Sizzling?

I spent some quality time with a Columbian artist while mixing caipirinhas, eating empanadas and learning to tango last Friday. Although the thought of a tall, gawky individual attempting the dance of love after a few cocktails and meat patties seems like a nightmare, my evening was as real as the sex appeal I radiate on the dance floor.

John Keller hosted the evening in cooperation with CityDusk—the company I’m currently working on beer events with. Despite my relationship the CityDusk, I didn’t shell out for the event just to show home team support. The event, titled Sizzling South America, seemed unique; different from most of the events I see posted on various Manhattan websites.

The evening started at the Praxis art gallery on the Upper East Side for an exhibit by artist Alexis Duque. Duque’s art was polished but his themes of destruction and desolation seemed at odds with the cheery vibe that flowed between the guests and the bottles of South American wine. Nevertheless, I found myself staring at his beautifully bleak urbanscapes and depictions of Dr. Seuss for adults city life. After chatting with the other guests and getting the lowdown on Alexis’ art and the gallery, the group headed downtown to Trangulo Dance studio to mix some drinks, have some eats and learn a step or two in the art of Tango.

The evening was enjoyable, but I have to look at it with a critical eye. CityDusk is a new and upcoming company, and like any newfangled business venture, it needs some polishing. Yes, I had fun, but was it worth the cash I shelled out? I met a few interesting people, learned how to tango and now can add caipirinhas and caipiruvas to my repertoire of cocktails, but I don’t feel as if I got a huge financial bargain. Perhaps it is because the event wasn’t as smooth as I hoped, or maybe because I had to schlep from the Upper East Side to Chelsea in thirty-degree weather. Whatever the reason, CityDusk has a way to go. Despite this bleak description, I’m not disappointed with the company. This event felt like a shaky first date; nothing went exactly as I planned in my head, but there were many happy little surprises and I’m hoping to get a little luckier on the second date. Until then I’ll make sure to call and cross my fingers.

Portland Has Great Beer...and Food!

"We've done a Seattle/Portland show. I love Seattle. As far as I'm concerned, that's where everything is happening: Seattle, Portland and Vancouver. That whole part of the continent is the epicenter of the whole new food scene."

-Anthony Bourdain on shooting No Reservations the Pacific Northwest

Meet Ale Street News

I entered the bar several minutes after 5:30, releasing a gigantic sigh as I realized I wasn’t the only one late. The fellow behind the bar was hunched over his laptop, chatting with a thin Asian about the wedding ring he wore on his skinny finger:

“Jesus! I didn’t know you were married?!”
“You knew I was engaged last time I came in.”
“Yeah, but you were getting married. You weren’t married yet.”
“Shit happens, you know?”

At this point the former bachelor sighed and sipped his pint. He was looking a bit forlorn. I was pretending to browse the taps while trying to understand the “shit happens” part of this guy’s marriage theory. I was under the impression the getting hitched was very unlike hitting a pothole, getting splashed by a puddle or stepping in a steaming pile left by the neighbor’s dog. Asking someone to spend the rest of their life with you is very different from any of these situations. Shit does happen I guess.

The computer geek/bar tender snapped me out of my thoughts and I ordered a Penn Dark Ale while sitting down. Checking the place out I noticed team banners hanging from the walls and a huge erase board full of NCAA standings. “Clever,” I thought as I saw the name of the bar written in type over the bar—STANDINGS.

After fifteen minutes of anxiously nursing my beer Cal, the guy in charge of CityDusk, tapped me on the shoulder. He had a look of relief on his face while I wore a nervous grin and two damp marks under my arms.

“Good thing you’re here,” he said.
“Good thing I wore a dark shirt today.”
“What?” Cal asked me, obviously confused.
“Nothing…Uh, where are Jack and Tony?” I stammered.
“Next door, leave your beer here, I’ll get them.”

Jack and Tony are the two founders of Ale Street News, a long running publication about beer and all things beer. Being an aspiring writer of sorts—not to mention an aspiring drinker aficionado of beer—I would very much like to work with them. Several months ago Cal held a meeting with them and we started working on a partnership. Ale Street would do some events with CityDusk and, in turn, I would do some writing for Ale Street. The meeting was going to decide exactly how we would work together.

For whatever reason, I pictured the Ale Street founders to wear full beards. I have this idea—these Green Bay Packer Ideals if you will—about the “perfect” version of things. I can’t envision an organization that more embodies the perfect example of football than the Packers and their cheesehead fans, so I use the franchise to describe other perfect things.

In my head, the Green Bay Packer beer publisher has a full beard, loud voice and a larger than life swagger. As I was introduced to Tony and Jack I was only half wrong. Tony was a smallish, thin man who wore a Delirium beer hat and spoke with an accent I couldn’t place. Jack was decked in business wear with a thick mustache under his nose and held himself like an expert car salesman. Despite these two not meeting the picture in my mind, they did not disappoint. The meeting started with a round of beers, the clinking of glasses then getting down to business.

I don’t know the effect they have on people when apart, but combined Jack and Tony seem like old drinking buddies who just happen to have a newspaper to run. They argue, joke, completely disregard the other’s advice and continually order beers. Throughout the evening they scolding me for my writing, immediately thereafter complimenting me for my writing, traded anecdotes about brewers, bars and woman’s cleavage. Upon discovering I was a Jet fan and discussing the future of the team’s vacant quarterback slot, Jack sort of took me under his wing and began blurting out ideas about a weekly Ale Street column online. I doubt this will see the light of day, but after a few beers with the publishers of a paper you want to write for, even a not-so-realistic writing assignment can fill you with joy.

After finishing our pints and saying goodbyes, we agreed to have the venues and some themes for future events down in two weeks. I literally skipped down the street with Cal as we discussed the evening. (While this may seem humorous, seeing a scrawny tall drink of water like myself skipping up 2nd Ave with another full-grown man is a little off-putting.) In honor of my happiness, we ducked into Momofuku Ssám bar where I ordered a French country ale, some lamb sweetbreads and Cal smiled nervously as I proceeded to chow down some offal. Nothing says “here’s to the future” like braised thyroid glands.

Question for the masses...

Is it strange that when I go to bars, women twice my age love me for my juke box selections?

Some Photos from Vegas

24 Pour. The most varied--and only--twenty-four hour bar. I want to thank the New York-New York Resort and Casino for opening this place and apologize to that group of kids who I yelled out for ordering Bud Lights there; it was 4am, I had a few too many to drink and--come on!--you were ordering Bud Lights.



Enoteca San Marco. This is Mario Batali's Vegas version of Otto near Washington Square Park. The Pasta Puttanesca was tasty and that chicken, eggplant and ricotta dish was on of the juiciest things I've ever tasted.



Asian tourists. This has nothing to do with food or drink besides the fact I was watching them while I ate the meal pictured above. I don't know what the hell you were taking pictures of--and there were many pictures--but thanks for the entertainment!

Gasoline for the future

Although this has nothing to do with Vegas at all, drink some beer and go a little green!

VIVA LAS VEGAS!

Today in I lost $200, drank at a to-go Sin City Brewery beer stand in the middle of a mall, saw Alice Cooper running a roulette table, ate at one of Mario Batali’s restaurants (it was just like Otto in Manhattan), watched Elvis and Temptations live in concert, drank a six-pack worth of Sam Adams for free, won enough money for gambling tomorrow, purchased a Hawaiian beer—a Kona Pipeline Porter, made with 100% Kona coffee—at a 24-hour beer bar in the New York-New York casino and accompanied my father to a Fatburger at 2:30 in the morning while he purchased some late-night munchies and drank a beer.

I love Las Vegas.