Jimmy Yeager, loading agave

Jimmy in San Luis del Rio, a Zapotec village nestled along the Rio Hormiga Colorada, 8,000 feet up in the Oaxacan Sierra, where village elder and master mezcal distiller Paciano Cruz Nolasco makes the sacred same name distillate.

Recently, a long-time friend and contentious collaborator stopped me mid-sentence—amid the fervor of one of my rants—and said: “Are you ever going to stop talking about ‘empowering experts’?”

When I first started thinking about this whole thing, over a decade ago—it was Aspen Food & Wine, 1998, where Jimmy Yeager, Steven Olson, Ron Cooper and I became friends—things were much different.  At the time, I was in the old publishing world, having recently purchased the most trusted, independent name in American wine magazines: the Underground Wine Journal.  It was the first time that I had seen Olson speak publicly—which happened to be at Jimmy’s Restaurant, talking about agave-based spirits (which happened to feature Cooper’s Del Maguey Single Village Mezcal).  Olson had effortlessly woven a timeless tapestry of geography, geology, history, world culture and a myriad of sciences. I was dumbfounded; never having seen anything like it.  A far cry from my press junkets, programmed visits to wineries and distilleries, and manufactured lunches with marketers.

It became increasingly alarming to me that in a hundred-plus-billion-dollar industry, so much power lay in the hands of a few corruptible people.  No fault to them as individuals—among them phenomenal minds and palates—but something as basic as a single human interaction with organic elements is a fragile and slippery slope. The ability to make or break families and communities—never mind their products—based on vacillating oligarchic whims and trends, seemed entirely unjust.  Moreover, it seemed completely contrary to this beautiful thing of libations—rooted in the ethos of sharing and mutual celebration—that which unites farmers and tycoons.  On these junkets, as a journalist, I would study my colleagues, their behaviors and methodologies, often skeptical about their integrity and motives.

Then, in great contrast, there was this invigorated, passionate community of professionals that I was getting to know.  I began looking at educators and consultants as essential counterparts to the famed quixotic winemakers and impassioned importers; sommeliers and bartenders as the ground forces—buyers and salespeople, making it all possible.

Every tasting panel that I organized thereafter would include at least one professional—ideally several.  Whether producers, sommeliers, small restaurant beverage managers, or buyers for high-end chains, their insight was inevitably crucial and distinctive.  It became increasingly disturbing to me that this community had limited reach and little-to-no direct interaction with consumers; this immense wealth of knowledge and insight was being overlooked.

Shortly thereafter, the internet bubble—and within it, some early adopters from the wine-space made big splashes, spent millions of dollars and earned fabled reputations.  The story of Wine.com alone is the stuff of Greek tragedies.  And, the problems that affected this convergence then are still the greatest failings of today.  The internet is chiefly comprised of two types of wine & spirit sites: those driven by techies who know nothing of wine & spirits and those of wine & spirit people who know nothing about technology.  There are, of course, a few exceptions—which are largely irrelevant for other reasons.

Enter web 2.0 and the dawning of anonymous, unqualified user-generated-content—aka the Cult of Amateur.   The vast investment into the internet-wine space over the past few years is unprecedented, as are the names flocking to the space—among them some of the biggest and brightest in venture capital and finance.  How some of these companies got funding—particularly the social networking copy-cats—is beyond my grasp.  The most distinctive commonality is that they all overlook the most credible, accountable and appropriate community in the world of wine & spirits: industry professionals, aka experts.  Simultaneously, the two chief traditional power-brokers of the print-world are coming under constant attack—as is their fragile credibility—from the growing online constituents, in great part, led by the bloggers.

Lest we merely mention Yelp—one of the most dangerous websites alive today (for just how long, nobody knows).  It should be noted that I was among the early adopters—when the community was dominated by foodies whose opinion actually meant something.  Also before they started blackmailing proprietors.  Their SEO has done very well for them—but their lack of credible, qualified content will be their ultimate undoing.  Aside from the fact that unqualified commenters—who are conveniently hiding behind pedestrian handles—are swaying public opinion, the company has impure intentions.

Having aggressively invested in this space over the past five-plus-years, the challenges facing a wine-web revolution are fairly obvious.  The VC firms follow trends, having ignored the mantra “change or die” the first time around, they’re primarily focused on two proven models: UGC-based social networking plays and Ecommerce.  The idea of empowering a community of professionals, while noble and perhaps just, doesn’t even cross their radar, fit in one of their boxes.  They will, of course, also challenge the ‘relevance’ and interest of the professional community; to this I say: compare wine & spirit industry professionals’ activity and following on Facebook today to where it was a year ago.  We went from three über-connected content providers (who had something to sell), to hundreds of tastemakers, celebrating products, places, ideas and each other.  Moreover, some of the movers and shakers—the more garish of whom shall remain nameless—have become trailblazers, not only for wine & spirits, but for web 2.0, as master manipulators of social media.

There are obvious inherent complications with the current VC approach—to include the backlash dubbed Revenge of the Experts, in which consumers are aggressively seeking professional knowledge, and the complete saturation of the ecommerce-space, where we have two looming behemoths: new entrant (again), Amazon.com and trail-blazers-turned-whistle-blowers, Wine.com, somehow still in the game.  Neither seems to have a grasp.  Meanwhile wine-clubs are sprouting up in every direction—Wall Street Journal, New York Times, Zagat, et al—some of whom are generating serious revenues.  But, where are the experts?

Somewhere in between, we see incomplete offerings like Nirvino, Snooth and WineZap; coupled with the looming vitality of direct-shipping companies.  Online wine sales continue to grow at inspiring rates, all the while; though as buying decisions become more crucial, expert guidance will inherently become a more valuable commodity.  One might imagine that it would be a lot easier to trust the collective opinion of a few dozen professionals, rather than buy whatever’s being sold by someone who is in the business of Ecommerce.

Every time a new wine & spirits-related site pops-up, and it seems to happen a few times a week, of late—to the tune of well over a hundred during the past year alone—the same thing happens.  I immediately rush to find out who is involved—or try to, anyway.  Inevitably, any site possessing of a half-way decent user-interface is devoid of serious authority.  Accordingly, sites posing serious wine & spirits authorities are technologically challenged; moreover, they are individualistic and have scarce chances of ever reaching critical mass.  The challenge is in finding an expert community with the breadth and resources to cover the span of consumer needs in a real-time, organic environment.

The answer: an independent, unbiased panel comprised of industry professionals—uncontrolled by hidden agendas or thinly-veiled self-interest. Rather than depend upon a single passing judgment—from one single person—an on-going organic body that discovers, shares and discusses wine and spirits, evolving collectively, naturally.  There is a need for an environment which encourages consumers to actively empower and collaborate with the professional community, and which supports professionals who genuinely practice the art of sharing.  These two worlds are often separated by misconceptions and intentional mechanisms.  Taste is solely subjective, while its collective representation is truly democratic—the wisdom of crowds cannot be swayed.  Especially when they’re experts.

So, will I ever stop talking about empowering experts?  Not any time soon.

Last night the Varnish celebrated its first year—which is hard to believe considering the vital role it has played in establishing LA’s cocktail community.  People came from near and far, among them Mr. Petraske, Mr. Moses and, of course, the ever-gracious host, Eric Alperin.

Perhaps no one is more acutely cognizant of the significance of this culinary movement in Los Angeles than Manhattan-native, Eric Alperin.  “Coming from New York, mediocrity scares the hell out of me” he asserts with a candid intensity.  Alperin wears an exhausting sense of responsibility and seeks silver linings from within the vitality of his burgeoning group of fellow barmen.  His drive, unquestionably innate, given his French mother’s mantra, impossible n’est pas française (‘impossible’ isn’t French), has led him to the pinnacle of cocktail culture in America.  Between his respective residences in New York—Lupa (Batali, Bastianich) and the Milk & Honey/Little Branch family (Sasha Petraske)—his pedigree is likely unparalleled in LA.  He was brought here to open Osteria Mozza, and then went on to the Doheny and now the Varnish, with judicious stops in along the way—he’s left his mark all over town.

Part revivalist, part innovator—Aplerin is dedicated to the restoration of our collective heritage, which transcends cocktail culture, but instead speaks to a time when pride and integrity carried a lot more weight in the world.  His dated temperament is reaffirmed by the distant resonance of America’s greatest cultural contribution, Jazz, which symbiotically took flight in Alperin’s favored era—it’s Louis Armstrong’s 1931 recording of Stardust.  After watching him make one cocktail, brimming with tales and captivating narrative, one cannot help but wonder how we fell so far into the bacchanalian abyss of a near-dead cocktail culture; in the same breath, he instantly empowers the imbiber by including him in metamorphosis of this movement.  This is a shared experience—it belongs to all of us—and he is equally grateful for the camaraderie.  Alperin has such deep, genuine respect for his chosen products, and their creators, that he speaks of them yearningly like distant relatives; he harbors fugitive bottles of Picon and Suze bitters—contraband his mother smuggled back from France.  Then, of course, there’s the ice, which he makes himself and hand-chips behind the bar.

The Varnish, a club-house of sorts—our LA drinks Mecca, which speaks loudly to a visceral nostalgia—is a partnership between Cedd Moses, legendary New York drinks master, Sasha Petraske, and Eric Aplerin.  Alperin’s distinct shake is unmistakable—intoxicating, in and of itself.  The perfection of simplicity—his precision and measure are humbling; and his encyclopedic knowledge, revealed in inimitable stories, is inspired.  Though, when complimented for his erudition, he’ll say something along the lines of “Geek culture doesn’t necessarily make a good cocktail.  Process and attention to detail do.”

Among the superlative drinks he is making these days: The Holland Razor Blade—lemon, simple syrup, genever, cayenne pepper; the Skid Row Cocktail (aka Original Sin Cocktail [Alperin’s original recipe])—orange bitters, Ramazotti Amaro, apricot brandy, genever, flamed orange peel; Medicina Latina (Marcos Tello’s original recipe): lime, agave nectar, ginger syrup, reposado tequila, mist of Del Maguey Mezcal; Rum King Fizz—egg, lemon, simple syrup, orange bitters, light rum; Fancy Free—Angostura and orange bitters, Maraschino liqueur and bourbon; and El Diabolo—ginger syrup, lime, blanco tequila, club soda, and a float of crème de cassis.

If you asked me to choose a favorite from the six, it’s nearly impossible; that said, I would gladly stand in line to order all of them, all over again, and again.  For those of you who are in the throes of a love affair with genever—in all of her funky, prurient glory—I doubt you’ll find a finer rendition in town than Alperin’s Holland Razor Blade.

Happy Birthday!

Prohibition, one of the darkest hours in American history — which lasted from 1920-1933 — was repealed on this day, December 5th, with the 21st Amendment of the eighteenth article to the Constitution of the United States. This brainchild of short-sighted neerdowells, was catastrophically harmful to the country, society and communities across the country—eventually proving the government’s failure to legislate morality. Before its end, mass corruption brought a surge in crime and racketeering—giving life to the moguls who shaped the booze industry as we know it today. A far cry from the allure of San Francisco speakeasies—families were decimated and the California wine industry was brought to its knees.

The fear-mongers got everyone in a McCarthy-like fervor—along with the Rockefellers. Even old Henry Ford, a staunch prohibitionist, had an undercover network of spies, and would fire anyone caught under the suspicion of drinking. He took over every brewery in the state of Michigan and turned them into ethanol alternative fuel plants because he didn’t believe in oil. That’s a whole different story.

Americans consumed $30 billion worth of wine in 2007; and the government collected more than $5.3 Billion in alcoholic beverage tax revenue in 2006. I guess that explains that—perhaps we should look at the potential revenue opportunities for contemporary illicit contraband. In an economy like ours, every dollar counts; and crime is not our friend.

Happy Repeal Day!