As grand institutions go, the New York Public Library is not the most staid. But the quiet pleasure of reading has about as much to do with the event there on a recent May night as a medical detox has with absinthe. It was the gala opening of the second annual Manhattan Cocktail Classic, and 3,333 revelers (the official figure from the event organizers) in after–five frocks and fascinators, or well–cut suits—or, occasionally, kilts, or ball gowns—thronged the marble halls and wood–paneled chambers, flitting among 115 exhibitors’ stands, each one manned by a mixologist or six, shaking, stirring, muddling, floating, jiggering, and julepping. Freeze technicians with liquid–nitrogen backpacks and aviator helmets circulated. Go–go dancers in kinky boots and silver bikinis gyrated on plinths in the Celeste Bartos Forum. French trapeze artists flew in the basement. Forty thousand cocktails were imbibed (official figure), of which I was personally responsible for a dozen. Oh stop. I was tasting. Starting with Tony Abou–Ganim’s classic Negroni at the Campari stand, then Kansas’ Earth Friendly Distilling Company’s vodka distilled (not infused) with two kinds of chocolate, then…my notes seem to have run out.
It was your standard cocktail festival scene. The fact that there are enough cocktail festivals to create a standard is pretty surprising, but there are. They’re popping up all over. The big daddy, with around 19,000 attendees, is the bacchanalian Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans (July 20–24, 2011, will be the ninth), in which 207 gallons of bitters, 162 gallons of lime juice, and 960 Luxardo cherries were consumed last year. (Spirits professionals are fond of a statistic, often involving citrus.) It’s now spawning offshoots, starting with Tales of the Cocktail on Tour Vancouver last March. There are “Cocktail Weeks”—including one in midtown Sacramento in August, San Francisco in September, and Portland in October—and there are international extravaganzas, including, over the rest of 2011, the Sydney Bar Show Week (September 11–14), the Bar Convent Berlin (October 10–11), the second London Cocktail Week (October 10–16), and, in February 2012, the second Copenhagen Spirits and Cocktails Festival. The question is: Why is this catching on, and why now?
“It’s because we live in horrible times,” says Dave Wondrich, a major presence on the mixology circuit, Esquire’s drinks correspondent, an authority on the history of the American cocktail, author of three cocktail books, founding advisor to the Manhattan Classic, punch enthusiast, speaker, educator and (duh) bon viveur. “It’s anxiety over our automated world; part of the fetishization of the cocktail and revival of the bartender craft—a subset of the food world. This is all stuff that’s very hands–on. You can go to a bar, sit down, and watch a bartender make something for you and you alone. You don’t get that much any more.”
Fetishization is the word. In salons, clubs, and lounges across the land—the world!—youngsters with waxed moustaches and interesting beards, steampunk tin–buttoned vests, fox–fur shrugs and ’40s tea dresses with armfuls of tattoos are brewing 12 kinds of bitters, infusing spirits with herbs, and double–freezing ice into precise 1–inch cubes. It’s as far from Tom Cruise juggling with neon shakers as you can get.
And it’s fitting that New Orleans hosts the seminal cocktail event—the Big Easy is stylistically and historically appropriate, and after Katrina, poignantly, even more so: They needed visitors, and everyone needed a handcrafted beverage. Founder Ann Tuennerman saw the explosion of the cocktail coming, even back in 2002 when the inaugural Tales was a little afternoon event. “In all honesty nothing [surprises me],” she says. “From the get–go we knew there would be a tremendous return on our effort and that the harder we worked the larger the event would grow and the more we would be able to give back and support the industry.” Tuennerman gives back to the city at the same time as the industry: with mixology scholarship programs offered by the New Orleans Culinary and Cultural Preservation Society she founded in 2006. In fact, this whole circuit has a lot of supporting–the–industry and encouraging–the–little–guys going on. “The circuit is competitive,” says Wondrich. “But it’s friendly competition. Here everybody has to be friendly. You have to be a sport.” It’s as if the warm glow of a well–made Brandy Crusta (Wondrich’s tipple of choice) were infusing the entire community.
Lesley Townsend, founder of the Manhattan Cocktail Classic, took that trope and ran with it when she decided to allot equal–size booths to each exhibitor, no matter whether big (like Campari) or teensy (like the Earth–Friendly Kansans). “There’s something really satisfying about creating a level playing field for all the brands,” she says. “I think it resonates strongly with our festival audience. They can tell this isn’t being sold out to the highest bidder; it feels authentic and representative of the entire industry, not just those companies with the deepest pockets.”
But who is that audience? Industry professionals, for sure—mixologists, event sponsors, artisans, liquor brewers and distillers, academics, and media—the 2010 Tales counted 65.3 percent of attendees among that professional group. “The event is programmed for the bartender,” says Tuennerman of Tales. “If you are a professional, it is a must–attend.” But what of the remaining 34.7 percent? “It’s quite an odd mix of people,” says Wondrich, citing as typical IT (information technology) people, doctors (!), lawyers, and even—encountered recently at a Washington, D.C., event—a pair of Jesuits. “But most appear to be well behaved when in their cups,” he adds “No seedy alcoholics—I see less than I do in a bar. It’s fairly self–policing. You hold your booze and you don’t go crazy.”
Townsend—who founded the Manhattan Classic last year because she noticed New York had a festival for “literally everything” except cocktails—breaks it down further: “The typical attendee is a young professional, urban, single, wealthy, and likely to be considered an influencer. Most attend as part of their regular participation in the hip social happenings of the city.” But she cites a higher purpose, too. “People—Americans, in particular—would be far better off if they spent a little more time thinking about what they eat and drink, rather than just blithely tossing back whatever was put in front of them. Mindful eating, mindful drinking.”
Sort of…religious? Well, no. But the language of devotion does have a way of creeping into the cocktail bar. “Festivals are great for spreading the gospel,” Wondrich says. “Every year a new country shows up [at Tales]. A few years ago there were a couple of guys from London, the next year, a huge contingent. I met a couple of guys from Copenhagen. They got interested and organized the first Danish fest.” Apparently, the planet is being stocked with superior libations, one nation at a time.
OK, so enormous, commercially motivated gatherings devoted to strong alcohol are spreading goodwill, mindfulness, and community spirit. But, the dark side? Obviously, alcoholism is the specter at this feast. But hell, nobody’s pretending these are Shirley Temples. Nobody’s forcing Negronis on Jesuits. Also, the cocktail circuit—despite Lesley Townsend’s efforts to level the field—is not really a sweet collation of artisanal producers; it’s actually lorded over by multinational drink conglomerates such as Diageo, Anheuser–Busch, Brown–Forman, LVMH, and SABMiller. And the big guns have invented a whole new dubious career path for young people wanting in on the cocktail action—the brand ambassador. Ubiquitous in bars, these are alcohol pushers, essentially, and they’re a powerful arm of the beverage industry—whose interests they promote by wielding new cocktail recipes, free beverages, mixology clinics, and their own personal coolness at social gatherings. But Wondrich says they don’t necessarily bring down the tone at a fest: “It goes brand by brand—if they’re giving you a Champagne cocktail they’re your best friends.”
How much bigger this can grow is anyone’s guess. It’s not that hard to imagine a future in which every one–horse town with an arts week or a Fourth of July parade felt compelled to add cocktail festival to the tourist attractions and municipal highlights. “I can’t see this peaking’ any more than I can imagine New Yorkers deciding they no longer care about eating good food,” says Townsend. Wondrich goes further. “It’s spreading. It’s becoming a drug culture. Young people in their 20s are doing it with cocktails”—and here he expands on how preferable a well–made Manhattan and the lifestyle that surrounds it is to, say, a needleful of smack: “They feel drawn to that world in my books, which are little fantasies of convivial life in days gone by.” After all, what we now call a handcrafted artisanal libation used to be known as…a drink. The convivial life is partially reconstructed every time a good barkeep combines a couple of liquors with a modicum of skill…and it’s not that hard. Before there was Midori and Kahlua and sour mix, there were Old Fashioneds and Tom Collinses and Whisky Sours. They’re not that complex. “It takes 15 seconds to make a good Manhattan,” Wondrich points out.
And when we’ve all tasted the small–batch Pisco Sours and artisan Gin Flips at the festival, how are we going to maintain our beverage standards back home? Don’t worry: It’s going mainstream. “The TGIFs of this world have been sniffing around a long time on this,” says Wondrich. “They see the popularity. They’ll do a separate list of old–style cocktails or something.” He adds that Dale DeGroff — aka King Cocktail, one of the major figures of the renaissance—costed out what it would take to make proper cocktails on a very large scale for Marriott. He found it’s cheaper to make drinks with fresh juices than with sour mix.” Townsend agrees: “I think it’s just the next obvious step in the evolution of a more discerning American palate. In the same way that restaurants (and food culture at large) underwent a massive renaissance over the past two decades, we’re seeing the same thing now with bars and cocktail culture.”
Next… the world. Expect specialist, niche festivals—tiki events, rum gatherings, single–malt shows, to name a few that already exist. And cocktail tourism, such as drink–centric bars in swanky hotels (there are loads in London), Orient–Expressish trains with celebrity mixologists, cocktail cruises (though if you Google that, you get a lot of stills of Tom with his neon shaker). Really, this whole thing is just a new dawn of the old nightlife. From the invention of the cocktail (Jerry Thomas circa 1860) till the 1980s you could get a great drink in any old saloon. Then the piña colada happened. And now—though you may have to go to the library for it—those days are back.
Kate Sekules, a recovering print journalist (editor–in–chief of Culture+Travel, travel editor of Food & Wine…), is the founder of the couture swapping site Refashioner.com.