We totter up the cobblestone steps of The Rocks, my brand-new heels no match for the ancient stones – pockmarked with age and a hundred years of memories I could never hope to fathom. We stop, and I’m allowed to look up, although the entrance of the restaurant is left mysteriously blank and I am still clueless to where we are dining tonight. It is dark inside, dim lighting gently illuminating the stone-brick walls, and the rows upon rows of bottles behind the dramatic, floor-to-ceiling glass paneling. Bottles of course, of sake.

Hattori Hanzo and Pink Blossom cocktails, both made with sake of course.