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Room enough for two in this martini glass
Lemon, lurking in the shadows of the Miramar Theatre, is the essence of what a lounge should be: Cool baybeh... Cool.
The place is ridiculously small, one could say wee, but when all you want is to sit and have a quiet chat with a few wobbly pops, a huge, loud sports bar just ain't the scene.
The atmosphere at Lemon is more like the living room of the coolest friend you have. The place has an eclectic mix of art on the walls from modern to the kitchy paintings of 1940s Oriental hotties behind the bar.
And then there is owner/bartender Mike Sottile. The man is so cool, you almost want to poke him with a stick to make sure he's still breathing. One can almost imagine him standing there, a cigarette dangling precariously off his lip, as his hands efficiently move to create liquid magic over ice, all the while, his eyes scanning his domain to make sure all guests satisfied.
And what of the drinks at Lemon?
My gauge of any place that claims to have a "bar" as opposed to BEING a bar, is whether they can make a Dirty Martini. If the server asks you what is in a Dirty Martini, that is your cue to change your drink order. Your young server is about to go behind the bar, push aside that night's schoolbooks and homework to find the recipe book to mix your drink. And while they may mix you a basic Dirty Martini, it takes the touch and skill of an experienced bartender to make your Dirty Martini a work of alcoholic alchemy and artistry, a beverage worthy of passing across your palate.
Which brings us back to Mike. I was at Lemon on a Saturday night after performing in a show at the Miramar Theatre. After a great show, a great drink is called for. Maybe two or three. When I asked Mike, please sir, for a Dirty Martini, there was no hesitation as he picked up his silver shaker and replied "Gin or Vodka?"
A great bartender is like a good actor, he realizes that making a Martini is like playing a good scene.
"Bombay Sapphire," I say, my second and last line in this drama.
There is no more conversation as Mike turns to grab the blue bottle off his shelf and the curtain goes up on the creation of my martini.
The shaker is iced.
Gin is introduced to Vermouth. How do you do?
"Dirtiness" is ladled into the mix in a precise inexactitude that only an experienced bartender or martini drinker can manage.
There is shaking. Mike will not share what rhythm he shakes to other than vigorous. (Myself... I shake Martinis to "The Boy From Ipanema.")
There is the pour. Mike's hand clutching the silver shaker as a pale green icy waterfall fills my martini glass. Three olives diving to the depths signal the drink is at hand.
Now is the time at Lemon when we drink. Mike watches me carefully (in my mind, that imaginary cigarette angles back into Mike's mouth for a solitary drag before lowering to balance on his lip again) with one eyebrow quirked as I take my first sip.
My Lemon lounge martini is like Aphrodite on a half-shell. Mike's expertise in Gin manipulation is clear from the smile that crosses my face. My Dirty Martini is like the splash of aftershave on a man's face after shaving one's face clean... Bracing, sharp, but pleasurable and satisfying.
When next I visit M'waukee, a visit to Lemon will be mandatory.
If you live in M'waukee, a visit to Lemon is mandatory.
Valizan
Toronto, Canada
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Valizan
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posted 11/27/06
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