Growing up in the mid ‘70s, was a time of jazz music and neighborhood get-togethers at my house. My dad had a jazz band that practiced every week. The neighbors would gather for a performance on Saturday nights, all dressed up, while I watched from the hallway. Part of the festivity was rolling out the bar cart. With chic martini glasses, decanters with colorful liquids, cool stirring sticks, stainless cocktail shakers and an elaborate ice bucket, that cart meant wonderment to me. I especially remember Babette. She was a glamorous and stunning woman. Her long blonde hair was always twisted up in a knot and her beautiful nails were flashing as she made drinks for everybody from the bar cart.