In the Bar in Las Vegas
In the Bar in Las Vegas
I'm in Las Vegas! Finally! Just an ordinary boy from a forgotten village in Wallachia. I have to admit, this is my first time in Las Vegas. The very first time in my life! They say if you haven't been to Las Vegas, you haven't seen America!
Right now, I'm standing in front of a bar. It's called "DREAM." An apt name. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.
I walked inside. I found myself in an empty place. The environment looked quite cozy. Gentle dimness, pleasant music playing softly. Not another soul in sight. It's strange. Bars are usually full, especially at this hour of night. Such a peculiar bar. Should I leave instead? But since I'm here...
I sat down on a bar stool. I coughed, purposefully.
At that moment, a burly bartender appeared behind the counter. In a white shirt, with a black bow tie. A Black man. He looked just like Cassius Clay. As if he was his double. He showed me his gleaming white teeth. I noticed his hair was heavily pomaded, giving off a curious animal scent.
"Good evening, sir. What'll it be?"
I was really surprised the bartender spoke my language. Maybe he's some kind of emigrant?
A Black man and an emigrant? To be honest, he didn't look like one. That's something I'll have to tell people back home!
"This guy could be in some commercial. Maybe for cologne or body shampoo," I thought.
"What will it be, sir?" he asked again.
I blurted out, off the cuff: "Maybe a Mary... One big Bloody Mary."
He started preparing it. It was a joy to watch him work. He put ice in the shaker, added tomato and lemon juice, vodka, dashed it with Worcestershire sauce. Seasoned the contents with salt and pepper. Shook the mixture thoroughly. Poured the red liquid into a long drink glass and garnished it with a celery stick.
"This guy knows his stuff," I assessed his performance, "as expected, he's a professional."
Preparation took only a couple minutes.
"Here you go, your drink," he said politely.
"Thank you very much."
I sipped. Truly a delicious drink. I love it! It brings a pleasant comfort. No wonder Churchill was so fond of it.
"It's not bad. Tastes good. Has a nice finish," I said appreciatively.
The bartender remained silent, watching me intently.
"May I ask you something?" I said curiously.
"Please, go ahead..."
"Why is it so deserted here? Was there a plague or something? No guests anywhere? No fun at all."
The Black man smiled.
"You see, sir, we're not some dirty dive. We're a respectable establishment. Only selected and cultured guests come to us. We don't need the place packed. That's not our goal. We want to see a satisfied customer, even if it's just one. And at this moment, that's you."
"This is probably going to be expensive," I thought, "what on earth have I gotten into?"
The bartender continued: "But you did well, my friend, to visit us. As I said, we highly value our guests. That's why they have certain privileges, too."
"And what kind, please?"
"Anyone who visits us pays only three dollars for consumption. Whether they drink one glass or ten, or even a whole bottle. The price is always the same."
"That's unbeatable! All inclusive!"
The man nodded.
"Only three dollars? That's..."
I quickly converted the amount into our currency in my head.
"Impossible! You can't even buy a box of matches for three dollars!"
"Let me emphasize again: it's not about money for us, but about customer satisfaction. That's our priority! We want them to come back gladly."
"Hmm," I said thoughtfully, "I always thought business in America was all about profit. Where's the ruthless capitalism? And now this!"
"Business is business, that's true. But we are an exception that proves the rule."
The Bloody Mary evaporated from the glass before I even noticed.
"Do you have gin here?" I asked cautiously.
"Gin?" he said, pretending hesitation. "Of course! Which one do you want? English Beefeater Gin? Or maybe Gin Mare or Bombay Sapphire? We also serve Brockmans Gin. It has distinctive notes of juniper and coriander, complemented by blueberry and blackberry tones."
"Then make it two Brockmans Gin. One for me, one for you."
"Thank you very much, sir, you are very kind. I'll gladly drink with you."
We both sipped. Without words.
"If you allow me, I would like to try a good whisky. Yours. Something truly quality. The best quality... What can you offer? So I have only the best memories of your establishment."
It was clear my interest pleased him.
"We have all the renowned types here. Jack Daniel's, Woodford Reserve, Blanton's, Jim Beam, Knob Creek, Ten High. You just need to choose.”
"Then maybe Four Roses bourbon. They say it's not bad.”
I knew well that all American production of this spirit was for export. I wanted to catch him off guard with that. Surely he won't have that. The man didn't even blink. My request didn't faze him. He reached under the bar counter and pulled out a slender bottle.
"Is this really the original bourbon?” I doubted.
The man grew serious. He couldn't blush, being Black!
"Sir, I must sternly inform you that we are a first-class establishment. We carry only the best goods! I guarantee that with my head. Our bar would never stoop to offer any inferior or counterfeit drinks. I would be ashamed.”
"Alright, alright, I didn't mean to offend you. I trust you!”
His face returned to its original color.
"So you don't have to bother yourself. Leave the bottle here. If you don't mind, I'll serve myself.”
I poured the golden liquid into a wide glass and added some ice. I sipped it indulgently.
"Good... Divine drink.”
The bottle's contents quickly diminished. It was empty within fifteen minutes.
"Now I've caught the right craving. I would have some champagne! That never hurt anyone...”
"We have over thirty brands, mostly French. Off the top of my head, Laurent-Perrier, Nicolas Feuillatte, Michel Gonet, or Veuve Clicquot.”
"As a Slav, I would have real Russian champagne.”
"No problem!”
In an instant, a large green bottle stood on the counter.
There was a pop. The cork flew somewhere into the corner. The sparkling drink filled the glass. First, the bartender filled only the bottom and after a moment topped the tulip-shaped glass up to two-thirds with the delightful liquid.
"If I may, with strawberry.”
"Real champagne is always drunk on its own! Without anything! No additives or garnishes,” the bartender lectured me.
"With us, we only serve pure champagne! You won't get any other here!” he insisted.
"All right then.”
I took a small sip.
"Truly excellent! Perfectly chilled! Heavenly nectar!”
The Black man leaned toward me and quietly said, "You know that one gram of alcohol destroys a hundred brain neurons?”
"That's the first time I've heard that. Interesting observation.”
"I just wanted to tactfully warn you that long-term use causes dementia. But don't take it personally. Just to keep the conversation flowing.”
"Thank you very much for the warning!”
"May I offer you anything else, sir?” the bartender asked.
"Rum!”
"Cuban? Mexican? Jamaican? Venezuelan? Brazilian?”
"Jamaican! That one has tradition!”
"Then only Jamaican rum Captain Morgan. It's an excellent Caribbean rum. Its unique flavor is shaped by a year of aging in oak barrels and enriched with a secret blend of herbs and spices.”
"I'll trust you. I'll take your advice. You're the expert! Bring it on.”
He poured the golden liquid into a glass and added two ice cubes.
"Enjoy your tasting experience.”
"Thank you.”
"I've never had anything like this before! That aroma! Pure poetry!” I was ecstatic.
It was no trouble for me to down two glasses in a short time.
Before I knew it, the bartender informed me: "You haven't tried tequila yet! That's a crime! We have ten-year-old vintages here. Herradura Reposado, El Jimador Blanco, Sierra Silver, José Cuervo Clásico, Pepe Lopez Gold, Don Augustin Anejo.”
"You simply cannot refuse tequila! But which one to choose?”
"If I may recommend, it's Antique Sierra. An excellent twice-distilled golden tequila. It's beautifully matured, delicate in flavor, and wonderfully balanced. The only rival it has is El Conquistador, a white tequila made from one hundred percent blue agave.”
"I'll have the second one, then.”
The bartender took out a ceramic cup and poured a little drink into it.
"He definitely offered it to test me. But I know well how to drink it! I'm not a country bumpkin,” I thought.
"Could I have some salt and a slice of lime, please?”
"Certainly, sir. Here is salt and lime.”
I sprinkled a pinch of salt into the hollow between my thumb and forefinger and licked it. I downed the tequila shot in one go. At the end, I bit into the lime slice.
The bartender nodded approvingly.
I was surprised myself that despite all the mixed drinks, my head was clear. I wasn't drunk at all. If I drank that much at a pub back home, I'd feel like I was on a carousel.
My mind was clear and unobscured. Alcohol didn't even disrupt motor coordination. I was in a great mood.
"What have I actually consumed?” I pondered.
"First was Mary, then an amazing gin, followed by bourbon. Along with all that, a bottle of champagne. Then rum. Finally, tequila. Quite a bombshell. What do my liver cells think of this? They surely don't like it!”
Such an amount consumed could already cause a decent alcohol poisoning. I should start restraining myself. But how to resist when everything here costs only three dollars. Imagine that!
I was just getting into the flow. I was going pretty well. I should drink something else. No, no! Enough! I'm stopping!
Only now did I feel mild fatigue... Just enough so I'm not drunk! That would be the last thing I need. I won't make a fool of myself in America! I'm not any professional drunkard. I drink with pleasure, but decently and in moderation.
Just to be sure, I decided to test my sobriety. It's a simple, reliable, and proven method! It always works! I closed my eyes. Raised the index finger of my right hand. With a quick motion, I pointed it to the tip of my nose. I didn't miss the target. I opened my eyes. It was completely dark. Dark as a sack.
I immediately realized I was lying in my own bed at home. I turned on the lamp. On the nightstand stood a bottle. I carefully grabbed it.
It was spring mineral water.
I looked at it disappointedly.
"The bar was definitely better. Such unusual experiences!”
I closed my eyes again. Unfortunately, Las Vegas was gone.
Translated into English by artificial intelligence
Published: https://firesnake.eu