It's best to roll up to the bar Spicoli-style, in a custom van painted with palm trees. Slide open the van door and tumble out, playing finger tambourines. A huge cloud of weed exhaust should follow. Motorin'. Cruisin'. Boozin'. Smokin' down Delmar, headed to the Halo Bar for a little partying, hardy-style. Not drinking beer, because tonight is kind of special. Drinking sweet, sweet liquor. Drinking Chambord and Southern Comfort. And raspberry vodka. And watermelon Pucker. And pineapple juice. All in the same glass.
The drink is called the Stevie Nicks, and, alas, it does not contain cocaine, nor must you supposit it up the rectum to appreciate its umph. Even your septum's safe, in fact, because you don't snort the Stevie Nicks (though you can snort virtually anything). You sip it through your cigarette hole.
The Halo Bar is, honestly, not a bar we frequent much. Before concerts or after work we're more often at Blueberry Hill or the Pin-Up Bowl, two other Joe Edwards enterprises along the Loop. Before concerts, the Halo's too close to the action; we prefer meeting at one place before rocking at the next, and then going to a third bar afterwards, and then maybe a fourth or fifth.
But there is, in fact, incentive to drink at the Halo before shows. Halo patrons are admitted to the Pageant before the losers out front. Plus, the first four people to enter the Halo Bar on show-night get to butt to the front of that line and get a reserved table at the venue. What a deal, especially if you feel like getting to know Stevie Nicks a little better.
Really, what can we say about the Stevie Nicks martini that you haven't already determined from a glance at the ingredients? It contains the essence of many fruits: raspberry from the vodka; watermelon from the Pucker; black raspberry from the always-excellent Chambord liqueur; orange and peach liqueur from the Southern Comfort bourbon blend; and pineapple juice.
Sounds like a cocktail that'll spin you and your flowing gown 'round and round, and taste as good coming up as going down.
Like its namesake, it's not a subtle affair. It is as sweet as that raspy voice of hers. It tastes like a spiked fruit punch and contains all the booze you and your stoner friends used to sneak out of the liquor cabinet. The only thing missing, perhaps, is sloe gin, and maybe some Mountain Dew. Would Mick Fleetwood drink it? Perhaps not. Lindsay Buckingham? No way man. But Stevie would.
And despite our initial reticence, the Halo Bar's a good place. On weekends they have DJs until 3 a.m.; they will rule your life like a bird in flight. And who will be your lover? Stevie Nicks, of course, she with the rasp that stirs the heart of many a feather-haired adolescent, who promises you heaven, who rings like a bell through the night. Will you ever win? Of course not, at least not in this life. But after two or three Stevie Nickses, you will no doubt be taken by, taken by the sky.