I don’t watch Mad Men (yet… Netflix), but I imagine these bar glasses would fit right in next to the decanters of scotch in the offices at Sterling Cooper. Although, they’d probably better fit in down the island up in the World Trade Center in a broker’s office who, in anticipation of a 3-martini lunch, told his secretary not to let him sign anything important that afternoon.
I nicked these from my grandparents during a downsizing. I knew I could give them a good home. Now, they are home to Rob’s evening tonics [and my rum and tonics].
I’m carrying on the Wodehouse tradition of drinking beverages that involve much clinking of ice cubes. I personally think the sound facilitates more interesting conversation. It has the same effect on me as a music box would on a little girl.
Mostly, I love them because they remind me of Grandpa Charlie. I like to imagine his huge hands wrapped around these, pouring a drink for my dad, “Chucker,” and asking me if I’d like a “gingah ale.” Good times.