Frank McConnell

Today is the 25th anniversary. All that remains, memories of us. Here’s my favorite.

We were in Chicago. (Your town.) Late night, we strolled into an upscale bar with the jazz combo band still playing. (Your kind of place.) As I settle into the booth, you hunker off to the men’s. Meantime, the cocktail waitress takes a drink order from the handsome couple in the booth just next to ours. “Cutty Sark and Soda,” says the woman.

I had no idea what she had ordered, just that the drink sounded as classy as the couple themselves. Frank and then the waitress return. I’m up, but not before the dramatic 3-beat pause: “Cutty Sark and Soda, please!”

You start gushing, followed by the impromptu lecture. Pleased with my choice, you explain that Cutty, a “blended Scotch,” was “unpretentious” as opposed to a “snooty Single Malt.” (Ah, so I ordered Scotch!) After ten years of marriage, I thrilled that I could still surprise and delight my fella. And just like me and you, Scotch was not an acquired taste. I fell in love with Cutty about as quick as I had fallen for you – on a Saturday in 1983 over breakfast at the Holiday Inn, Riverside.

Love, Celeste