Taste of Success

Last week I was a fly on the wall.

A friend of mine is a photographer and was working an event at the City Winery in downtown Manhattan. The event, called Taste of Success, was a fundraiser put on by StreetWise Partners, an organization aimed at coupling large corporations and low-income individuals. I didn’t know any of this information when my buddy invited me to attend, but once he said there would be free food and drink, I agreed hands down.

After entering the City Winery, I was instantly thrown off by the power ties and high heels circling the crowd. Clad with my finest shirt tucked into my Levi’s, I questioned how the young lady in the three-inch pumps made her through the snow mounds on Varick Street. She did know there was a blizzard outside, didn’t she? I was gazing at my ice-crusted boots as my friend pulled me to a table to help him with his camera.

“Do you know what this thing is all about?” I asked.
“Not a clue. I’m kind of doing this as a favor to my friend.”
“Well,” I began as a woman sauntered across the floor in a strapless number, snow capped cars visible through the windows “can at least I taste some of this stuff?”
“Sure. I’m going to take a bunch of shots. Just help yourself.”

With that I was off. I heaped my tiny plastic plate with prosciutto spring rolls, crepe lasagna and an assortment of other goodies. After several laps, I saw a young man pouring drinks with an ornate water fountain. I made my way past a few clean-cut bankers to investigate his mysterious drinks.

“Absinthe,” he replied after my inquiries. Immediately, thousands of little flash bulbs went off in my head: green fairies, hallucinations, that sketchy bar in Canada when I was 18. I sheepishly asked for drink and began to bombard him with questions.

A couple of glasses and some time later I learned a few things about the beverage. Absinthe is composed of three main ingredients: anise, fennel and wormwood. The wormwood is what people attribute to the hallucinations, but like most storied beverages, it is just a myth. The fabled Green Fairy can be written off as a writer’s muse or attributed to a French nurse who gained the moniker after administering the herbal alcohol to patients with stomach maladies. I inquired about lighting the stuff on fire before drinking—careful not to admit I happily did just that in a Canadian bar—only to be assured it was a bartender’s trick, suitable more for entertainment than drinking.

Having my fill of information I made more rounds. I sampled Creole Paella, colored black by a Caribbean mushroom called jon-jon; I ate hotdog looking concoction that turned out to be smoked codfish on a brioche; I even had Port and Champagne sorbet, a delicious mix of alcohol and science created by Wine Cellar Sorbets. When I asked the woman pushing the boozy dessert if they were looking to make a beer sorbet in the future, she told me that it was possible. They are currently working on cocktail sorbets like gin and tonic so beer probably wasn’t too far behind. I pondered the thought of an all-natural, Guinness Stout sorbet and made my way to the bar.

Standing behind several bottles in a quiet corner of the event was gentleman from the Brandy Library. He poured a few scotches throughout the night for various business types but I noticed no on really took any time to inquire about what they were drinking, focusing instead on the leggy power brokers sampling the Rosé wines. I walked through the crowd and started to ask him about Scotch. Immediately, he pulled up glasses and started pouring. I told him I was in journalism—beer journalism to be exact—and we began chatting in terms of casks, malted barley, nutrient rich water and such. A few suits came up and requested single-malts in gruff voices, flashing smiles to the ladies patiently waiting for them. After they stumbled off with another free drink, I continued my alcoholic education.

I was always curious about scotch and other whiskeys, and this guy really blew my mind. He covered geography, laws and other minutia. We chatted for over a half hour and after learning about the pairing potential of a highly smoked scotch and fudge brownies, I shook his hand and parted ways. He agreed to chat with me in the future about the prized beverage and even hook me up with more folks in the industry. Satisfied and smelling of peat smoke and booze, and pushed through some overly absinthed future CEO’s shouting about the stock markets and one night stands and searched out my pal.