It's National Applejack Month, y'all.

Weird. That's the face we make too...

Now that Tales of the Cocktail is upon us, and half of our city's best barkeeps are en route to NOLA to drink, sleep, and breathe all things mixology (lucky bastards), those of us stuck at home find we miss our favorite movers and shakers (see what we did there?) just a teensy bit.

It's a sad, sad, thing when waves of tourists looking for a night of Boston cuisine, totter out of the Seaport Hotel, bedecked in pastel pants and wedges, then descend upon the restaurants directly adjacent to their lodgings. How very adventurous.

While I do understand the desire for ease, and agree that a bumpy cab ride into an unfamiliar city always seems a bit risky and exhausting, it was with a heavy heart that I watched endless variations on the same tanned, blond, bright-eyed tourist theme walk through the revolving doors of Rosa Mexicano last Friday night.

Luke O'Neil is that dude you can most definitely trust to call bullshit on just about anything: SXSW, St. Patrick's Day, anything. When it comes to craft cocktails and bars in general, this is always what you want--yes, a modicum of interest and general knowledge about what you're drinking is a plus, but at the end of the day, it's all booze, so don't be an asshole about it. Since he's got this strangely genius palate paired with an acid wit, we will absolutely follow him into the murky underworld of mixology, every time.

Full disclosure, my idea of a quick cocktail is either a) cracking open a bottle of beer, which is not a cocktail, or b) taking a shot, which is also not a cocktail. Give me a little more time, maybe put on some relaxing, lounge-y music, leave the room, and I can definitely whip something up for you. Maybe.

I think it's fair to say I would have been out of my depth behind the bar at Monday night's American Idol/Iron Chef Cocktail Competition at The Hawthorne. And--because I know some of you read that last sentence and thought, American Idol?-- no, the bartenders did not need to sing while they slammed together artful combinations of spirits in shakers, and the goateed Kevin Brauch, thankfully, was not there.

I apologize in advance for plying you with yet ANOTHER "Shit [insert niche here] Say" video, but the interwebs have kicked out a variation that anyone who has ever worked in or around a bar will appreciate.