Welcome. How are you tonight?

We have a regular customer named Mr. Shimizu (pseudonym). To put it frankly, he's a bit of a handful, but a truly endearing drunk.



Incidents like this happen maybe once a decade. I don't quite understand why myself, but I suspect it's because Mr. Shimizu is so straightforward and genuine in his feelings (for better or worse; perhaps leaning towards worse) that he's impossible to dislike.

On his first visit, his order was, "Anything is fine. Something strong." ("Anything is fine" is definitely one of the orders you should never give.)

I am, after all, a bartender. If I were to serve him exactly what he asked for, Mr. Shimizu would become even more of a handful. So, with a hint of irritation barely visible on my brow, I served him a light cocktail, hoping he'd feel pleasantly drunk without realizing it.

One night, after such days had passed, Mr. Shimizu arrived.




I knew it was a ridiculous order. But, you know, as a drinker, I couldn't help but understand the sentiment.

I had a hunch: "Tonight, he's not just drunk. There must be a reason."

A Man Like a Gimlet

When customers provide specific requests like the base spirit, sweetness, or strength, we try our best to choose from our standard cocktails at this bar.

PreviousAs I mentioned last time, standard cocktails have been passed down for generations. That's precisely why each bar, each bartender, has their own unique taste. Perhaps I harbored a hopeful wish that Mr. Shimizu, too, could become a drinker who could appreciate these differences in standard cocktails.

After some thought, I chose to make him a Gimlet.



Mr. Shimizu took a sip and fell silent.

"Am I going to fall asleep again?" I thought, but then he said, "Oh, I want a woman like a Gimlet!"

My eyes widened, and I nearly sent my shaker flying towards the moon. Of course, it wasn't ready for launch. I was astonished that such a sophisticated remark could come from the likes of Mr. Shimizu.

The Woman Beyond Mr. Shimizu's (Pseudonym) Words

The Phantom Woman Reflected in the Gimlet

Then, in a slightly slurred voice, as if speaking directly to the Gimlet before him, he began to talk. Apparently, tonight, he had confessed his romantic feelings to a woman who was like a younger sister to him—someone he often dined with and partied with until morning, but who was significantly younger, almost by a generation. The result... was as you might imagine.

The Gimlet is said to have originated when a British Navy surgeon, Sir Thomas Gimlette, recommended adding lime juice to gin to prevent officers from drinking too much and damaging their health. It's a short cocktail made with gin, lime, and a little sugar.



Originally, it was made with cordial lime, so it would have been quite sweet. However, since fresh limes are relatively easy to obtain nowadays, the modern version has a much drier taste. That's why we use a bit more sugar at our bar when serving the Gimlet. After all, a good woman, like good medicine or poison, often contains a touch of sweetness.

Perhaps men are ultimately creatures who are tossed about between ideals and reality by women who are like angels of the devil, or devils of the angel. Thinking about it makes my whole body ache, not just my ears.

Even Mr. Shimizu now admonishes those who bother other customers. Truly, he's a man of pure directness, with no probing jabs.

When one thinks of scenes associated with the Gimlet, it's usually the famous line and anecdote of Terry Lennox, a key character in Chandler's "The Long Goodbye." But the moment Mr. Shimizu drank the Gimlet and spoke, I felt a premonition that I would be saying a long goodbye to Lennox for a while.

Perhaps it wasn't Mr. Shimizu himself, but the woman he desired, who was too early for the Gimlet.

A Diva Who May Still Be Alive in the 13th Month

Now, to pair with tonight's Gimlet, we have Julie London.



But that's within the rhythm created by humans living on Earth. Somewhere in the vast universe, there might be a 13th month, or even a 14th or 15th. Or perhaps the opposite, where a year isn't divided into twelve months.

As I ponder such cosmic and imaginative possibilities, I feel as though she might still be alive in the 13th month, existing in the time difference between America and Japan.




Why not imagine a woman who shines like a constellation in the 13th month, a calendar that exists between December and January, a month that doesn't exist in human terms? Let your refined delusions unfurl gracefully and tenaciously, project her ephemeral form onto a Gimlet, and touch the glass to your lips.

Cheers to you, the night, and the music.