It’s a little early to start drinking. But let’s just blame this whole wacky day on the Ides of March…
It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, as the adage goes—shorthand for, let’s put this lame workday behind us and go get a drink somewhere. In fact, it’s 5 o’clock right here in central Westchester—all the more reason to move on to the next, and way more fun, stage of the day.
Happy Hour. The words go together perfectly, like ham and cheese, or Snooki and Jionni. They need each other: Take Happy away, and Hour is bereft—a 60 minute mass of mirthless misery. Take Hour away and…well…come to think of it, Happy actually gets on OK without Hour there, tapping his watch, saying it’s almost time to go. Scratch that thought.
Regardless, Happy Hour is a blessed American institution–a chance to do for the workplace relationship in a few hours that which takes a few years when spreadsheets, bitter coffee and bosses are involved.
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