They're at the end of the bar.
They're always at the end of the bar.
Same stools, same order, same argument they've been having since the Carter administration. In Buffalo they're Frank and Sal. In Milwaukee they're Gary and Doug. In Hell's Kitchen, where these two grew up and never got around to leaving, they're Herb and Lou.
Maybe not Herb and Lou specifically. But you've sat near them. You've laughed at something they said even though it had nothing to do with you and you were actively trying not to get involved.
Two guys. One bar. Thirty-something years of friendship and approximately zero agreements.
He thinks he is the wittiest guy in the room.
Herb is an accountant. He went to city college, which he considers wildly underrated, and which he will not bring up at the bar because it embarrasses him. He will, however, tell you about every Broadway musical he has ever attended, because those do not embarrass him at all.
He has opinions. About wine. About architecture. About the correct way to fold a dinner napkin. He shares these opinions whether you ask or not. When you do not ask, he takes your presence as a sign you're particularly interested.
He is a Yankees fan, which he considers a reflection of his character. He is not wrong. He also calls soccer football.
Lou's reaction to this is best described as a full-body eye roll.
He is usually right. But not for the reasons he thinks.
Pipes go in walls. Walls need pipes. Lou sells them. Done.
Lou sells pipe. Has for thirty years. He is not complicated about this.
He has a watch he never takes off. The glass is cracked. It stopped running sometime around 2009 and Lou never wound it back up. He wears it every single day.
"It's right twice a day. That's better than most people. Jesus H Christ."
He is a Mets fan. He has been a Mets fan through everything the Mets have put him through, and if you know anything about the Mets, you understand what kind of person that makes him.
He believes culture is for guys like Herb. He does not say this as an insult. Just a description of how the world is arranged.
He and Herb have been best friends since they were kids. They golf on Saturdays. They close the bar on Fridays. Some things never change, and neither do they.
Behind every great man is a woman who has quietly decided not to say anything.
Herb's wife is Mary. Lou's wife is Jane. They both hold medical marijuana cards. If you have ever met Herb and Lou, this requires no further explanation.
The world becomes something else entirely.
For Mary, it started as a way to survive Herb's culture lessons. One card. One prescription. Suddenly, after a day of napkin-folding technique and the architectural significance of 30 Rock's lobby, the world became livable. The lights got prettier. Herb started to seem almost charming.
She would look at the holiday lights and just stop walking.
"Look, Lou, look! Oh my, oh my, the lights are so pretty."
Lou was not looking at the lights. Lou was explaining the Mets bullpen to someone who came in for a Harvey Wall Banger. But Jane heard her. Jane always heard her.
She found her level. Lou's voice became something warm.
Jane's relationship with her card was more tactical. After a full day of Lou explaining that pipes and wrenches were all the culture a person really needed, Jane found her spot on the couch, legs always crossed like a true lady.
From that level, Lou's voice became something familiar and kind of funny. She knew every word before he said it. She could have recited the whole rant.
She didn't have to.
This is how two smart women stayed genuinely happy for thirty-plus years. They figured something out. And then, one night, they decided to share it.
They didn't make a big announcement. That's not how Mary and Jane do things.
They just quietly started putting different drinks in front of the guys. One night, and then another. They had done their homework. They knew what worked. And they waited.
Here is what happened.
The nights got better. The arguments got funnier. The laughs came faster. Lou forgot to be mad about the Mets for almost a full hour one Friday, which Jane documented on her phone because she did not think it would happen again.
Herb said something around midnight that landed so well the whole bar went quiet for a second, and three strangers looked over like they'd heard something important.
Nobody was sure what to do with that.
Mary and Jane kept quiet and kept pouring.
When the time came, they named them after everyone.
Mary's M Train Double Espresso Martini
It's eleven stops to Mary's mother's apartment on the M train, and if you've met Mary's mother, you know exactly why she needs a double.
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Jane's Fancy Shmancy Pomegranate Cosmopolitan
For the woman who found the volume knob.
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Herb's Very Manly Peach Bellini
For the man who thinks he discovered this whole thing.
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Herb and Lou have been taking credit ever since. THC that actually makes you laugh. Not flat on your ass, not couch-locked watching Johnny Carson reruns thinking they're new episodes. Just genuinely, embarrassingly, cannot-catch-your-breath funny. They are very proud of themselves. They did not make the drinks. Mary and Jane made the drinks. We just said that.
Canned Laughter.
Four drinks. Four names.
One idea two women figured out a long time ago.
Their jokes are corny.
Their laughs are canned.
And honestly? That's exactly the way it should be.
Because laughter is always the best ingredient
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