Bob Peters is not messing around. From his lair on the fifteenth floor of the Ritz Carlton in Charlotte, he is crafting cocktails. I normally stay away from the word “craft” these, days because it evokes artisanal micro-green salads and small batch kale tallow soap. Peters is a craftsman, though, and Mrs. Guitars and Gin and I headed up the big elevator one windy March evening to see the man in action and taste his wares.