It was a misty September evening in Manhattan as I sat in the plush back seat of a town car, lulled by the sounds of the windshield wipers moving steadily like a metronome. I exited the car and ducked into Betony, narrowly escaping the rain.

I was the first one to arrive, nearly 20 minutes early. After checking in with the hostess, I sat at the bar and took a look at my surroundings. Ornate carvings adorned the walls, motifs stretched across the vast ceiling. Jack, the jovial bartender with an Australian accent, nudged me and asked if "gin and I got along".

I was intrigued. “Why?” I asked.

“Well there was a mix-up with another order and we have an extra Negroni...” he winked.