Surely, one of the most difficult parts of writing a column about cocktails is trying to decide which cocktail to write about. It’s even more distressing than the thought of future cirrhosis. Every cocktail list is an adult’s version of the Dylan’s Candy Bar menu; there are so many brand new combinations of familiar ingredients. Therefore, on nights on which I decide to plunge myself drunkward in the face of future liver failure, I am often paralyzed by indecision. When anxiety hits, I always resort to the trusty acronym ALTYB (Always Listen To Your Bartender) and I hand over the reins to my night’s cocktail steward.