Ten years ago I quit drinking. Not dramatically — no rock bottom, no intervention. I just stopped, and a bartender named Flavio started making me something instead: club soda, a splash of lemonade. I liked it enough that I kept ordering it, and eventually I just started calling it what it was — a Flavio. Ten years later, I still order it by name, at every bar, every party, every wedding. Nobody’s ever questioned it. Nobody’s ever needed to.
Lately I’ve been seeing a commercial on repeat. It’s for a line of non-alcoholic spirits — tequila, vodka, gin, whisky, all promising the “authentic” taste of the real thing. The visuals do the heavy lifting: gorgeous young people in a pool, throwing back shots, toasting each other, dancing like it’s spring break. The pitch is simple — all the taste, all the fun, none of the alcohol.
