A drink with something in it

I'm no connoisseur. I'll drink whatever's put in front of me, in moderation of course. Today we feature a little Ogden Nash. The poem is titled the same as this article.

There is something about a Martini,
A tingle remarkably pleasant;
A yellow, a mellow Martini;
I wish I had one at present.

There is something about a Martini,
Ere the dining and dancing begin,
And to tell you the truth,
It is not the vermouth--
I think that perhaps it's the gin.

I'm not a Martini man but I was a big gin drinker at one time: gin and tonic, but the quinine would make me sleepy (perhaps it was the gin?). As I've gotten older hard liquor agrees with me less but I have taken to ordering Manhattans when I go out which is really a Martini made with whiskey. It's a sipping drink that keeps me occupied over the course of a meal. I had the worst Manhattan yet at Tavolo in Peabody Square.

No offense to the staff, who were all gracious and professional, and no offense to the young lady who made this particular Manhattan. It was just bad. It was an off night for the place anyway. The reason I wanted to go was because I wanted the white anchovy appetizer and a goat cheese pizza. I know: anchovies. An acquired taste, but the white ones are very good and not as deep, fermented, distilled low tide-tasting as the kind out of a tin (which I also relish. I know.). I'm sure they come out of a jar instead of a can, mild and mouth-filling without being overpowering. Well, a chap came by after I placed my order and informed me: no white anchovies tonight. At least they're popular enough to sell out. I said I didn't want a substitution, just a pizza would be fine. Then I got my Manhattan.

I've been ordering Manhattans for a few months and they've come in a Martini glass sans ice, crystal clear and as burnished as the eyes of a passing pretty girl on Tremont Street. Not this one. It was in some other kind of squat glass, mixed with ice and foamy. It didn't taste like any other Manhattan I've had in Boston. Maybe it was the whisky. As I say I'm no connoisseur and I didn't request a particular brand. I doubt is was the vermouth. Whatever well this came from tasted tainted. I didn't finish it even though I sat in the establishment over an hour. This was a real sipping drink, which in the end was what I wanted. I've enjoyed cough syrup with more gusto.

The pizza was okay. The kalamata olives on it tasted more like prunes that had been soaking a few hours too long, draining them of any flavor. Sauce squirted onto the bar when I folded a slice in half and took a bite. It was on off night for Tavolo, a restaurant this neighborhood needs that has gotten mixed reviews. I'll be back. I like taking the Red Line to this Dot outpost where gentrification hasn't yet taken hold but is in the air as thick as the fog off Dorchester Bay. The murals in the dining room, where I didn't sit that night will keep you entertained. Out of five stars, I'll give this visit two and a half. Other visits rated fairly close to a full fiver, and that's not including the discount I took on toothpicks then. The drinks have been better in the past too.