Dan O’Connell is the bartender I can always rely on to split a few snack-sized daiquiris with me at the end of a shift. He graciously entertains my desire for increasingly exotic rum combinations, all in pursuit of the best tropical cocktail.
I’ve known Dan for years, and he’s served me drinks all over the city. Dan was my bartender one memorable night at Billy Sunday. He took my ex and me through a flight of obscure and vintage amari, the bittersweet, Italian liqueur an irritatingly close metaphor for the impending end of our marriage.
One day, after spending too much time staring at Cy Twombly sculptures at the Art Institute, I met Dan at Cindy’s Rooftop. A Manet still life had put me in the mood for oysters, and he made me one too many Martinis to go with (which, for me, means exactly two).
The last time I was at a restaurant, at Income Tax, Dan was my bartender. Three years prior I had opened the restaurant as the general manager and beverage director, and I sat with a friend at the marble bar while Dan poured us bottomless glasses of Bow & Arrow Sauvignon Blanc. Quarantine was impending, but I had no idea at the time that it would be the last restaurant meal I would have for many months.
I miss the expertise, ease, and advocacy of the best in our industry, of people like Dan. I’m making ridiculous daiquiris at home, but he certainly shakes them better—and I’ve found they don’t taste quite the same without my favorite bartender to share them with.
Words by Collin Moody