Cocktail
Almost exactly a year ago, I tasted the best drink I've ever had in my life.
Our scene lies in London, in an unremarkable hotel bar.
I had spent a warm September day idly walking around the city -- no prizes for guessing where I went. I was already one cocktail in; I had enjoyed my first ever Negroni at a slightly odd outside bar while watching the sun go down and texting my best friend to let her know that I was thinking of her and to thank her for existing.
Having walked back to my hotel, I decided it was too early to retire, so I took my Kindle with me to the bar and ordered a dry martini.
When it arrived, I was initially a little disappointed; it seemed somewhat bland and devoid of taste. But then the scent of the lemon twist hit my nostrils, and the whole thing came together beautifully.
And then it hit me. The alcohol seemed to press down on my brain like a sixteen-ton weight in a Monty Python sketch. I don't know how it's possible, but somehow it felt like the drink was more than 100% alcohol by volume. Time slowed to a halt and all mental activity ceased, and I experienced a single perfect moment of peace.