Is it sad or ironic that I'm writing this post while hungover? A hangover that was curated on a Tuesday night at home where nothing was being celebrated? Last night Brandon and I had plans to go normalling at the grocery store but instead I decided we should eat a small amount of leftover Ajiaco chased by 5 cocktails. Totes puked.
PS. I'm not always such a drunken whore. Don't judge. You don't know me.
Here's our dangerous cocktail recipe: I call it "The February Fakeout"
In a lowball glass add:
1once of Monopolowa
1/2 once of Brandon's homemade llimoncello
1 giant icecube
4 oz of sodawater
splash of orange bitters
Anyway this post is supposed to be aesthetic reference for the bar at our house, not chronicles de la drunkles.
We have a weird french door closet in the main room of our house. Instead of using that space for storage or putting a miniature office in there or whatever it is that other people might be drawn to we have decided to build out a bar.
Then we need to shop for shit:
Some classy old table type thinger
One of those airstream soda water mahcines
Esque studio and No. 1 Son (Bar)barian stuff
A fruit bowl for limes
an ice bucket
Some horn tumblers.
There are a lot of choices so I made another ghetto moodboard: