Once upon a time I went to the bar. I lived at the other end of downtown Toronto, by my university and there were martini bars a plenty. Here there and everywhere. There was one in particular that was my go-to. The name escapes me and has since closed down- or so it seemed from my last drive by. But that is where I went on dates. I am sure the old man who ran the place, who took a sweet liking to me (and showed it by adding an extra chocolate kiss into my chocolatini) wondered what kinda lady I was. The place was perfect for first dates- close enough that I could walk there and equally close enough that I could ditch out and get home on my own. I feel like last time I had a real martini may have been on my 21st birthday. And I am pretty sure were I to have one, it would not end well. Yes. Even after just one. To be honest- I can't even really imagine drinking that- like pure fire to burn down my liver or something. Now, that's not to say I don't enjoy a great cocktail once in a while. But who says a cocktail has to be fire on the liver? Not me. Not me! Since Maeve was on the full on Fab Detox last week, I wanted to help her jazz things up. So we made cocktails. Our style of cocktails.