When the waiter returned with our drinks, I smiled at the pink, frothy beverage he placed before me. “Crowberry cocktail” he said with a smile. “Icelandic vodka and our special berry liqueur.” His accent was thick, but his English was perfect. “Enjoy slowly,” he said with another grin.
The first sip I took knocked me back a little with its strength, but the following was sweet and just a little tart with a hint of vanilla. I quickly took another pull, but when I saw the waiter watching with a smile from the corner by the bar, I put the glass down and shot him a thumbs-up. It was delicious, but his caution about its strength seemed warranted. I could feel a warm bubble of delight in my stomach already.
And when the food came, I wasn’t disappointed at all. The tray came with little signs,
