Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Many thanks to Craig „The Admiral” Kimball for guidance

Our first Christmas party at our first company we worked for during our first year in the US. The people were saying that “the company has to close for The Popescus to stop working”, and that evening, because Merrill Lynch was closed, The Popescus stopped working and went partying.

Two things we learned at that party.

First of all, the rule that “this is the only evening to let your hair down, no judgment” is not true. When you work for a big corporation, any event, no matter how small, is a good opportunity for the higher ups to observe and remember how the little guys behave. If no managers are there, then the peers will spread the word and, of course, the word was out that Those Romanians work hard and party hard. In the corporate world this is a very good thing, and when they saw us the next morning without any hangovers whatever, I detected newfound respect in their eyes.

Secondly, we found out, in amazement, that when you ask for a Martini you get a funny glass with a transparent liquid and two olives on a toothpick.

Deep sigh …

Until the young age of 33 (when we got to the US) the only martini we drank was Martini & Rossi Rosso on the rocks, with a slice of lemon. Even if we drank very large quantities of the said Martini, it was still only vermouth, neat, never mixed.

I dare anybody to imagine the dialogue that went on and on between the bartender and myself while trying to explain to him that he didn’t know what a martini is and he trying to explain to me that I have no idea what vermouth is. We ended up as friends, each of us with a story to tell, and by the end of the night, Irina finally understood why a Martini, shaken, not stirred, is the cocktail of choice for a certain very charismatic British spy.

The dialogue with my wife was also something to remember.

“What is this thing?” she asked in a stern voice when I came back from my scientific debate with the bartender. Being an open bar, you had to bring your own drinks back to the table, so, after I got schooled by the guy, I took the uniquely shaped martini glass with whatever concoction he made for us, olives on toothpick included, and I placed it almost religiously in front of my wife.

“This is what the bartender gave me when I asked for Martini,” I said in a soft, almost sheepish voice.

“Then you are both clueless!” Irina concluded with that Verdict Tone in her voice.

“Please, Irina, do me a favor and drink it. If it’s not good I’ll go across the street to the liquor store and bring you a bottle of red Martini” I said, just to say something, being almost sure that in the Village there were no liquor stores, especially in the bars area.

“Hmm, such a small selection in this bar. No real Martini.” she said with obvious disdain in her voice. “OK, I’ll try it, for you…  Ohhh, it’s good. I’ll have another one.”

By the third one, the bartender came over to meet Irina. I think he liked her because he brought us another round, on the house. How “on the house” works at an open bar, I have no idea, but, just in case, I tipped him well.

And the rest is history…

Explanatory note, for whomever didn’t get it, yet: Martini & Rossi (Rosso or Bianco) is a brand of vermouth very popular in Romania. For a long time, there were only two brands, Martini & Rossi, Italian, and Mamaia, a Romanian brand. The Italian brand was a crowd favorite and so the name Martini became similar with vermouth (see the similar cases of Xerox or Carioca). If I would have asked the bartender for red vermouth, he would have given me, reluctantly though, red vermouth. But because I asked for martini, he made me what he knew best, a very good cocktail, olives on toothpick included.

Mesa, Arizona , January 2022