Photograph: J. VanDerKern (Shutterstock) My relationship with martinis could be traced again to the bar at Bern’s Steakhouse in Tampa, an iconic institution that’s embellished like a French bordello. Determined to be perceived as refined, I ordered a grimy martini with my shrimp cocktail and ribeye. Marco—the platonic supreme of an old-faculty bartender—requested if I…

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