vodka and offers me a pineapple martini. I’m feeling a little more macho, though, and I ask for a Rusty Nail instead. Clint cards me. So that explains the stares! Do they think I’m here looking for my dad? I laugh to myself and gander at a few cowboys puffing on huge cigars. My drink is stiff; I jiggle the ice against the glass to make it melt faster and mix the Scotches. Tom Arnold and the Best Damn Sport Show Period stare at me from TV screens, and a pack of guys next to us is making dick jokes. I take my friend and our drinks to the back, where a few couches lie vacant and the atmosphere is a little less cocky. We indulge in alcohol-inspired conversation, and before we know it, last call creeps up on us. No amount of booze in the world is going to change the fact that we have to work tomorrow. Damn.
2 ounces Dewar’s Scotch
1 ounce Drambuie
Lots of ice
In a rocks glass filled with ice, pour the Scotch over the Drambuie and jiggle.
This article appears in Mar 9-15, 2006.