The actual three-martini lunch appears to have fallen from grace since its middle of last century heyday, thanks to unnamed teetotalling presidential candidates and this whole crazy notion of “fitness for duty in the workplace.” But we’re thrilled that shows like Mad Men, Pan Am and the “dearly departed” Playboy Club offer a glimpse into being truly hammered and packed to the gills with cholesterol by 1 p.m. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Get to the office, check out your secretary, return some calls, sign a few memos…aaand it’s time for buttery stuffed lobster, gin and more gin. Maybe some pie.
So why are we no longer eating our aggression towards the business adversary across the table in the form of porterhouses? Did we really learn to talk things out soberly and with empty stomachs, like men? Do men even talk things out when hungry and sober? That sounds like a boring, awkward meeting that won’t win you any Emmys.
I mentioned the perils of eating at your computer in a previous column about taco salads. And what happened? My argument fell apart because I was obviously discouraged enough by the fact that there was cheddar cheese between my G and H keys and no buttery lobster, steak or gin in my direct vicinity that I couldn’t even suggest why one might have a taco salad for lunch.
I call upon you, the men who will lead us back to a brighter era of midday breaks, to notify your direct superior several weeks in advance that on this day at this time you and a colleague or two will be taking a long lunch break. During that lunch break, you must sit down at an establishment with tablecloths and order a classic fat-laden feast. You do want butter in that baked potato. You want your filet medium-rare and not cooked for a second more. Do you want asparagus? Uh, is there hollandaise on it? And, of course, your preferred number of martinis (a classic, dry gin martini please). We’re pretty sure if you can only manage two it’s still considered a three-martini lunch.