COCKTAILS

So many bars . . . so little time.

Really, the issue was so little money. I dropped enough cash on cocktails to see “Rent” three times--we’re talking orchestra seats--and it didn’t go far.

Up front, then, a few disclaimers. First, I was in search of specialty drinks, figuring a gin and tonic tastes about the same at any bar. Second, I like chick drinks--ones that don’t cause you to scrunch up your face while swallowing. (That’s so unflattering.) Third, I scratched only the surface of the 691 bars in Los Angeles County because I’ll sacrifice only so many brain cells for my job.

I started at the heart of the nation’s lounge scene: the Dresden Room in Los Feliz. Remarkably, the scenesters haven’t completely driven out the locals here, and on a weeknight anyway, the place still has more character than attitude. We sipped a martini that my companions swore tasted fine. To me, martinis generally taste like Windex. More to my liking was the Blood and Sand, a concoction of rum, almond liqueur and grenadine over ice. In other words, a grown-up Shirley Temple.

Then, on to nearby Good Luck, a dim and crowded place decorated like a Chinese restaurant. Its Cosmopolitan--vodka and triple sec with a splash of cranberry juice and a lime wedge--was a great antidote to my Windex-martini problem. Off the illustrated menu of tropical drinks, we tried the Ye Me Loo, which looked like a raspberry Slurpee and didn’t taste much better. The house specialty, Good Luck, was sweet and creamy, a guilty pleasure, like Cool Whip desserts.

The more organic set can saunter up the street to Vida, the tres hip restaurant with a small bar up front. Each night the bartenders mix up the Roadkill, a 3-ounce mix of flavored liquor and juice. Ingredients are determined by what’s fresh at the Farmers Market. The day I was there, it was peach puree and vanilla rum. Like it? Order a double, called a Slaughterhouse.

After letting our livers recover for a few days, my bar pal and I headed west. Of course we stopped at Lola’s, home of the 42-martini menu. This was the only place where I found a martini that I didn’t want to clean my windshield with. Perhaps that’s because Lola’s martini is laced with orange and grapefruit juices. It suddenly became clear to me that I would probably drink grain alcohol if it had fruit juice in it--which explains that regrettable mimosa encounter a few years back.

Lola’s other spruced-up martinis include the Flaming Colossus, similar to a Cosmopolitan, and the PMP, with pineapple and papaya juices and mango liqueur. Not on the menu, but reportedly popular, is the Adam’s Apple. Apple liqueur? Make your own call.

Martinis at Musso & Frank’s Grill in Hollywood are strictly traditional: A vat of huge olives sits at the ready. I’m sure they’re fine, but I opted for the kamikaze, a lime-tinged drink that has earned its name. It sneaks up on you and leaves you flattened.

Thus, I was lightheaded by the time I got to Liquid Kitty in West Los Angeles. I have no idea what my drink was called, but I do remember that it tasted of cough syrup. And when my friend ordered the Liquid Kitty, a martini with an unfiltered Camel, he got no cigarette.

Along our path to intoxication (yes, we had a designated driver), we also found several spots where the atmosphere was the bar’s true selling point. For true space-age style, you can’t beat Encounter, the bar at the center of the Los Angeles International Airport, with its George Jetson in Wonderland decor and Juan Esquivel music. Le Colonial in West Hollywood serves French Colonial Vietnamese food, and the upstairs lounge feels like the set of “Casablanca,” with ceiling fans and rattan furniture. For a view, wind up the Hollywood Hills to Yamashiro. On a clear night, its porch offers a million-dollar view of Hollywood.

In all our nights of bar hopping, we stumbled onto the perfect combination of great atmosphere and great drink only once. It was at Bar Marmont, across the street from the chateau/hotel of the same name on the Sunset Strip.

Marmont’s look is generically British colonial, suggesting India, Southeast Asia or Africa in the postwar years. The lighting is dim without feeling seedy. And in big jars behind the bar, fruit soaks in huge jars of Skyy vodka. We tried other things, but we all agreed that the drink was the pineapple-infused vodka served “up”--in a martini glass.

It cost $9. More than a movie. But, hey, less than a ticket to “Rent.”