It's twilight on a Sunday, and we're thirsty. Locating a weekend happy hour is as easy as finding cell service in Crystal Cove Promenade. That is, until we shuffle into Tamarind of London. Perched at one end of this highfalutin lifestyle center, it's offered daily.
Tamarind's bar divides the space between lounge and formal dining area. Unless one plants themselves on a bar stool, your ability to read a menu is minimal. We witnessed more than one table studying under the glow of their cell phone. Our appetite eased after splitting cottage cheese fritters, butter chicken and layered wheat bread. We'd save our hunger games for another day.
Of their half-dozen signature cocktails, we opted for the pretty name. Our companion chuckled as Four Roses Kentucky bourbon burned, burned, burned down our throat. Antica Carpano vermouth worked to smooth over the unfamiliar sensation. Angostura prevented me from downing my Manhattan like a displaced cougar (because we're classy like that). Our rum-soaked garnish was superior to maraschinos we're used to--not a bad intro to our whiskey education.
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