A visit to the new Chez Nous leaves Booze Pig longing for the old sty

I zone out on the banter, and the music becomes a fading background noise as I take my first sip of my long-awaited martini. It'd better be good — it's $7 in the new joint! The inaugural sip hits my lips, and the first thing that comes to my mind is cold, rancid olive juice with loads of vermouth. I grimace, and almost spit it out. (Perhaps, the bourbon has messed with my taste buds.) I give it another big gulp and choke it down. What the hell is this? My friend asks me what's wrong, and I reply, "This is the worst martini I've ever had!"

She can't believe it, but when it comes to booze, she knows I'm always right. I rarely ever turn back a drink, but in this case, I call over the barkeep and tell her something is seriously wrong. She takes it from me and shyly retorts, "I'll give it another try."

I stop her with a quick, "No. Just bourbon, please." In the words of the great master Yoda, "Try not. Do or do not. There is no try."

I come to find out that the barkeep, as she spins it, is the main gal on their busiest nights, Thursday to Sunday, and that she attained her great knowledge of mixing drinks at her last gig . . . at Famous Sam's. Both our jaws drop, and I figure the barkeep is pulling my leg. The idea of having a Famous Sam's bartender who can't make a martini at the legacy of one of Phoenix's oldest, most famous dives is the equivalent of going to the Super Bowl with a high school quarterback.

We sit in the dark (pun intended) for a while longer, listening to a great band with lots of soul, and I silently wonder if this place will find its soul again. I sure hope so, because the place is fucking cool and, frankly, I still remember the great blowjob she used to give me. I'm still in love — in love with the way she rocked my world.