A tumbleweed rolls by a deserted saloon, its doors creaking slowly as if yearning for better days. Dust has long settled on the ornate glassware, covering the traces of many poker games lost and even more drunken shots fired. A rider appears at the prairie’s horizon. She’s determined. She has to keep at it. She’s got to START WRITING HER BLOG AGAIN. She pulls up a chair at the saloon and scans its shelves. You lucky devil. There’s just enough for a Saint Denis Sazerac. Wouldn’t you want to know how to mix one?