
The pandemic made me a believer in cocktail hour. From its earliest formless days, I found myself grasping for whatever structure I could impose — early morning walks, Monday night movies, and sometime around the hour that applause would spill from the windows of New York City, a beverage to signal the end of one time of day and the start of another.
It didn't have to be alcoholic — just something ceremoniously poured into a nice glass, something civilized for the end of the world. Two and a half years later, I still find myself grateful for that gentle time of the day, signaled with a glass of wine or a seltzer with a sprig of mint. But what's a happy hour without a nibble to go with it?