National Review did not hire me to complain about alcohol. But in April, I used my position anyway to denounce the Aperol spritz and announce my campaign, Abigail Against Aperol 2024.
Plenty of people disagreed with this stance; one NR editor sent a photo in Slack of the Aperol spritz she ordered in response to my article. But others endorsed my campaign, and I noticed this comment online: “Abigail should write a regularly-occurring column where she subjects herself to a different traditional cocktail in each one. I would read the hell out of that.” I took a screenshot of that and sent it to my editorial overlords, informing them that the people have spoken. Encountering no resistance, I asked if I could expense my bar tabs to National Review. I immediately received this reply: “Imma stop you right there.” And thus a column was born, to the detriment of my bank account. I’m learning my limits — in terms of alcohol tolerance and ability to exploit NR financially.
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