Mary loves a good martini. Vermouth swished on the glass, Kettle One, dirty, with three olives. She decided to risk ordering one at the restaurant where we had dinner tonight. We knew it was probably a bad choice, but we went for it. The waitress brought me a martini as well because I was so involved in the ordering process that she thought I wanted one, too.
They were made with tiny, black olives and tasted awful. We thought it was possibly the icky olives that had a different flavour than we were used to having. So I went downstairs to the bar to chat with the fellow who made them. We explained that we were used to different olives and the flavour was not what we were expecting. He said he would get us green olives for the future. We didn't feel rude and all seemed in good spirits. (if only...ha ha)
A few minutes later, I am preparing to make my exit so I am sure to catch my bus, when the waitress comes upstairs with two new martinis with little green olives in them. And they still taste awful! The green olives taste like the black olives, which is to say they don't taste like much and that bit of taste is not good.
Mary and I decide we won't ever get martinis here again. I talked her into just pounding the drinks and going home. So we did. We both had to cleanse our mouths of the offensive flavour before we left the table. So much for taking a chance. Next time we'll research it better.
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