Fault Cedars for anything else, but chicken wings

I don’t go to Cedars, even though it’s literally up the road from my office. I can walk there, if I have to. I don’t go to Cedars because its temperament is slightly aged for my palate. Which necessarily isn’t a bad thing, really.

The groups that show up there are too serious for my taste, clustered in groups, talking shop. Or seated outside under the pagoda in the garden, drinking wine in their suits. It’s common with those who really don’t care for the price of a single malt. I still care for the price of a single malt.