There have been several drunks in my life that I have lived to regret. I know them each by name. I'm not talking about other people, I'm talking about me. There were exactly 3 until I got to Pazo and now there are 4.
The reason is threefold. The first is that I didn't have any breakfast or lunch that day. The second was that I was in stellar company and feeling extraordinarily loquacious and friendly. The third was my bartender's invention - the Prairie Fire Martini.
I am sad to inform you that I cannot recall the name of my bartender, although he did an excellent job of serving up the fire. The tapas on tap was superb, and although Baltos(?) may find Pazo a bit pretentious and expensive, I was rather impressed by the very idea of dinner on big fluffy couches.
I was a bit surprised that the joint closed down at 10pm because I needed another hour to de-libate, and I wasn't about to go about it the bulemic way. But I was forced into the street much to my compatriot's chagrin. I managed to get back to where I once belonged without incident, though it took the better part of 90 minutes and a stop at Burger King, but the Pazo experience was still fondly remembered through the purple haze.