Helped by what I assumed to be her granddaughter, the little old lady bellied up the bar. I've seen a lot of people sit at bars in my 20 years as a bartender and I can tell by the way they go about it whether or not they are comfortable doing it.

Clearly this lady had sat at a few bars. It was even possible that she might have first sat at a bar during America's Prohibition, when doing so was less than legal. Approaching a century of life will teach you a few things.

"I'll have a Bombay martini," she said clearly. "One olive and not too dry. And shake it till it's cold."

"Regular Bombay or Sapphire?" I asked as I do perhaps 200 times a week.

"The regular is just fine," she said hanging her cane on the edge of the bar.

"Gramms," said the granddaughter, confirming my suspicions. "Have you ever tried Tanquery Ten, or Citadelle or Hendricks?"

"I like Bombay."

It was now the granddaughter's turn.

"Do you have any infused gin?"

"No."

"Do you have Old Raj?"

"No."

"How about Cascade Mountain Gin?"

"No."

"I'll have Bombay, too, then. But make it Sapphire," she said with a flourish I'm sure was meant to impress her grandmother. "Stirred, but up in a cocktail glass, with a sprig of fresh rosemary."

Then she announced out loud, not really to either her grandmother or to me but as if she was the one who needed convincing, "I have pretty sophisticated tastes."

In the many years that I've observed human interaction I've developed a little theory

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that I call the four levels of sophistication.

- Level one: Neophytes tend to order what is familiar to them. It might be what their parents drank: Tom Collins, whiskey sours, brandy and seven, perhaps even a martini. They are concerned with name brands, but usually the long-established trademarks: Smirnoff, Jack Daniels or Jose Cuervo. Rarely does anyone sip straight booze at this point, but they might consume it in "shot" form. Savoring will come later.

- Level two: Things begin to change. It is now a fascination with whatever is hot or trendy. The newer the better. Somehow at this stage everything is based on being part of the "in group." If the right magazines are talking about absinthe, then absinthe is what they order. Usually at this stage the drink orders become more specific, to the point of neurosis. Trendy gadgets come into play. Perhaps they use a mister to make their martinis, or chill their drinks with ice made from French spring water. Or insist on unusual garnishes. Whatever it is, it is certainly the newest, coolest thing. Rest assured that in six month the drinks will be different. At this level, outward appearances are more important than personal taste.

- Level three: Obscurity becomes the goal. If the pastime is drinking beer, the hot new microbrew will no longer suffice. Instead it must be the most obscure microbrew that can be found - or in many cases, can't be found. Or only the smallest batch bourbon made, or single malt scotch from a region only 10 people have ever heard of, or only wine from Sicily. This is also the most pontifical stage and thankfully, due in part to the effort necessary, usually the shortest.

- Level four: This is the final stage, and the one that my grandmotherly friend had clearly entered into. It is also the one that makes the most sense. You no longer need a snotty sommelier to point out something obscure, or a verbose magazine writer to direct you to the trendy new cocktail, or a condescending bartender (or even a combination of the above) to bump you up to something that you've never heard of. You drink what you like, and what is most readily available. You don't care what someone else thinks or says about it. This is the nirvana stage of sophistication, and it is the only one that really matters.

To better illustrate the four stages, I'll use brandy as a model:

- Level one: Korbel and 7-Up.

- Level two: Flavored seasonal brandy in a snifter.

- Level three: Armagnac, only from the Haut Armagnac region, served in a special brandy pipe.

- Level four: Hennessy VS in a tumbler with a splash of water.

I eyed my two generations of ladies who now sat enjoying their drinks.

"Grandma, you shouldn't get your gin shaken," said the granddaughter trying to maneuver around her rosemary sprig. "I've read that it gets bruised."

The grandmother took a long sip of her classic gin martini. Slowly she took a bite out of her olive. Then looking up from her glass and fixing her eyes on her succeeding generation, she spoke as only a woman who had lived four times longer can.

"Bruised? Honey, I don't want it bruised," she said. "I want it knocked out."

Level four indeed.

Jeff Burkhart is an award-winning bartender at a Marin bar/restaurant and an author. His columns appear weekly in Here. Contact him at jeffb@thebarflyonline.com