Grant Martin raises a glass to the charming class of cocktail mixers who don't phone it in on a Monday night.
There isn't much to do on a Monday night in Wellington, New Zealand.
As many travelers know, socializing is an important part of any cross-country trip - meeting new locals, absorbing culture and evolving your itinerary as you learn. Monday is just not a day for merrymaking; bars tend to close early, clubs don't open at all and everyone takes a collective breath from a good long weekend.
And so, at 9 p.m. on a Monday night, the traveler who is all caught up on email, postcards, journal entries and ramen noodles finds himself alone at one of the only open bars in town. In Wellington, you find yourself at Matterhorn.
Here you meet Claire, the Scottish bartender with dark flowing hair tied in a ponytail, wearing an olive drab, short sleeve, button-down shirt and tattoos from her shoulders to her elbows. Only Claire isn't busy like she is on Fridays, bouncing from snifter to dishwasher to customer, pouring Woodford or 42 Below. It's a slow night, and as you watch her patiently clean barware and meticulously line up bottles you know she's got time to talk.
Sidecar. Vodka tonic. Gin and tonic. With careful measure she pours each drink into a mixer, properly chills the concoction and deposits it into a prepared glass. "Where are you headed?" she'll ask you, in a light Scottish accent that's starting to fade into Kiwi.
No plans.
"It's poker night at Havana," she suggests. "Up Cuba Street, down a dark alley. You could walk right by it." She smiles. And so you go.
There isn't much to do on a Monday night in Wellington, New Zealand.As many travelers know, socializing is an important part of any cross-country trip - meeting new locals, absorbing culture and evolving your itinerary as you learn. Monday is just not a day for merrymaking; bars tend to close early, clubs don't open at all and everyone takes a collective breath from a good long weekend.
And so, at 9 p.m. on a Monday night, the traveler who is all caught up on email, postcards, journal entries and ramen noodles finds himself alone at one of the only open bars in town. In Wellington, you find yourself at Matterhorn.
Here you meet Claire, the Scottish bartender with dark flowing hair tied in a ponytail, wearing an olive drab, short sleeve, button-down shirt and tattoos from her shoulders to her elbows. Only Claire isn't busy like she is on Fridays, bouncing from snifter to dishwasher to customer, pouring Woodford or 42 Below. It's a slow night, and as you watch her patiently clean barware and meticulously line up bottles you know she's got time to talk.
Sidecar. Vodka tonic. Gin and tonic. With careful measure she pours each drink into a mixer, properly chills the concoction and deposits it into a prepared glass. "Where are you headed?" she'll ask you, in a light Scottish accent that's starting to fade into Kiwi.
No plans.
"It's poker night at Havana," she suggests. "Up Cuba Street, down a dark alley. You could walk right by it." She smiles. And so you go.
Continue reading A Sip of New Zealand Cocktail Culture.
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