New York

I am not a foodie. I really only eat things that can be made in a toaster or a blender. I wish that supermarkets sold “people food” the same way they sell dog food. I’d love to buy a big bag of dry pellets that I can top off with some soy milk and eat out of a measuring cup. So when a few of my friends decided to have a long-discussed dinner at Blue Ribbon, my first response was a kind of eye-roll. Locals love Blue Ribbon for the food and the style. Some like it for the cool crowd, some for the late hours, some for the raw bar, still others for the martinis. I begrudgingly admit that I had an excellent salad there, but my newfound love at Blue Ribbon is all for the martini glasses. My taste has recently turned to dirty gin martinis. Yum. The only thing I don’t like about the drink is the damn glasses they come in. So silly, those tall, weird triangles on stems. And the thing about martinis is that they simultaneously inspire toasts and inhibit motor skills. Bad combination if you ask me, especially when the things come in the most spillable, hard-to-handle containers. Enter Blue Ribbon. I couldn’t really care less how the martinis taste. If you throw in enough olive juice, you’re good. But I prefer Blue Ribbon’s martinis purely for the perfectly stemless martini glasses in which they are served. Cheers to that.