![]() This is a much simpler term that is rarely confused in the bar industry. Firstly, It’s common to hear someone order a bourbon straight, although is the more appropriate term for this should really be “neat.” Some have ordered a chilled vodka (served in a stemmed glass), but as we discussed above, this should actually be ordered “up.” See how it gets confusing? It’s wiser to double-check with the bartender because this also changes from one establishment to the next. Ok, this is where it actually does get confusing. These are mixed drinks that are chilled with ice and then served without. Classic examples of drinks served straight up are a martini, manhattans, sidecars, sazeracs, pisco sours, and grasshoppers. Sometimes people use the term “straight” interchangeably with “neat,” which is where the confusion begins so always check with the bartender just in case. The ice is removed and that’s how a whiskey served up.Īlthough this can get a bit confusing, we have it straightened up for you (ba dum tss!). Simply tell the bartender for whiskey served “up” and he will pour whiskey in some ice long enough to chill. Example: You want to order a neat whiskey but don’t want it at room temperature. Before being served, the drink is strained, removed of its ice, and normally poured into a cocktail glass. This term typically describes an alcoholic beverage that is iced and is shaken or stirred. High-quality spirits of any kind are commonly enjoyed neat as well. Brandy and whiskey are the most popular spirits to drink neat. Neat drinks are about two ounces, not chilled, there are no extra ingredients (even ice) and no, you can’t order an Irish Car Bomb neat. It’s similar to a shot, but the glass makes a huge difference in the sipping experience. This means that a spirit is directly poured into a glass (preferably a NEAT Glass). ![]() Neat is the least confusing of cocktail terms. But at every shift for the rest of his life, he’ll stare longingly at the front door, pour himself a whiskey, and think of me.What’s the difference between neat and on the rocks? How is straight up different from neat? Cocktail lingo has been around for decades but for a lot of people, the difference between these styles can be confusing or simply misunderstood. The bartender will pretend he doesn’t care. “I love you, but I can’t,” I purr, placing my empty glass on a cocktail napkin. Money means nothing to me.Īn hour goes by, and I start growing tired of strangers approaching and asking, point-blank, “Where did I go wrong?” I’ve facilitated an amicable divorce, convinced a billionaire to donate all his wealth, and was just made a city-council member in a Utah mining town called Strawberry. I ball up the cash and slip it into the baby’s fist. Before he leaves, he slides me five crisp hundred-dollar bills. He completely understands and apologizes for asking. I make him wait as I take a slow swig, then I tell him I don’t believe in big business. of Arm & Hammer and asks if I want a job in corporate. I’ve already told Keanu a million times: if he wants me so badly, he’d better come find me. ![]() “Thought I’d find you here,” a gruff voice intones, on the other end of the line. He can tell from my general vibe that I don’t have a cell phone. “It’s for you,” the bartender says to me, without checking to see who it’s for. Suddenly, the phone on the wall begins to ring. ![]() One young woman, so daunted by the ease and maturity I’m radiating-and so humiliated by her own order-whispers “vodka cranberry” to the barman and then starts weeping. As each patron enters and notices the beverage I’m holding, they give me a reverent nod. The bar begins to fill with the happy-hour crowd. Later, when the photo is displayed in his first gallery show, he’ll title it “Angel in Black.” I tell him it’s no problem-people ask me that all the time. “I never do this, but can I take your picture?” the bartender asks, sheepishly. He doesn’t say it’s on the house, but we both know that it is. When he hands me my glass, our fingers brush. I can immediately sense, from the way he’s fiddling with his long but tasteful beard, that he’s attracted to me and intimidated by me in equal measure. “One whiskey, neat,” I tell the bartender, settling myself onto a wooden stool.
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