I had a chance last month to booze it up at Sloppy Joe’s in Key West, but by the time I came across it, I’d already guzzled enough gin to fill a Prohibition-era bathtub, so I skipped it.
Bad on me. Sloppy Joe’s was Hemingway’s haunt in the 1930s, back when he was a strutting, liquor-soaked peacock, high on daiquiris and his literary success, years remov…