I remember being led downstairs to a grotto and in the dimness there was an apparition I've never forgotten.
A lone waiter, moving through the crowd--a Moses dividing the Red Sea--his elbow cocked, a tray balanced on one hand and on that tray were half a dozen shimmering glasses of cold, liquid pinkness. Somehow a light followed those glasses through the darkness as though a stagehand with a follow-spot had found the movie star we all dream about.
When I am hot, tired, and weary, the vision of those cosmopolitans held high above the crowd comes back to me and I am revived.
An ice-cold cosmopolitan brings a smile to my face, but from my travels I can offer up 3 …