Pavel and I are easily swayed. About a third of the way into The Blue Gardenia, somewhere after her sixth (!) Polynesian Pearl Diver, Norah was passed out on the floor, with the ceiling spinning above her.
"We probably ought to have a drink," one of us said.
"Good idea," said the other, "but not a Polynesian Pearl Diver."
I remembered reading over on The Dinner Files about marmalade bourbon sours. They seemed like a good idea. We had an open jar of bergamot marmalade in our refrigerator, thanks to my
Norah had a heck of a hangover the next day, and that pesky problem of wondering if she'd killed a guy in her drunken stupor. Pavel and I are not expecting any such consequences (though maybe someone should call and check on us)--we're getting up early for breakfast at Simpatica Dining Hall.