The Moscow Mueller

• 2 ounces Nemiroff
• 1 ounce fresh squeezed lie juice
• 4 ounces Ginger Beer
• Shake with ICE
• Garnish, serve in Copper Mug Shot

It’s 2AM in the city full of creeps. The doors swings open. She walks in, legs up to here, the top of her brightly colored pantsuit even higher. Something in her eyes tells me she’s looking for a drink— like all the other ironically disenfranchised.

She sat down on the other side of the bar, sent a quick work email from her Blackberry, and began bitching about her debbie downer friend for the third time this week. I sighed, “Special’s a Moscow Mueller. I’ll make you one on the house.”

“You know, it’s tasty. But a few months ago this would have really hit the spot— it’s more of a summer drink. I’m not sure why it took you until the end of October to figure it out.”

“It’s the vodka. Kept using Russian brands, but this Ukrainian we just got in stock goes down smoother.”

“Ukrainian? You don’t say. Tasting it now, it’d be a crimea to use anything else. Makes me forget what happened.”

Draining her mug, she threw down a shitty tip on the bar and left without giving thanks.

Bob sighed yet again, queued up Van Halen’s “Judgement Day” on the jukebox, grabbed a rag, and began to clean up the mess that everyone else had made at his bar.

— Scotch Cara