"Somehow this all goes back to Grand Marnier, or 'Grandma.' I hate this shit, but my formative bartender years seemed to be intertwined with this syrupy goo. My first gig behind a bar was a semi-famous, now defunct, comedy club in Kansas City, MO. I was an eager 18 year old (you couldn't drink if you were 18, but serving them was somehow acceptable.) I was a short order cook behind the bar and jumped in making cocktails when jammed up. Gary, the uber-creepy bar manager, would send me shots of Grandma throughout the night. The walk home at 4am was a chore. I moved to Providence shortly after and would go out to the cheapest local pizza joint on Federal Hill. The servers there doubled as bartenders. I asked for a Grand Marnier once, feeling sentimental, I guess, and he came back with a highball full of booze, with no ice. As a broke musician, this was gold. I returned often, and it always came out the same way. I don't condone or recommend drinking highballs of Grandma." — Dave Werthman, bartender at The Sinclair, on "embarrassing" drink preferences
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