Once upon a time in a magical land, those famous princesses known from many a backpack and lunchbox were gathered together, relaxing with champagne and back issues of Imbibe Magazine while enchanted bluebirds and mice did their pedicures. A typical Friday lunchtime.
Cindy sighed and set down an article on the early history of cocktail shakers. "I want to go somewhere fun; somewhere we've never been. I want to see something out of a dream."
"That sounds great," said Beaut. "Imagine a magical place, audacious but still classy—and sparkling like diamonds everywhere you look."
Barely looking up from a Paul Clarke piece she'd not seen before, S.W. said, "As long as I can get a proper Daiquiri, count me in."
A moment later, in Las Vegas, a raccoon in white periwig and a blue and silver vest hopped up spiraling glass steps. At the top, it waddled over to rest a clawed hand gently on the high-heeled foot of the shortest of three older women at the glowing, curved bar. She leaned down to hear its whispered message, then turned to her companions. "Incoming. But there's time for one more round first." Instantly, with no help necessary from the wands resting beside the almost empty glasses of the prior round, their blue-mohawked bartender stepped over to them with a grin. Eyes twinkling back at him, the ladies intoned their incantation.
"Fernet, ginger back."
"And give me a good sipping rum."
Yes. That's our review. It's a three-story, five-bar, giant chandelier with a very solid selection and a bartender wearing a U.S. Bartenders' Guild pin.
What more do you need to know?