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Dramatic Decorum and Interval Alcohol Etiquette

The Playhouse is a wonderful place. They show plays. Not only do they show plays, but they have a bar. Two, in fact: one on each floor. Twice the fun. And they also have intervals, in which you can visit said bars. And you can take your drinks into the auditorium with you. So, all things considered, it’s pretty wonderful.
The question is, though, what to drink? Chances are, if you’re reading a student newspaper, then you are a student yourself and so are over eighteen. You may even have been eighteen for quite some time. This means that you can legally purchase alcohol. So that means no lemonade or J20. You’ve got to do it properly. 
 Beer and cider are, quite obviously, off the cards. Alcohol is a diuretic and that pint that you chugged will need to come out sooner rather than later, leaving you with an unpleasant choice. Do you scramble to get out and rush to the loo, annoying people and missing half the second act, or, do you sit there, growing ever more uncomfortable as what feels like the upstream contents of the Hoover Dam attempts to force its way out of your bladder?
Clearly, this is not the way to go. Neither, however, is wine.  When considering the interval drink, one needs to bear in mind that alcohol is often just as important in improving the dramatic climax of the second act as anything that actually happens on stage. Wine is simply not strong enough to do this to a satisfying extent. Moreover, red wine is warming and makes you drowsy; likewise, whisky is a no-go.  Whilst it is strong enough, a malty warmth combined with the hot and stuffy environs of any theatre will, inevitably, send one snoring. So, what are we left with? Rum and coke?  Classy. Jagerbomb? Where do you think we are? Bridge?
Clearly, there is only one drink equipped for the task at hand, and that is the gin and tonic: cold enough to refresh and awaken without leaving you with caffeine jitters; large enough to quench your thirst yet not enough to send you rushing off to the toilet; alcoholic enough to make the second act that little bit better yet not so strong that it blurs into a vague mess. Clearly, the gin and tonic has it all.
Fundamentally, the G&T is a very simple drink, with four crucial elements. Gin, tonic, ice and lime. And it has to be a lime. Simply nothing else will do. Because we say so. There has to be enough ice or else the whole thing turns into a warm, sticky mess, and that completely defeats the point. 
Tonic is a very simple matter: you will be given a tiny bottle of tonic water (always Schweppes), and be invited to add it to taste. Chances are you’ll pour it all in regardless: you paid for the whole bottle, didn’t you? 
Then, we come to the main event. The gin. More often than not, unless you get a choice, it’ll be Gordon’s. Everywhere has Gordon’s. An ad campaign from a few years back explains their position rather well. Ill-advised flirtation with Gordon Ramsey’s inexplicably creased mug aside, their tagline was excellent: “The G in G&T”. How good is that? They’ve commandeered half of a two-letter acronym, ampersand notwithstanding. Tanqueray doesn’t stand a chance; T&T sounds like an investment bank. Bombay Sapphire pretends to be blue, and once out of the bottle, it isn’t. Which is very disappointing.
Enough of our blather. The best way to experience this king among beverages is to have one for yourself, and we urge you to do so the next time you are making interval chit-chat at the Playhouse.  And the quinine in the tonic will stop you from getting malaria.  Need we say more?

The Playhouse is a wonderful place. They show plays. Not only do they show plays, but they have a bar. Two, in fact: one on each floor. Twice the fun. And they also have intervals, in which you can visit said bars. And you can take your drinks into the auditorium with you. So, all things considered, it’s pretty wonderful.

The question is, though, what to drink? Chances are, if you’re reading a student newspaper, then you are a student yourself and so are over eighteen. You may even have been eighteen for quite some time. This means that you can legally purchase alcohol. So that means no lemonade or J20. You’ve got to do it properly. 

Beer and cider are, quite obviously, off the cards. Alcohol is a diuretic and that pint that you chugged will need to come out sooner rather than later, leaving you with an unpleasant choice. Do you scramble to get out and rush to the loo, annoying people and missing half the second act, or, do you sit there, growing ever more uncomfortable as what feels like the upstream contents of the Hoover Dam attempts to force its way out of your bladder?

Clearly, this is not the way to go. Neither, however, is wine.  When considering the interval drink, one needs to bear in mind that alcohol is often just as important in improving the dramatic climax of the second act as anything that actually happens on stage. Wine is simply not strong enough to do this to a satisfying extent. Moreover, red wine is warming and makes you drowsy; likewise, whisky is a no-go.  Whilst it is strong enough, a malty warmth combined with the hot and stuffy environs of any theatre will, inevitably, send one snoring. So, what are we left with? Rum and coke?  Classy. Jagerbomb? Where do you think we are? Bridge?

Clearly, there is only one drink equipped for the task at hand, and that is the gin and tonic: cold enough to refresh and awaken without leaving you with caffeine jitters; large enough to quench your thirst yet not enough to send you rushing off to the toilet; alcoholic enough to make the second act that little bit better yet not so strong that it blurs into a vague mess. Clearly, the gin and tonic has it all.

Fundamentally, the G&T is a very simple drink, with four crucial elements. Gin, tonic, ice and lime. And it has to be a lime. Simply nothing else will do. Because we say so. There has to be enough ice or else the whole thing turns into a warm, sticky mess, and that completely defeats the point. 

Tonic is a very simple matter: you will be given a tiny bottle of tonic water (always Schweppes), and be invited to add it to taste. Chances are you’ll pour it all in regardless: you paid for the whole bottle, didn’t you? 

Then, we come to the main event. The gin. More often than not, unless you get a choice, it’ll be Gordon’s. Everywhere has Gordon’s. An ad campaign from a few years back explains their position rather well. Ill-advised flirtation with Gordon Ramsey’s inexplicably creased mug aside, their tagline was excellent: “The G in G&T”. How good is that? They’ve commandeered half of a two-letter acronym, ampersand notwithstanding. Tanqueray doesn’t stand a chance; T&T sounds like an investment bank. Bombay Sapphire pretends to be blue, and once out of the bottle, it isn’t. Which is very disappointing.

Enough of our blather. The best way to experience this king among beverages is to have one for yourself, and we urge you to do so the next time you are making interval chit-chat at the Playhouse.  And the quinine in the tonic will stop you from getting malaria.  Need we say more?

 

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